Page 6 of Claimed By Blood

The water is scalding when I step under it, and I tip my face up into it, letting it wash the silent tears down my face.

Even if Cain has cameras in here—which I wouldn’t put past him—the water will hide the evidence. I can’t sob, or scream, or rage at the world like I want to. I can’t even curl into a ball on the floor for fear of him knowing.

But, for the few minutes I spend in the shower, I can cry.

When I finally leave, Draven is just where I left him. Still passed out and making a mess of the carpet. Briefly, I debate giving him some of my blood to heal him, only to dismiss the notion almost immediately.

That’s the kind of thing which will put Cain into a killing rage.

Instead, I grab a bag of blood from the fridge and sink my fangs into it, drawing deeply despite the way it tastes—like dirt and plastic. Then, with a sigh, I grab a second bag and slice it open, tipping the contents into Draven’s mouth. The bleeding stops, the stumps of his hands closing up with the promise of nourishment.

Wounds dealt with, I drag him into the shower and hose him down so he won’t mess up my new sheets, before dropping him at the bottom of the bed. It’s almost dawn, and I have plans to get more than two hours of sleep for the first time in weeks. If he dares to wake me up, I’ll drain him unconscious.

His hands will regenerate, with time. It would be faster with my blood, but I selfishly want him to suffer.

If he hadn’t turned on us at Cain’s gala, Frost and I could’ve escaped alongside Vane and the rest of the pack. Now Frost is out there, free, and I’m stuck here.

The tiny taste of freedom I had for those few weeks I spent with the pack has made me bitter. I’ve tried over and over again to remind myself that this was inevitable. Tried to force myself back into believing my sire is correct and righteous in his pursuit of a society where vampires are at the top and everyone else is a second-class citizen. It doesn’t work.

I almost hate my thralls for giving me that small glimpse of a life beyond this.

I’m still mostly naked except for my underwear, but that’s because Cain still hasn’t seen fit to provide me with any clothes beyond a few variations of that stupid dress and a single robe. The silk sheets slip over my skin, and I sigh as my head hits the pillow.

Cain didn’t scrimp on this. The bed is like a cloud.

When I wake up, I’ll remember it’s just another tactic to manipulate me. A narcissistic system of reward and punishment designed to keep me eager to please him. Right now, I don’t care.

Sleep has never felt so good.

CHAPTERTWO

FINLEY

The pack is breaking.

Gideon refuses to see it—probably because he has no idea how to fix it—but I’m no stranger to how tension undercuts life in a fractured pack. The stress seeps into everything, even more so now that Frost is free. The two alphas are butting heads constantly, and even Silas and Vane can’t keep me distracted from the arctic atmosphere in the safe house.

My eyes are fixed on my screen. Ten smudged glittery nails glint in the light as my fingers hover over the keys, waiting for my brain to tell them what to do. But I can’t seem to focus on work, and whenever I do, the lines of code just don't make sense. The bad manicure was a failed attempt to distract myself from everything, but it didn’t work.

The thrall bond to Evie pulses with pain, and I grimace even though it’s a daily occurrence now. At least it’s not physical pain. Instead, it’s mostly emotional—the kind omegas like me are naturally driven to fix. Even when I close my eyes, I can’t get away from her exhaustion and fear, but when I mention it to Gideon, he brushes it off.

My hands curl into fists.

He thinks I should ignore it.

Easy for him to say. He’s a master at sticking his head in the sand when it comes to relationships. With his thrall bond walled off, he can’t feel her like I can. None of them can. I was the only one she let in.

“We need to extract our people,” Frost growls for the hundredth time. “Not make plans to hide for the next century.”

“Cain found us once,” Gideon objects. “You escaped by sheer luck. Cain won’t let you slip from his grasp a third time.”

“No. I escaped because the guards were drugged,” Frost objects. “Who would’ve done that if not Eve or Draven, huh?”

“You don’t know that they were.”

“My fucking hybrid nose is somehow powerful enough to scent ghouls miles away, and yet you’re doubting my ability to scent drugs in a coffee cup from across the room?”

They’re down the hallway, but I can hear them from my desk. I let my head thump forward onto the keyboard, ignoring the sharp dig of plastic on my forehead as I try to force myself to focus on just breathing.

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