Page 19 of Blood Owed (Blood Mafia 1)
Slowly, I begin to work my wrists to loosen the rope. Heels clack on tile outside the room, and I stop what I’m doing, carefully listening as the click-click-click fades. Then I start again, pulling and tugging my arms apart. My skin aches from the chains, and I feel the beginnings of a rope burn but none of this is enough to make me stop.
The door swings open suddenly, and I let out an undignified squeal. Grayson strolls in with a cocky smirk. He’s wearing socks instead of shoes, which is odd and the reason why I hadn’t heard him approach. Also, he’s a vampire and probably on top of his stealth game.
“Hey there, tiger.”
I growl, and he laughs.
“What do you want?”
He sits down in the chair across from me, the only other object in this room, and says, “Isn’t it obvious?”
A blush crawls up my cheeks when he winks at me.
“Fresh blood is hard to pass up.”
Oh.
Not what I expected, and now my face flames for an entirely different reason.
“Not happening, fang boy.”
Grayson’s eyes dance with mirth, but his lips stay pressed into a carefully controlled line.
“That was a joke, tiger. If I wanted your blood, I’d have no problem taking it. Even if you weren’t constrained, I could toss you on the floor and drain you dry in thirty seconds.”
A shudder racks my body, and my blood turns cold. He’s a killer. Grayson is in the Blood Mafia, but first and foremost he’s a vampire, a ruthless hunter, and I’m nothing but a bunny to him.
“What do you want from me?”
He drums his fingers on his leg and looks me over. “In what way, Demetria?”
The way he says my name is so sensual: wrapped in filthy promises and dark desires. “Are vampires related to incubi?”
“What?”
I lift my eyes to the mirror, feeling the familiar touch of heavy, penetrating eyes. I don’t know who’s watching me, but I feel him. “Are vampires and incubi related?”
Grayson scoffs. “Of course not. Those little beings are the discarded children of the fae. They’re nothing but flies compared to vampires.”
My throat bobs when I swallow.
Those blue eyes lock with mine, and he squints. “Why do you ask?”
I shrug and look away, not ready to give him more ammo than he already has. “How long are you going to keep me tied to a chair?”
“How long are you going to fight?”
The huff of air I let out is telling, and Grayson responds with his own.
“Don’t get sassy with me, tiger. You have an easy choice to make. Stop fighting, learn why we’ve brought you here, and do your part, or keep fighting and stay tied up.”
I shake my head. “It can’t be that simple.”
“Why not?” He asks this in such an innocent way, I wonder if he’s truly curious.
My gaze flicks to the mirror. “There’s always a catch.” Something tells me whoever is watching me through the mirror is the catch.
Grayson follows my gaze and stares through the glass. His head dips slightly as though he’s agreeing to something the man behind the mirror has said. Given his supernatural hearing and sight, he probably is.
