Page 2 of Captive Hybrid

Chapter Two

Zenna

The cloying scent of chloroform lingers around my face, a combination of lemon and nail polish. I cough the smell out of my mouth and nose as I ease back to consciousness. Before I open my eyes, my memories crawl back. An explosion. Bursts of pain. My own voice, lost in the chaos, calling for my mate.

My eyes snap open.

It was not my mate who had hauled me into his arms, but a vampire.

Something soft gathers under me. Softer than the hard earthen ground I’d landed on from the blast. A mattress, though it reeks of must and disuse. I blink once. Twice. My surroundings are painted with shadows. I sit up slowly, carefully, my head pounding. On the creaky cot bed, I frown. ‘Where the hell am I?’

I immediately check my pockets for my phone. No such luck. And the silver bangle on my wrist is gone.

A low, flickering light slides down the hall, illuminating metal bars that cage me in. My heart races as I stare around. There are three walls of steel, the one at my back is hard-packed earth. I try to piece everything together. The explosion, the vampire—

A woman appears, a candle set in a holder in her grasp. Though the candle flickers a warm orange, it does nothing to soften her hard, cold face; sharpened by angular planes, her eyes narrow. ‘Good, you’re awake. For a moment I worried Hendren had let you die.’ Her mouth curves in a small smile to let her fangs show.

‘You’re a vampire.’ I’ve seen them before, usually at Bonne Nuit, but I try to keep my distance. Vampires mostly hunt humans, or keep subjugates, but it’s not unheard of for them to hunt down and drain supernaturals. The best defence spell wouldn’t save me from a vampire pinning me down, their fangs ripping my soft skin open.

‘Astute,’ the vampire woman drawls. ‘Zenna.’ A soft purr in her throat, savouring my name.

I lean back. This woman has an air of cool calm that I’ve never encountered before. Hendren, the man who’d scooped me up—‘He’s not the Origin.’ I stand, trying to keep my feet under me as my head sways. ‘You are.’

Her red lips smile wider, a bloody slash in her cold face. ‘Yes, Hendren has my mark. He’s mine. I sent him to fetch you.’

I let that thought turn for a moment. Hers, as in, she owns him? Vampiric romances have always been strange to me. It’s not like a fated-mate owned, but like a master/slave thing. Weird. Not to mention the whole blood-drinking thing.

In the glimmer of candlelight, I note the details of my prison. One ugly bed with thin linen and one pillow against the earthen wall. In the corner, a toilet I would much rather not use, dark with grime, and a small basin in which to wash. That’s it. No candles or torches to light my space. No books or convenient weapons. Or a change of clothes. My prison at Wolf Grove is starting to look appealing. At least there was a bathroom.

I turn back to her, my mind whirring. ‘Why bring me here? Where am I?’ The bars protect me from this beast, though I imagine she holds the keys to the locked door. If she wanted to come in and drain me, she would. ‘Why not kill me already?’

The woman tilts her head back with a bone-chilling laugh. Her sleek black hair is tied up in an artful do on her head. Her eyes are dark as death. ‘You’re no good to me dead, pet.’

The journal. I remember the book Deidre passed down to me. ‘Drusilla. But you were killed—’

Drusilla’s amusement disappears in a blink, her features hard like marble. ‘Yes. But that did not stop me.’ Her lips curl. Something like hunger gleams from the woman.

‘Why would a vampire want me?’

The Origin sucks her teeth, as though deciding how much to share. Does she know about the journal I have? The story that my parents wrote down?

I plant my feet in the hardpacked earth, feeling brave. ‘Why would you want Mordecai? Why blow up his camp?’

Her eyes flash. ‘A few less werewolves in the world does not bother me.’ She smiles, keeping her secrets. She gives me a final onceover, then turns on her heel to leave.

‘Wait!’ I rush forward. ‘You—you can’t just leave me in here.’ My fingers wrap around the cold metal of the bars. I have no spells to break something this strong. No visions to help me. My grip hardens in desperation. Anger.

Drusilla’s full lips give a mock-pout. ‘Oh, dear. I can, actually.’ She reaches out, trailing a long, blood-red nail down my cheek. I’m too shocked to move or flinch. ‘I do wonder what you taste like.’ She bites her bottom lip, tempted. ‘Half-fae, half witch. Hmm.’ Her grip on my jaw is hard. ‘Just a taste, maybe.’ With a quick flick, she slashes down my cheek and licks her finger as I gasp.

Drusilla’s eyes widen slightly, then she walks silently away, leaving me alone in an underground cell, head pounding, and with no food. I wrap my arms tight around my body and close my eyes, praying to the Goddess to get me out of this. I sink back onto the poor excuse of a bed, springs squealing, as realisation finally dawns.

I bite my lip. This time I’ve been captured not by a familiar face to be taken to my old home. This is much worse. Without the light of the candle, there’s no illumination. I can barely see my hand in front of my face. Vampires have taken me captive. The Origin vampire, Drusilla, has me Goddess-knows-where.

I get up and turn the tap on, hoping for a drink, determined to not think too much on how clean the water may or may not be. Instead, a whining shriek grates against my ears. I hold my hand under the tap for ten hopeful seconds, enduring the awful sound, then give up, turning it off. No water.

A helpless whimper escapes my lips as I flop back onto the bed, its own lumpiness a form of torture. Why am I always being abducted?

I close my eyes, focusing inward. The bond is still there, between me and Mordecai. Once we kissed it was activated. Fire poured on gasoline. It tugs on my gut, trying to yank me closer to him, but beyond that, I don’t know what it’s saying. What it means.

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