Page 77 of Craved

The five cells were in a row. Four of the doors were ajar, the cells empty except for a toilet and sink partially concealed behind a concrete-block wall.

The guard unlocked the closed door. A feral hiss emanated from the darkness.

I steeled myself to look, but it wasn’t Zaquiel. It wasn’t even a man, but a beautiful woman with soulless eyes, a vampire who’d lost herself to the blood craving and had been confined for her own good. It wasn’t easy to see, but it wasn’t uncommon. Philippe must have held a special affection for the woman. Otherwise, he would’ve just staked her.

I continued to the middle cell, and froze. A pair of silver cuffs dangled from the concrete block wall. In my mind’s eye, I superimposed the photo of Zaquiel against the wall.

It fit. Perfectly.

Right down to the bloodstain on the concrete blocks about where his throat would’ve been.

No.

The hallway swooped around me. I took a step inside the cell and stared at the silver cuffs. My heart gave a single hard, disbelieving beat.

Rafe was right. Philippe was behind his brother’s abduction. He’d kept Zaquiel Kral in this cell, and either fed from him or allowed his people to.

I pressed a hand to my stomach. A syndicate prince, and they’d treated Zaquiel like a blood slave. They hadn’t just kidnapped him, they’d set out to humiliate him.

I shook my head slowly from side to side. Arguing with myself.

This wasn’t proof Victorine was behind Zaquiel’s kidnapping. Maybe Philippe had seized him for his primus.

But the Paris Syndicate wasn’t at war with the Krals. In fact, the Paris Primus had pushed for the truce.

I backed out of the cell, gaze still locked on the silver cuffs.

The guard came out of the cell next door. I jolted and forced myself to move before I got trapped on this level.

Three minutes had passed by the time I returned to the dressing room. Three minutes that felt like a lifetime.

I dragged off my jeans and T-shirt and chose the first dress I set my hand on. Dropped it over my head, zipped it up.

Deep down, I hadn’t believed Rafe. Not really. Even knowing what my mother was capable of, I hadn’t believed she’d sink this low.

I’d figured I’d do this one thing for Rafe and it would wipe out that night two years ago. Or if not wipe it out, at least balance the scales.

But it hadn’t balanced the scales. What I’d discovered had made things even worse, and I didn’t know what I was going to do about it. Because when push came to shove, my loyalty was to my mother—wasn’t it?

Zaquiel’s image swam before my eyes. That feverish, strained look on the face that looked so much like Rafe’s. His bruised, wounded throat.

She wouldn’t. She signed a treaty.

But she would, if she could get away with it.

I dragged a hand down my face.Don’t think about it. Just get through the rest of the evening.

Then I’d figure out what to do about my mother.

I pulled on my boots, shoved my phone into the top of the right one, and left the dressing room.

Rafe’s eyes blazed with questions, but he fell in behind me, maintaining his bodyguard persona.

“Well?” he asked in an undertone.

“Not here,” I said out of the side of my mouth.

“Answer me. Is he here or not?”

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