The smell of rotten milk and overflowing garbage tightened the back of my throat. I doubted anyone had taken out the trash since I’d left. Empty beer bottles and takeout containers lined the kitchen countertops, and something sticky clung to the sole of my boot.
The place was utterly filthy.
Drawing a dagger from one of my less-accessible sheaths, I started toward the basement door — pausing with my hand on the knob. I knew I should go straight upstairs and slit Silas’s throat while he slept. That’s whathewould have done — taken out the enemy.
But then my thoughts went to Vince, Kyle, Bruno, andAlessio — and what would happen if any of them returned to the house before I could reach Imogen.
I couldn’t take that risk.
The door to the basement creaked something awful, either because Silas was too lazy to have it fixed or because the sound would alert him to anyone coming or going.
Removing the iron bar he kept across the doorway, I lifted the knob to take the weight off the hinges and tugged it open as fast as I could.
The sound was minuscule, but still I froze and waited. No one stirred in the rooms above.
Letting go of the breath I’d been holding, I padded down the stairs — not daring to turn on any lights. The dark basement was a strain for even my vision, but with just a little tug on my recently discovered magic, I could see well enough to discern where I was going.
The familiar stench of sweat, old blood, and waste clogged my airways, and it took effort not to gag. My chest tightened with every step I took, and the old scars along my back prickled. It was as if Silas had carved the memory of pain into my body so that it would remember this place.
The very last stair creaked under my foot, and my whole body tensed. I’d forgotten about the step that squeaked.
Hungry moans answered the sound, and my heart rate ticked up a notch. The basement was where Silas held the vampires he was draining, and vampire hearing was just as acute as a hunter’s.
Silas always kept the vamps until they desiccated, which was as close to true death as any vampire could come without being staked or beheaded.
Three of them lined the wall opposite the stairs — a row of living corpses. The skin clung to their bones, pale and sagging. Hair lay in limp patches over their skulls. I could see the vampires’ ribs protruding from their blood-stained shirts, and chains slid across the concrete floor as they shifted.
These vampires still had stakes lodged millimeters from their hearts, which sat like stones in their chests. Every movement caused them unbearable pain, and putting up even the slightest struggle risked the stake shifting enough to pierce their heart.
Seeing them slumped against the wall, starved and weak, I almost pitied them. But then I thought of my mother and the dozens of unconscious mortals that littered the sidewalks every morning. I thought of the corpses that remained long after the sun had risen, crows and magpies picking at their flesh.
These vampires might not deserve to slowly starve in their own filth, but they didn’t deserve to exist either.
Fear thrummed in my veins as they shifted against the wall, rattling their chains as they scented my blood. But then I heard a sound that sent a surge of relief and elation coursing through me — the slow, steady thump of a heartbeat.
Imogen.
My heart leapt as I turned to the corner — toward the rasp of uneven breaths.
She was lying on a filthy mattress, curled onto her side. I knew from personal experience how foul those mattresses were, but it was the only thing insulating her weakened body from the penetrating cold of the floor.
“Imogen,” I whispered, crossing the distance between us and falling to my knees in front of her.
Imogen’s whole body jerked at the sudden intrusion, but I clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle her shriek of surprise.
Wide, terrified eyes gleamed in the dark, and I felt her hot breath on my hand.
She was alive.
“It’s all right. It’sme.”
I realized then that she couldn’t see my face, but I felt her relax at the sound of my voice.
Slowly, I withdrew my hand and gave her a small nod of assurance. Her breath hitched, and when she moved her face, I saw the angry purplish bruise around her eye.
A wild fury erupted inside me. I would make Silas pay for what he had done to her — for what he’d done tobothof us.
Shaking off my haze of rage, I looked down at the bulky manacles encircling her wrists. They were hand-forged from the same heavy iron Silas used for the vampires, with a clunky bar across each wrist. At least they weren’t enchanted.
