Chapter 27: Captured II

Asher woke to cold and wet against his cheek.

The floor beneath him was stone, slick with something that smelled like damp earth and old blood. His head throbbed in time with his pulse. For a disoriented second he thought he was back in the lower districts after a bad night, but the air was wrong — heavier, colder, and laced with the musk of wolves and iron.

He pushed himself up on one elbow. The cell was small and windowless. Thick iron bars formed the front wall. A single mage-light flickered high in one corner, casting just enough illumination to show the water seeping from cracks in the stone. His wrists and ankles were free, the ropes or bindings that had held him during the journey already removed. That fact alone told him the wolves were not concerned about him overpowering anyone.

Then he saw Adrian.

The Vampire Lord lay a few feet away, half-curled on his side. His clothes were in tatters, soaked through with dark blood that still looked wet. Deep gashes crossed his torso, some still sluggishly open. One arm was bent at an unnatural angle. His face was ashen, lips parted, breathing so shallow Asher almost missed it.

"Adrian—"

Asher scrambled across the wet floor on hands and knees. He reached the vampire’s side and carefully turned him onto his back. Adrian’s head lolled. For a terrifying moment Asher thought he was already gone. Then the black-and-red eyes cracked open a fraction.

Adrian’s mouth twitched into something that tried to be a smile and failed halfway.

"Still... prettier than the wolves," he rasped. Blood flecked his lips.

Asher’s chest clenched hard. Guilt crashed over him in a cold wave. This was his fault. If he had stayed at the manor, if he had not gone looking for Adrian in the middle of the night, if he had simply endured the weight of the coffins and the ring and Marcel’s intensity for one more day — none of this would have happened. Adrian would not be dying on a filthy cell floor because a human had asked for a ride.

"Don’t talk," Asher said, voice shaking. He pressed his hands uselessly over the worst of the wounds, feeling the slow, weak pulse of vampire blood under his palms. "You’re going to be fine. You have to be fine."

Adrian’s eyes fluttered, but Asher could see the vampire lord didn’t have much strength in him.

Asher’s mind raced. He had healed Marcel with his blood once, even pulled a Crown Prince back from the edge of death with it. There was no reason it should not work for Adrian. He did not have time to second-guess the idea.

"Drink from me."

Adrian’s gaze sharpened a fraction despite the pain. He tried to shake his head and only managed a weak tilt. "No... not a good—"

"I don’t care." Asher’s voice cracked. He shifted closer, sliding one arm under Adrian’s shoulders to lift his head. The Vampire Lord’s body was terrifyingly light, as if half the blood that should have been inside him was already gone. "I’m not watching you die because of me. Drink."

Adrian’s lips parted in protest again. Asher did not wait. He brought his own wrist to the vampire’s mouth, pressed the soft skin against the sharp edge of a fang, and pushed until he felt the skin give.

The first pull of blood was immediate.

Adrian’s body jerked. A low, involuntary sound escaped his throat as Asher’s blood hit his system. The effect was almost violent in its speed. Color began to return to Adrian’s face within seconds. The sluggish bleeding from the deepest gashes slowed. Asher felt the draw, steady, hungry, and stronger than he had expected. He remained strong and gritted his teeth against the dizziness that threatened to rise.

Adrian’s hand came up weakly and gripped Asher’s forearm. For a moment the Vampire Lord seemed lost in the taste. Asher’s blood was different, richer, alive in a way animal and human blood had never been. It flooded Adrian’s depleted body with heat and strength, knitting torn flesh at a rate that should have been impossible given how far gone he had been. Instinct roared up from somewhere ancient and buried, demanding more, demanding he take until there was nothing left.

Adrian tore his mouth away with a harsh gasp.

He collapsed back against the stone, chest heaving. A cough wracked him, bringing up a mouthful of dark blood that was already cleaner than what had been coming out of him minutes earlier. The worst of the wounds had closed to angry red lines. He was still injured, still weak, but the immediate threat of death had receded.

Asher sat back on his heels, wrist throbbing, a thin trail of blood running down his arm. He watched Adrian carefully.

The Vampire Lord stared at the ceiling of the cell, eyes wide and unfocused, as though something inside him had shifted and he had not yet decided whether to welcome it or fight it. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough but stronger.

"What... are you?"

Asher let out a shaky breath that was almost a laugh. "Just a fortune teller who makes bad decisions."

Adrian turned his head slowly and looked at him. The red-and-black of his eyes had faded back toward their usual dark, but something new lingered in the depths — something that had not been there before he tasted Asher’s blood. He did not name it. He only flexed the fingers of his newly healed hand and stared at them as if they belonged to someone else.

"I wasn’t going to die," he said after a moment, though the words lacked conviction. "Probably."

"You were." Asher’s voice was quiet. "And it would have been my fault."

Adrian’s mouth curved into a faint, tired version of his usual smile. "Marcel is still going to kill me. Possibly more than once."

Asher did not answer. He pressed the heel of his hand against the punctures in his wrist until the bleeding slowed, then looked around the cell again.

"Can you break us out?" Asher asked, and Adrian shook his head in protest.

"I can, but doing so would be a bad idea. We’re in wolf territory, and we’re their prisoners, picking a fight here would mean death. The best option would be to wait for them to come and get us."

They didn’t have to wait for long. Five minutes later, the bolt of their cell was undone, and before them stood a man whose presence immediately made Adrian hiss in rage. Before them was none other than Alpha Conrad, the kin slayer.