on us.
I stuck my head up out of the opening just enough to peer into the darkness. I could see the shadowy figures moving toward us, creeping closer, guns drawn. When I caught the gaze of one of them—Freddy the Ferret, that backstabbing, double-crossing little shit—he stumbled back a couple of feet.
“What the fuck?” he gasped.
I stood now, using the seat back to climb out of the opening and dragging Nicky with me. I had no idea where the unbelievable strength came from, didn’t even want to think about it at the moment. I just wanted to get us the hell out of there. Later I could mull over the implications of what was happening to me.
Nicky groaned, his eyes fluttering open as I hefted him up to lean out of the open door and over the side of the car. “You okay, doll?” he mumbled, his words slurred.
I glared out at the slowly advancing agents, a savage protectiveness coming over me. And a hunger like nothing I’d ever known. I licked my lips, anticipating the coppery taste of their blood on my tongue. “Never better.”
At that moment, the agents came to an abrupt halt, every single one of them looking at me with shocked, wide eyes. Except Ian Spalding. He was grinning.
“Well, well, well,” Ian drawled, strolling forward nonchalantly in spite of the semiautomatic pistol he had trained on my forehead. “That bastard did it.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I demanded, cradling Nicky in my arms as he slipped into unconsciousness again.
“I’ll explain it all later,” Ian smirked. “But, first, why don’t we get you out of here and see what we can do to help your boyfriend?”
As a handful of agents surged forward, I clutched Nicky tighter. “Don’t touch him!” I growled. Literally. Whoa. “Stay away! You’re the ones who did this to him, you sons of bitches!”
Ian edged forward, a little less confident now. “Let us help him, Trish,” he said, holstering his gun and raising his hands. “Come on—I know you Tales aren’t immortal. And he’s not looking good. Let us help.”
I glanced around, wondering what my chances were of getting through the agents to the road—a road that was rarely traveled. Nate Grimm hadn’t showed up, so Nicky wasn’t in any imminent danger, but Ian was right—Nicky was advancing swiftly toward Death’s door. “Fine,” I snapped. “But I swear to God, Ian, you do anything to him, I’ll rip your throat out. And I think you know I’m not bullshitting.”
Ian inclined his head. “Agreed.” He then motioned to his agents. A few of them came forward warily, holstering their weapons before carefully extricating Nicky from my protective grasp. As the men carried Nicky up the hill to their waiting vehicle, Ian came to me and held out his hand.
I glared at him, ignoring his offer of help. Unfortunately, whatever it was that had been sustaining me began to wane. I ground my teeth against the resurgence of pain, not about to let Ian see that I couldn’t make good on my threats.
“Stubborn as ever,” he drawled as my right leg gave out under me and I stumbled to my knees. I groaned as pain exploded in my hip. Ian grabbed my elbow to help me up, but I jerked away, somehow managing to push up to my feet on my own. Walking, however, was a totally different story. Each step brought a fresh onslaught of agony. Tears streamed down my cheeks, but I didn’t bother wiping them away. And when the ground sloped upward toward the road and I couldn’t walk any farther, I got down on my hands and knees and dragged myself through the mud and snow until I reached the road.
I have no idea how long it took me to finally hit pavement, but by the time I collapsed beside the road, all the cars—and Nicky—were gone. Only Ian’s vehicle and the totaled SUV that had rammed us remained. My stomach plummeted when I realized I was utterly and completely alone.
Shit.
“Where did they take Nicky?” I demanded, panting from the energy spent to get to the road.
“He’s safe,” Ian said with a shrug, shoving his hands into his pockets. He gave me a smug grin. “For now.”
Anger gave me a surge of adrenaline I desperately needed. And I lunged at him, my fingers curled into claws, ready to rip his still beating heart from his chest. But Ian’s kick to my ribs landed soundly before I could reach him and knocked me flat on my back.
As I lay there in the snow, gasping, Ian squatted down next to me, his grin having changed from smug to triumphant. “As long as you cooperate, your lover will be safe. But you fuck around with me, and I’ll have one of my agents put a bullet in Nicky’s brain.” He made a gun with his hand and put the tip of his index finger in the center of my forehead. “Right there. A single shot.” He put his finger to my temple. “Or maybe there.” His grin faded as he jabbed his finger against the center of my chest. “Or maybe one through the heart. That would be rather poetic, don’t you think?”
I merely glared at him, waiting to see what happened next.
“What? Nothing to say?” he taunted. When I remained silent, he grabbed my hair in his fist and jerked me into a sitting position. “Well, you’ll be talking enough soon. Trust me.”
Ian hauled me to my feet, ignoring my cries of protest and pain and doing little more than grunting when each of my punches with my good arm landed. Still grasping my hair, he opened the back door to his car and threw me into the backseat. I instantly flipped over and kicked, my boot nailing him squarely in the chest, but before I could scramble out the other side of the car, he was on top of me, pinning me down on my stomach. One of his hands pressed down on the back of my head, pushing my face into the leather seat. In the next instant I felt a sharp sting in the back of my neck.
Almost instantly my limbs went limp, and no matter how I struggled, my body wouldn’t respond. Ian was saying something—gloating triumphantly, no doubt—but the sound echoed strangely and the world began to spin, sending me spiraling into a black abyss.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I was cold. So cold. My fingertips stung with the beginnings of frostbite. I blinked, clearing away the blurry haze from whatever drug Ian had given me to knock me out, and after a moment, the room came into focus. I was lying on the concrete floor of some kind of interrogation room. Chains hung from the ceiling and there was a drain in the center of the room where the floor sloped. I shivered, but I wasn’t sure if it was because of the cold or from imagining what horrific acts might necessitate a drain in the floor.
I pushed up to my hands and knees and shook my head with a groan. My hip and shoulder had been popped back into joint, but they still ached from the trauma. I obviously hadn’t been there very long.
“Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty.”
I lifted my gaze to where Ian sat in a chair a few feet away, bundled in his coat and gloves, his legs crossed. “Wrong fairytale, you idiot.”
His lips twitched with mild amusement. “Sorry about that. You all pretty much look the same to me.”
“Where’s Nicky?” I demanded. “What the hell have you done to him?”
Ian lifted a shoulder and let it drop. “Nothing. Yet. He’s alive.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, my hatred and fury bringing much needed warmth to my extremities. “Prove it. I want to see him.”
“Of course,” Ian said, getting to his feet. “But first, you and I need to have a little chat.” He motioned to the chair he’d just vacated. “Would you care to have a seat?”
I shook my head, not trusting his sudden politeness and definitely not wanting to put my back to the two-way mirror hanging on the wall behind the chair or to the heavy steel door. I preferred to have as much as possible in my line of sight.