“Remember what the guard said about breeding? Tristol mentioned testing. Maybe you passed the tests.”
“You think Tristol is planning to breed me to his demons? Like hell he will. I’ll rip his bloody bonny head off, demon or no.”
“I doubt that.”
He glared at her. “You think I can’t do it?” How could he protect a woman who had no confidence in him? Hell, how could he protect a woman when he didn’t know his own name?
She shrugged one shoulder, a lovely shoulder. “It wasn’t an insult. Tristol is a demon of old.”
“What does that mean?”
“The ancient demons are incredibly powerful. They have to be assigned.”
“Assigned?” The headache was coming back.
“They have to be matched to a warrior’s skills and strength.”
“Assigned or not, I won’t sit here and let him breed me like a stallion.” And what about her? Was she part of this breeding plan too? If this Tristol didn’t have some use for her, he would have killed her. I remember a roar, she’d said. The only roar he’d heard had come from the hybrid. A male.
He saw a door and opened it, thinking it might be a closet.
“Bollocks. What’s that?”
“Have you found a way out?” Anna grabbed a pillow from the bed and joined him. “It’s only a bathroom.”
“Bathroom?” There was a tub, but it was large enough for a small family. It had basins and a pot like the one in his cell, and another contraption enclosed in glass. It was strange looking, but he had a feeling he’d seen one before. He tried to focus on the strange room and not all the bare skin sticking out from behind the pillow next to him. He stopped and turned to the tower door. “Someone’s coming.”
“I don’t hear anything.”
A moment later, a voice ordered, “Open it!”
The prisoner grabbed a heavy vase from a table and stepped in front of Anna.
“The master will be angry,” another voice said.
“I’ll do it myself.” The door flew open, and a man stepped in. He was dressed in black and had long blond hair, pretty as a woman’s, and pale blue eyes.
Anna softly gasped and stepped beside him. The bloody woman wasn’t easy to protect.
Another man rushed into the room, holding a box. Tristol’s manservant. He’d seen him a few times before. “Are you a fool?” he asked the blond, without his usual quiet dignity. “Someone might have seen you. You know he has this section secured.”
The stranger came closer, his movements smooth, as if he slid across an icy loch. “I’ll be damned.” His blue eyes moved intently over the prisoner, from the pillow covering his groin to his hair. “The resemblance is amazing. I would believe it myself, but I saw him recently, and he didn’t have this.” He reached out and tugged the prisoner’s beard.
The prisoner reacted so quickly it surprised even him. He grabbed the pale-haired man’s arm, gripping it hard.
The man hissed, revealing broken fangs.
The prisoner jumped back in alarm.
“Who are you?” the blond man asked.
The prisoner didn’t answer.
“Who wants to know?” Anna asked.
The blond frowned and then looked at Anna. “So this is why no one can find you. How did she get here?” he asked the servant.
“Apparently she sneaked inside the dungeon.”
The pale-haired man looked around the room. “This is as good a place as any to keep them while I unravel this mystery.” He moved toward the door. “Say nothing to Tristol. I don’t know who he has here, but it’s not the Mighty Faelan. I’ll try to find the real warrior and capture him before Tristol realizes he’s been duped. Otherwise, all our lives are going to be hell.”
He breezed out of the room, and the servant stared at the prisoner. His face seemed to ripple, and for a moment the prisoner thought he glimpsed a woman’s face.
He turned to them, his expression blank now. “I’ll be back with food.”
“I’d rather have answers and some bloody clothes,” the prisoner said.
“The master has new clothes for you as well.” He set a box down. “I believe you’ll find everything here.”
“Did you see his teeth?” he asked when the servant had gone.
“Fangs. He’s a vampire.”
“Vampires don’t exist.” Not anymore. He frowned. Was that another memory?
“I wish, but I’m afraid they do.”
“Are you certain?”
“I killed one on the way here. And unless I’m mistaken, this blond is the one Ronan’s been following.”
“Damnation.”
“You say that a lot.”
“What?”
“Damnation.”
“My apologies. I shouldn’t curse in front of a woman.”
“I don’t mind. I just know someone else who says that.”
“This Ronan who’s following the vampire?” She seemed overly familiar with too many men.
“No, not Ronan.”
“Who is he?”
“A warrior. We’re part of the same clan. He’s obsessed with the blond vampire. He got away from Ronan when we were fighting Druan.”
“Druan. I think I’ve heard that name before.”
“I’m not surprised. Every warrior knows his name. He’s powerful.”
“Like Tristol.”
“Yes. I have to let the clan know that Tristol is here and that he’s working with vampires. Obviously he wants Faelan for his breeding plan. Bree isn’t going to like that.”
“Is she another warrior?”
“And then some.”
He didn’t understand her meaning, but they had other priorities. “Then let’s get dressed. I don’t feel like fighting in nothing but my skin.”
Anna took her clothes into the bathroom while he shaved and dressed in the clean kilt and shirt the man had left. When she reappeared, his mouth dropped. Her dress was indecent, cut up to her thighs and down between her breasts.
“You can stop gaping,” Anna said.
The prisoner averted his gaze. “Surely you don’t plan to wear that.”
“It’s this or the sheet.”
He looked at the bed, as if considering it. “How can you even climb in that garment?”
“I’ve climbed in worse.”
“He’s coming back.”
The servant entered the room and set down a tray of food, better than what they’d been fed in the dungeon. Her stomach growled, but there was no time to eat. As soon as he turned to go, Anna grabbed a napkin and put it behind her back. Just before the door closed, she darted forward and stuck the folded napkin between the casing and the lock.
The prisoner looked impressed.
“The oldest trick in the world,” she said. She put her ear to the door. “It’s quiet.”
“Wait a moment until we’re certain he’s gone.”
“We can’t wait long. He’ll be back.” She didn’t want either of them here for whatever Tristol had planned. Flashes of a dark room and mournful cries stirred in her mind, but she couldn’t sharpen the image. She wasn’t sure she wanted to. “We need weapons. I wish I had my talisman.”
His hand rose to his neck. “I know that word.”
“Talismans are a warrior’s weapon against demons, though they don’t work on vampires. The only way to kill the creatures is to cut off their heads or pierce their hearts. We need a sword or something sharp.”
The prisoner braced his foot against the four-poster bed and yanked, breaking off a jagged piece of the antique post. He grinned and gave it a couple of practice swings, as a warrior might with a sword. “Like this?”