Over his labored breaths, she heard the guards coming.
“We need to check this section. He can’t have gone far.”
She stepped back, and the shape slid away with a thud. Anna moved to the corner of the cell, away from the voices and whoever she had fought. Where was the second man?
“What happened to the lights?” the fat guard asked.
“I don’t know. They were on earlier when I brought his food.”
“Turn them on.”
“I’m getting them now.”
The lights came on, the dim glow almost a shock after the pitch-black darkness. She was in a cell, and a man lay on the floor. Dark hair covered his face, and he wore a white shirt and a kilt. Or the shirt had been white at one time. Now it was smeared with blood. Like his hands. He couldn’t be the one who’d stood behind her. He’d moved too fast, like a vampire. This looked like the man she’d seen in the torture room. At least he was dressed now.
The guards caught sight of the man and cursed. “How did he get here? I left him in the torture room,” the fat guard said, confirming Anna’s suspicion.
“I didn’t bring him here.” The skinny guard was defensive.
“I didn’t either…holy hell. It must have been the hybrid.”
“Why would he do that? And how did he get the door open? I’ve got the key.”
“What is he? A ghost—dammit. What’s she doing here?” The fat guard had caught sight of Anna. “What the hell’s going on?”
“I did put her here,” the skinny guard said. “I had to lock her up quick, and I only had this cell key. The hybrid must have brought him later.”
The fat guard cursed. “We don’t have time to move them both. We have to find that damned hybrid. Put one of them in the next cell.”
“She’s conscious,” the skinny guard said. “I’ll move her.”
“I’m surprised she’s alive, as hard as you hit her. And just as she was starting to talk. I think you are hiding something, Lance.”
“She was getting ready to attack. I saw her muscles tense.” Lance, the skinny guard, opened the cell and pointed his gun at her. “Get out here.”
Anna walked to the cell door. Lance’s eyes were filled with hatred. He was hiding something from the other guard, and she’d outed him. As soon as he found the right moment, she knew she’d be dead. “What are you?” she asked. “Vampire? Demon?”
Fear and hatred flashed in his eyes, and he opened the door to the adjoining cell. “Get inside.”
As Anna entered, she glanced back at the man lying on the floor in the other cell.
Lance slammed the door. “What are we going to do with her, Bart?”
“We’ll have to deal with her in the morning,” the fat guard said. “Let’s find the hybrid.”
“I don’t know why they don’t just destroy him since we have the new specimen.”
“The master wants to make sure this one works out first,” Bart said. “Let’s go deal with this mess.”
“You gonna leave him unchained?” Lance asked, nodding toward the other cell.
“He’s no threat in that condition,” Bart said. “And I drugged him earlier. I’ll chain him in the morning.”
She’d beaten up a tortured, drugged man. Hell, what a night. She waited until the footsteps faded and then walked to the bars between their cells. The dungeon was still relatively dark, even with the sconce, and she couldn’t see the man clearly. She could only assume he was alive. “Hey,” she whispered. “Can you hear me?”
His fingers twitched, and he tried to move but collapsed to the floor again. His hair still covered part of his face, and he wore a beard. From what she could see, his eye and cheek were swollen and streaked with blood. Like Angus’s.
“Who are you?” she asked. “What are you doing here?”
He rolled slightly, and his hair fell back from his face.
Anna’s breath caught. “Faelan.”
CHAPTER THREE
ANNA PRESSED CLOSER to the bars. It couldn’t be Faelan, could it? She’d just talked to Ronan. He said Faelan and Bree should be home soon. Unless they had been captured in the last few hours. Could he be Duncan? He and Faelan looked enough like to be brothers. No, this man had a beard. Faelan and Duncan had both been clean-shaven in Virginia. But that was a few days ago.
She studied him a minute longer, the length of his hair, the shape of his head. Definitely not Duncan. But she couldn’t be sure this wasn’t Faelan. Whoever he was, he needed help.
“Can you move closer?” Anna asked. All warriors had basic medical training. She didn’t know what she could do with these bars between them, but she had to try.
He must have heard her because he started sliding closer. It was slow, and she cringed as he groaned in pain.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
His eyes opened, and Anna saw a flare of recognition before they closed again. Was it him? Good God. The clan must not know, or this place would be surrounded by warriors. And Bree would fight the Dark One himself to free Faelan. Anna reached through the bars and touched his hand. A jolt ran up her arm. Blimey. What was that? She’d touched Faelan dozens of times sparring with him. He’d beaten her every time, but he’d never shocked her.
She checked his hand. No wedding ring, but he did have a broken finger. There wasn’t a talisman at his neck, but the guards could have taken his too. She needed to see his chest. A warrior’s battle marks were as good as fingerprints, and she knew most of the warriors’ marks from sparring with them, since males usually sparred shirtless.
She shook his arm gently, and he hissed. She yanked her arm back. Maybe he wasn’t human. But he looked so much like Faelan. Demons could shift into human forms, but she’d never known a demon that could shift into a known identity. Even if that were the case, a demon would never be able to maintain his human shell if he were this injured.
“Can you roll over? I need to see your chest.” Hopefully he’d think she was checking his injuries.
He grunted and tried to move. It took a minute, but he managed to roll onto his side. She pulled his shirt aside and looked at the tattoos on his chest. Battle marks. Her heart sank. If the Mighty Faelan was trapped in here, what did that say for the rest of the clan? But something was different about these marks. She looked closer. It was difficult to see in the dim lighting, but she was certain these weren’t Faelan’s marks. Then who was he?
“I need to check your injuries.” She’d probably inflicted a couple of them. She put her arm through the bars and checked his pulse. Strong. Alternating bars, she checked him over. There was a knot on his head and a couple of cuts on his neck that had already dried. She already knew his back was a mess. There were cuts on both calves and a small pool of blood at the edge of his kilt, making her wonder what else they might have done to him after she was captured.
She eased his kilt up until she found the source of the blood, a cut on the front of his thigh. Warriors healed quickly and were immune to most diseases, but they weren’t immortal. If they were injured badly enough, they could die. Like Angus. And she wasn’t positive this man was a warrior. She looked around the cell to see if there was anything she could use to clean his wounds. The floors and walls were lovely, but the cells were bare except for a toilet in one corner, a sink with a cup and paper towels, and a stone bench with a folded blanket.
“I’ll be right back,” she said, unsure whether he could even hear her. She filled the cup with water and grabbed the roll of paper towels. She worked on the cut on his thigh first, cleaning off the worst of the blood. He was shivering when she finished, from pain or from the cold. She didn’t clean his back since his shirt was stuck to his wounds. She would do that later, after they’d escaped. There had to be a way out of this place.