attacked, that vampire bitch knocking him to the ground and sitting on him as she bit him and sucked blood from his neck. At first, he’d been too stunned to think, let alone react. Who would’ve guessed vampires were real? But then he’d seen Quinn with that vamp’s arms around her and her struggling, and all he’d wanted to do was tear that guy off her, grab her, and run. But he hadn’t been able to move. The vamp bitch might have been female, but she’d held him down like she was fucking Xena, and then she’d hypnotized him or something, and the next thing he knew, he was waking up in a basement with a dozen other guys, and he’d been working ever since.
A slave. To vampires. What the fuck ?
He’d spent the first day plotting and planning escape, imagining stealing one of the long knives all the vamps wore at their waists and chopping their heads off. Then one of the slaves actually tried it. He might as well have been moving in slow motion—to the vamps, all humans apparently did—because one moment the guy was reaching for the vampire’s blade, and the next, that blade was sticking out the back of the guy’s throat.
Zack’s vision swam as he remembered the horror of watching one of his companion’s die. The vamp who’d attacked him had pulled his sword out of the man’s throat and drank his fill, the blood pouring down his chin and over his clothes, but he hadn’t seemed to care. Other vamps had joined him, and they’d gorged while still another told the rest of the slaves, “You may dream of escape. If you attempt to act on it, you will die. I promise you.”
His hope of getting away had been destroyed in that moment. His hope of ever seeing his sister or Lily again. Of ever seeing the sun again. His life was over.
Struggling with the full load, he tipped the wheelbarrow and dumped the bricks, then turned back for another. He paused, lifting a hand to push his damp hair off his face, his gaze catching sight of someone standing in a window of the second floor of the mansion, a stack of towels or something in her arms. A woman. He couldn’t see her face, only her silhouette, the light shining behind her. But she had the same slender form, the same long, sleek hair as Lily. His heart stuttered. Could it be? He’d never been inside, except for the basement dungeon, where the slaves slept. In the three days he’d been here, he’d never seen any women except for the two girls who brought them their meals. Could Lily be here, too?
He heard the whistle of the lash a second before he felt the fire down his back.
“Move!”
Sorry, fucking vampire. Zack tore his gaze from the woman, grabbed the wheelbarrow, and moved.
Even if it was Lily, what difference did it make? He couldn’t rescue her. He couldn’t escape. He couldn’t even take a piss unless a vampire said so.
So, no, it didn’t matter. Lily was lost to him, either way.
Q uinn glanced at the bedroom door, then strode lightly to the window, her pulse lifting on a rush of adrenaline. If she could get it open, she might just stand a chance of escape.
Solid beige curtains hung, ceiling to floor, blocking the windows entirely. There was little need to let in the light in a place where the sun never shone. She slipped in between the curtains, letting the fabric hang down her back as she reached for the latch on the double-hung. She turned it, then tried to push up the lower sash. Nothing. Not so much as a creak. It was stuck tight.
Rubbing her palms on her jeans, she tried again, bracing her legs for maximum leverage, and pushed with all her might. Unlike at home, she didn’t dare pound on the frames. The last thing she wanted was for the vampire to realize what she was up to. Her muscles strained, her palms ached, her teeth clenched, but still she pushed.
Come on.
Finally, she felt it give, just a little, and she backed off with a relieved exhale. Brushing her damp, aching palms on her jeans, she took a deep breath and tried again.
Gillian Doyle, Susan Leslie Liepitz