Chapter 18 · Blood for Blood

I wake up strapped to a chair.

No—not a chair. Something metal and cold, angled back like a dentist's setup from hell. My wrists are cuffed to the armrests. My ankles too. The room smells like rust and old bleach, and there's a drain in the floor directly under me.

That's not good.

My head's pounding. My mouth tastes like I licked a battery. The drug Rourke shot into me is still crawling through my veins, making everything feel slow and too bright at the same time.

"She's awake."

I turn my head—bad idea, the room spins—and find Rourke standing by a metal cart. He's rolling up his sleeves like he's about to perform surgery. On the cart: syringes, vials, a couple of scalpels that catch the overhead light.

"Where's Silas?"

My voice comes out rough. Rourke doesn't look at me.

"Alive. For now."

"I want to see him."

"You're not in a position to make demands, Dr. Moore."

I yank against the cuffs. They don't budge. The bond in my chest is still there—faint, but steady. Silas is close. I can feel his anger like a low hum under my ribs.

Lady Ashford steps into view.