Screw plan B.

It was time she came up with her own plan.

Seven

R

ising up on her knees, she took her makeshift Vampyre stake and used the edge of one end to leverage prying off one of the springs. The task was frustrating and tedious. None of the pieces of what she had were meant to be used the way she wanted to use them, and her light source was getting dimmer by the minute.

She was concentrating so hard that Julian’s voice, coming as it did out of the dark, made her jump. “What on earth are you doing now?”

If she told him, she could see all too well how that argument would go, and she didn’t have the inclination or the time to waste on it.

“Never mind what I’m doing,” she told him. “You focus on being held captive.”

One spring popped loose and skittered across the floor. She retrieved it and started prying off another.

“Melly,” said Julian. “You’re cooking up something. What is it?”

“None of your business.” A second spring popped loose. Feeling a real sense of hope for the first time since she’d been kidnapped, she jumped up and retrieved that one as well.

Now she needed to bend the ends at the correct angle. Sticking her tongue between her teeth, she used her stake to pin one end of a spring against the floor.

In the early 1990s, there had been a TV show, starring Richard Dean Anderson, about a genius that could make tools and bombs and shit out of ordinary, everyday items. What was the name of that show again?

Oh yeah. MacGyver.

Melly had loved that show. She whispered to herself, “I am a fucking genius.”

The light grew even weaker. Her flashlight was going to give out at any moment. She worked at the spring until she had gotten one end bent out, then quickly started on the other.

“I don’t feel good about this,” Julian growled.

It annoyed her to no end that he sounded so damn sexy when he did that grumpy, growly thing. She used to love when he sounded grumpy-sexy.

The memory made her spine stiffen. She said, “Remind me, when did I start giving a shit about your feelings again?”

“That would imply that you gave a shit to begin with,” he snapped.

Oh now, that one was too much to ignore. Her head came up, and she opened her mouth to blast him.

In the distance, a piercing, high-pitched whistle sounded, followed almost immediately by the sound of the ferals running away down the tunnel.

Real silence descended afterward, which was a major relief from all the nerve-wracking noises the ferals had been making in the background. The silence didn’t last long. In the distance, a single set of footsteps sounded.

Quickly, Melly straightened everything up and draped the blanket over one end of the cot to hide what she’d done to the frame. When she was done, she tucked her stake into the waistband at the back of her trousers.

Julian told her in a quiet, clipped voice, “Whatever you’re thinking of doing, just drop it and stick to our plan. Everything will be okay.”

“Our plan? I don’t recall agreeing to any plan.” Glancing over her shoulder in his direction, she arched one eyebrow. “Don’t you mean your plan? Which, by the way, sucks.”

Metallic sounds came from down the tunnel. Someone was unlocking the gate. Please gods, don’t let it be Justine again.

Aloud, Julian snarled wordlessly, while telepathically, he exploded. Goddammit, Melly!

Feeling almost cheerful at her success in needling him, she told him, I’m not listening to you.

When I get my hands free again, I’m going to throttle you.

Once again, I have to point out – is that the smartest thing to say to the chick with the lock picks? Hush now, I’m ignoring you.

Light appeared in the tunnel and grew stronger. Despite her banter with Julian, her nerves were jumping and her stomach had tied itself up in knots. If the newcomer ended up being Justine, she thought she might throw up.

Julian must have been feeling the same kind of tension, because he finally fell silent.

She could have cried from relief when Anthony appeared. The Vampyre carried a full plastic grocery bag and a heavy-duty flashlight that was much more powerful than her cheap little one.

He glanced in Julian’s direction. In the stronger light, Melly looked into the other cell as well. Julian had not only fallen silent. He hung limply in his chains, his head lowered, just as he had been before.

“I see he’s still out of it,” Anthony remarked. “He doesn’t look very kingly now, does he?”

Fury tangled up her tongue, which was probably a good thing, as she was quite sure she wouldn’t have said anything wise if she could have spoken.

After a moment, she managed to say, “Justine let the ferals feed on him too long.”

Anthony directed his flashlight onto Julian. “I don’t know, it looks to me like he’s healing really well. She might let them feed longer next time.”

Before the Vampyre could pause to think about the implications of what he had just said and wonder why Julian hadn’t yet regained consciousness, she asked quickly, “Did you bring me a chicken sandwich?”

Long seconds trickled past, and she held her breath. Then Anthony’s attention turned to her. Unexpectedly, he trained his light full on her, catching her in the eyes. “Yes, I did,” he said from behind the light. “A really nice one. And some more chocolate too.”

Blinded, she threw up one hand to shield her gaze, while part of her took note that he sounded a little odd. Like maybe he was being thoughtful, or deliberating something.

Or something?

“Thank you,” she told him. “Look, do you mind pointing your flashlight away? I can’t see when you’re pointing it at me.”

There was a pause that went on too long. “Sure,” he said. He directed the light away.

Toward her little nest, and the cot.

Well, damn it. That wasn’t much of an improvement.

“How’s the mattress on that?” Anthony asked. “Any good?”

He was definitely acting oddly. Her people-reading meter swung to point at an orange caution sign, while she made herself give a casual shrug. “Tell you the truth, I’ve been too stressed to really lie down on it. I’ve taken some catnaps, sitting up and leaning against the wall.”

Anthony told her, “Why don’t you try it out right now?”