Jade
The darkness in the cell was absolute. It was a thick, smothering blanket that muffled sound and stole the air. She could feel him in the space with her, a looming mountain of heat and restrained violence. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat in the oppressive silence.
A scrape of flint on steel. A spark flared, catching on a wick. A crude oil lamp sputtered to life, casting long, dancing shadows across the stone walls.
Issac stood by the lamp, his face half-hidden in shadow. He wasn't looking at her with hunger, or lust, or even anger. He was looking at her like she was a puzzle. Or a tool.
"Stop shaking," he said, his voice a low rumble. "It's irritating."
"I'm not shaking," she lied, forcing her chin up. Her voice was a hoarse whisper.
He didn't call her on the lie. Instead, he took a step toward her. She flinched, pressing herself back against the cold, damp stone.
"Don't move," he commanded.
He came closer, his size seeming to shrink the small cell even further. She braced for a blow, for the bite she'd been expecting all day. But his hands stayed at his sides. His stormy eyes weren't on her face, but on her throat.
"Let me see it."
"See what?" she asked, her hand instinctively going to her neck.
"The collar. Don't play stupid. It doesn't suit you."
Slowly, she lowered her hand. He knelt in front of her, his proximity overwhelming. His scent was earthy, like pine needles after a storm, mixed with something wild and dangerous. He gently tilted her chin up with one calloused finger, his touch surprisingly careful.
He examined the silver band, his eyes tracing the intricate engravings.
"A silver serpent devouring its own tail," he murmured, more to himself than to her. "The Vance family crest."
Her blood ran cold. "How do you know that?"
He finally met her eyes. The lamp flame danced in their grey depths. "I know who you are, Jade Vance. I know you were thrown in here for killing one of your own elders. And I know what your bloodline is famous for."
She said nothing, her throat suddenly tight with something other than fear. It was confusion. This brute, this animal, was more than he seemed.
He stood up, turning his back on her. He walked to the center of the cell and held up his arms.
She saw them then. Heavy silver manacles were clasped around his wrists, connected by a short, thick chain. The metal was dull, almost black, and etched with faint runes that seemed to drink the light.
"This prison holds my body," he said, his voice laced with a venomous hatred. "But these... these are my real cage."
"What are they?" she asked, her voice barely audible.
"Cursed silver. Forged with vampire blood magic. They don't just bind me. They poison me. They suppress my wolf."
He let his arms fall. The clink of the chain was a dead, final sound.
"I can smell the hunger on you," he said, changing the subject abruptly. "It's a stench. Desperation. They're starving you out."
"They feed us," she said defensively.
"Slop. Not what you need. Not what keeps you strong."
He looked at her again, his expression unreadable. "I can get you blood."
Jade stared at him. "What?"
"You heard me. Animal blood. The guards trade it for favors. It's not vintage stock from your family's cellar, but it's better than the slow death they have planned for you."
Her mind raced. He was offering her the one thing she needed to survive.
"Why?" she asked, her voice full of suspicion.
"Because you're no use to me as a corpse."
"And what use am I to you alive?"
"You're going to break these," he said, holding up his chains again. "Your family's magic is the key. The magic of unlocking. You're going to figure out the curse on these chains, and you are going to set me free."
It was a command. A statement of fact.
"You're insane," she breathed. "I can't. This collar... it weakens me. I can barely access my own strength, let alone ancient magic."
"You'll figure it out," he said with chilling confidence. "You're a Vance. You're a survivor. And you're motivated."
"What motivation?" she scoffed.
"Me," he said simply. "I am your motivation. I will protect you. You saw what happened in the yard. As long as you are mine, no one will touch you. No one will hurt you. You can walk through this prison like you own it. But you will be my servant. You will work on these chains. That is the deal."
"A deal with a filthy dog," she muttered under her breath.
His head snapped toward her. "What did you say?"
"I said it's an interesting offer," she lied quickly, her heart skipping a beat.
"It's the only offer you have," he said, his voice flat. "It's my protection for your magic. A simple transaction. Or, you can go back to the yard. Roric will be healed in a day or two. I'm sure he and his friends would love to finish what they started."
He let the threat hang in the air. The image of their leering faces, the feel of their hands on her, sent a shudder of revulsion through her. He was right. She had no choice.
To be one monster's property, or to be every monster's toy.
"I am no one's servant," she said, clinging to the last shred of her pride.
"You are what you need to be to survive," he countered. "Just like me."
She looked at his chains, then at her collar. They were both prisoners, shackled by silver and circumstance. Maybe he understood more than she gave him credit for.
"How do I know I can trust you?" she asked. "How do I know you'll give me the blood?"
"Because a weak tool is a useless tool," he said. He walked over to a loose stone in the wall and pulled it free. From the dark cavity, he withdrew a small, sealed pouch. It was dark red, almost black.
He tossed it to her. It landed in her lap with a soft squelch.
"A show of good faith," he said. "Drink it."
She stared at the pouch. Her fangs ached. Her entire body screamed with a thirst so profound it was a physical pain. The smell, even through the thick hide, was intoxicating. Pig's blood, if she had to guess. Crude. Unrefined. And the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.
She hated her own weakness. Hated that he was watching her, seeing her reduced to this primal need.
"What are you waiting for?" he prompted.
With trembling fingers, she tore the pouch open. The scent hit her like a physical blow, rich and coppery. She lifted it to her lips and drank, her eyes closing in pure, unadulterated relief. The warm, metallic liquid slid down her throat, a wave of life and strength washing through her. It was a pale imitation of what she was used to, but it was enough. It pushed back the weakness, sharpened her senses, quieted the screaming ache in her belly.
When she was done, she let the empty pouch fall from her fingers. She felt... better. Not strong, but functional. Alive.
She looked up at him. He was watching her with an unnerving intensity.
"So," he said, his voice a soft growl that was somehow more intimidating than his roar. "Do we have a deal, little bat?"
She hated him. She hated this place. She hated her family for betraying her and the wolves for imprisoning her. But most of all, she hated that he was her only hope.
"Yes," she said, the word tasting like ash in her mouth. "We have a deal."
"Good," he grunted, turning away. He settled onto a thin mattress on a stone slab that served as his bed. "The floor is yours. Get some rest. Your work begins at sunrise."
