Flanagan watches my face, the same way he did in the van, weighing the truth of every sentence. “Even the prince, strong as he is, can’t compel an action unless he’s looking straight into a human’s eyes. That’s not enough of an explanation.”

“But—”

“What I get, Michael, is that you’ve been screaming your master’s name for the past three days. What I get is that we had to tie you to the bed to stop you from throwing yourself at the bars to reach him.”

My mouth forms around a silent what? No wonder my throat’s wrecked. I glance to the bars behind him. At the far side, they’re bent outward and warped as if a car rammed them.

Flanagan follows my gaze and nods. “Yes. That was you.”

I search my body for bruises. I should be black and blue, but my skin’s clear. “Are the bars hollow?”

“They’re solid iron, coated in silver. You’ve had many wounds these last three days. They all healed.”

“I don’t remember any of that.”

“I assure you it was you who bent those bars.”

I stare at the twisted metal with my mouth open. That can’t be true. What the hell’s going on?

Flanagan observes me but leaves me to my thoughts. After a few moments, he reaches out and tilts my face up with a finger beneath my chin. I tug away, scowling.

“Settle.”

“Fuck you.”

Fast as a viper, he grips the back of my neck. I try to bat his arm away—almost hitting myself in the face with the chain—but he tightens his hold and pins the chain to my lap, his Hulk-like strength preventing me from moving.

“I do not intend to hurt you.”

“Then get your fucking hands off me.”

My neck warms from the press of his fingers, and in a gush of fiery pleasure, the Flame rushes up through my body to meet his hand. A deep groan leaves my throat as I slump forward. He catches me and holds me against him, pressing my forehead between the dual mounds of his pecs.

“Shhhh.” His rumble echoes through his chest.

He glides a hand over my hair, crooning to me, and I’m enveloped in the scent of moonlit forests, floating on an ocean of dark bliss.

“I want you to tell me the truth, Michael.” He leans down to my ear. “How long were you a Blood Slave?”

I struggle inside the dark blanket smothering my mind. Try to rise, to push out from his hold, but my body feels like liquid lead.

“Shhhh,” he whispers.

His hand cups my neck again, and the Flame rises through me with a fresh euphoric wave. I sink deeper.

His breath warms my ear. “If your master kept you against your will and you’ve somehow escaped, I promise you, you can trust me. I’ll help you.”

As though somebody struck a tiny match, a glimmer of light penetrates the velvety darkness. This feels similar to the prince’s compelling influence. A force inside my mind. I shove back. Push at the internal weight confining me. I’m bracing myself against an avalanche, but I’m not having my will messed with again. Flanagan’s hand tightens.