“I’m not a Blood Slave,” I grit out. “And he’s not my master.”

Flanagan expels a harsh sigh. “You’re a strong one.” His hold relaxes. The desire to slump into his solid presence almost consumes me, but I pull up, and he lets me go.

I suck in air and shake off the daze. “What did you just do to me?”

Flanagan regards me with renewed suspicion. “I’m a True Grounder. That was a Flame Hold. You shouldn’t be able to break away from it.”

“Yeah, well, you shouldn’t be forcing me against my will.” I rub at my neck as strength returns to my limbs.

He folds his arms, standing like a statue of Thor. “What happened at the steelworks?”

“How the hell should I know? He gave me blood. I tasted it when he kissed me. It did something weird. Isn’t that why I was crazy for three days?”

Something dark ghosts across Flanagan’s eyes. “One taste of the prince’s blood would not leave you screaming his name for three days. It takes years for a bond of that strength to grow. I understand if he’s interfered with your memory, leaving you confused, but even the prince cannot wipe decades from you. You’re lying to me, Michael, and I don’t know why, but I can’t help you until you trust me with the truth.”

Lava-hot fury rises in my gut. “For fuck’s sake, Flanagan. Where are you getting this ‘decades’ thing from? I’m twenty-fucking-six. I don’t understand why you suddenly think I’ve been a Blood Servant for millennia. It’s madness.” I throw up my hands, the chain clanking. “One minute you’re all ‘let us help you. We’re here to keep you safe.’ The next minute, you’re like ‘get the chains and collar, Mason. Let’s lock the fucker up.’ It doesn’t make sense. You don’t make sense. If this is your idea of protecting Channelers from slavery, it fucking sucks.”

He leans forward, dark menace bleeding into the silver of his eyes. “I chained you because it’s protocol to chain a blood dependent, something I knew you were as soon as I saw you with the prince. I collared you to control your Flame, only after you scorched two of my men. I caged you because you are dangerous. I was prepared to give you the benefit of the doubt, but I have your blood tests, and I know, Michael. There is no point to this pretense.”

“Blood tests?”

He straightens and folds his arms again, towering over me. “We took a sample the first day you were here. Over forty percent of the blood in your veins is Anlu’kyr. A human has to drink for decades to incur that amount of change. You’re on the verge of a turn, Channeler. And it will take very little blood to push you over.”

I frantically try to sort through his words to understand. “That’s…that’s got to be wrong. Your results are wrong.”

Flanagan takes a slow breath. “We took three vials of blood. The lab ran numerous tests. We are not wrong.” He raises his finger and thumb, a small gap between them. “You are this close. Another year with your master and you would have started the transformation. Or did you already know that?”