“Can’t I get tilted upright first? Come on, I know you sprang for that feature with this extra fancy exam table.”

A self-satisfied grunt. “Certainly. No need for me to be a sore winner.”

The table I was strapped to slowly shifted into an upright position, giving me my first full view of the room. I glanced around, noting the location of the doors (two), number of guards (six), and weapons they carried (fully automatic M-4 carbines in their hands, backup semi-automatic pistols in their belts), all in less time than it took the average person to blink. Then my gaze settled on Tate.

He had the same neck-shoulder-arms manacles Madigan had restrained me with last night, with an additional set around his ankles that limited his pace to mere inches at a time. They probably had the liquid silver needles in them, too, which I had to admit, was a damn fine deterrent. Not only did it burn like having flamethrowers go off inside your body, it was one of the only things aside from death that could incapacitate a vampire. But the most upsetting thing about Tate was his gaze. If I hadn’t already resolved to free him and the others no matter what, seeing the tormented look there would have swayed me.

“Hey,” I said softly.

His mouth was set in a hard, straight line, but those dark blue eyes began to fill with colored tears.

“Oh, Cat, I’d rather never see you again than to see you here.”

I forced a smile because I couldn’t start to cry, too. Then I’d lose the spiderweb-thin control I had on my grief.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad. Madigan’s probably just misunderstood.”

Tate snorted in weary derision. “You don’t know the half of what he’s done.”

“You’re supposed to be feeding, not catching up,” Madigan said curtly. “Get to it, or he leaves.”

I tilted my head as much as I could, indicating my willingness to get started. Tate’s guards pushed him, and only his undead reflexes kept him from pitching forward with those ankle restraints. Then, with a flinty expression, he turned and wagged his hands at them.

“Unless you unstrap her or I suddenly grow three feet taller, she’ll have to feed from my neck, not my wrists.”

Madigan’s smile could’ve turned water into ice. “She stays restrained and so do you, so neck it is.”

Tate leaned in and his familiar scent overcame the odor of bleach, germicide, blood, and fear that this room stank of. When his neck brushed my mouth, hunger took over; powerful, demanding, and uncaring of how grief had shattered my will to live. Of their own accord, my fangs dug into his throat, releasing that luscious crimson liquid into my mouth.