“How?” he asked, trying to figure out if he was dealing with a shifter or a demon, something that he needed to figure out soon.

“It kills,” she mumbled absently, which really didn’t tell him much since ingesting anything other than human blood would kill him.

Sighing, he decided that it was time to get some answers.

*-*-*-*

“Son of a bitch!”

“That looks like it hurts,” Indie said with a sympathetic wince only to mumble, “Sorry,” when a pair of angry silver eyes narrowed on her.

Deciding that it would probably be for the best if she focused on something else, she absently dried the back of her hand on her pajama pants, shifted to get more comfortable in the small rust-stained bathtub that he’d put her in and-

Sighed, when he grabbed her hand and poured the rest of the water over her palm. When nothing happened, he glared down at the small metallic vial in his hand before he tossed it aside and reached for the cross again. After making sure that the facecloth was wrapped securely around the bottom of the cross, he pressed it against the back of her hand. When nothing happened, he carefully shifted the facecloth lower and-

“Goddamn it!” he snapped, dropping the cross on the stained linoleum floor to join the rest of the stuff that he’d either poured on her or pressed against her skin, with another, “Son of a bitch!” as white smoke rose off his hand.

Again.

As he shoved his hand back in the sink full of cold water, Indie shifted her attention to the black duffle bag on the floor near the tub and-

Immediately wished that she hadn’t when she spotted all the really sharp things waiting for her. Licking her suddenly dry lips, Indie scooted back in the bathtub until the back of her head touched the cracked tiled wall and the cuff securing her to the small handrail bit into her wrist. Really hoping that he didn’t use the serrated knife that looked like it would hurt next, she wrapped her arm tightly around her knees and couldn’t help but wonder if she’d be better off trying to get to Boston on her own.

Maybe she should-

“What do you eat?” he asked, leveling a silver-eyed glare on her through the bathroom mirror.

“Food,” Indie said as she shifted her attention to the small metal handrail that she was handcuffed to, wondering if she’d be able to pull it away from the wall.

“What kind of food?”

“Meat and vegetables,” she said, shifting her head to the side, looking for any bolts or screws holding that bar.

“Raw meat?” he asked just as she spotted the remains of a rusted nail that she wasn’t going to be able to work loose with her fingers.

“No,” she said, deciding that it would probably be for the best if she didn’t tell him what the sight of blood did to her.

“Do you eat sugar?”

She opened her mouth to tell him that she wasn’t allowed to have sugar when something occurred to her, something that had her licking her lips and doing her best to act casual as she cleared her throat and said, “I don’t know.”

Chapter 12

Westdrom, Maine

“Well, that was fun,” his wife said when they finally rolled to a stop while Trace sat there, telling himself that everything would be fine, but something, mainly the way that she’d barely managed to avoid hitting that tree and so many other things along the way, told him that he was lucky to be alive. Even knowing that he couldn’t die hadn’t been enough to save him from fearing for his life at every terrifying turn.

“Trace, are you okay?” Samantha asked when he could only stare at her in disbelief.

“I-I think we should walk from here,” he finally managed to get out, which earned him a glare.

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“It was the single most terrifying experience of my life,” Trace said, nodding solemnly as he ran his trembling hands roughly down his face.

“Lightweight,” Samantha said, sighing heavily as she reached behind her and grabbed her satchel.

“What is this place?” Trace asked, frowning as he looked around and realized that he didn’t recognize anything.

Tags: R.L. Mathewson Pyte/Sentinel Fantasy
Source: readsnovelonline.net