from the converted RV to the pavement, his feet already in motion as he hit the ground. “Hang on, baby,” he muttered, running for his Corvette. “I’m coming.”
Alex banged the back of her head against the wall in frustration. A lunatic laboring under the delusion that she was his soul mate held her captive, and all she could think of at that moment was her growling stomach.
She’d passed the night trying to get free of Peter’s elaborate restraints to no avail. After she’d worn herself out she’d slept fitfully for a time since standing up wasn’t the most comfortable of positions and her slumber was plagued by nightmares.
In her dreams, winged demons and skeletal monsters chased her through an endless stone labyrinth. Shadows brandishing fiery swords stood guard at the exits. She’d been driven deeper and deeper into the maze. She called to Varik as she ran but it only seemed to spur the things pursuing her to quicken their pace. She finally awoke, to find herself still tied to a wall in a windowless attic and at the mercy of the Dollmaker.
At least her eyesight had improved. Gone were the fuzzy grayness and amorphous dark blobs. Now she could see individual objects, although they were out of focus and blurry, and could discern different colors. So long as Peter believed she was still blind, perhaps she could use it to her advantage and find a way to escape.
Trying to distract herself from the increasing amount of noise coming from her gut, her attention centered on the photo Peter had left on a table a few feet away. Everything he told her about it was a lie. It had to be. Her father wasn’t a Hunter. He’d taught history.
But how could she explain the photograph? If it was even a photograph at all. From this distance, until her eyes made another improvement, she couldn’t even be sure it was a photo.
The simplest answer was to rule it a fabrication, a product of clever computer manipulation.
But then, where did Peter find source photos of her father, Varik, Damian, and all the others?
The more she tried to deny the authenticity of what he told her, the more questions she raised that had no simple answer.
What if Peter was telling the truth? What if her father had been a Hunter and had been partnered with Varik? It would mean everything she knew about her father was a lie. Her relationship with Varik, past and present, would also be a lie.
It would mean the blood-bond was a lie, and she was forever bound to a man she couldn’t trust.
However, she couldn’t allow herself to dwell on such matters. She needed to find a way to convince Peter to release her from the restraints so she could escape. The kernel of a plan formed in her mind and soon blossomed. But in order for it to work, she would have—
Singing from the floor below the attic intruded on her musings. Footsteps on the stairs and the smell of freshly cooked sausage, eggs, and coffee signaled Peter’s approach. He bounded into the attic with a spring in his step, humming a ballad, and carrying a large wooden tray. “Did you miss me, darling?”
She bit back her sharp retort. She needed to do whatever she had to do to survive, to escape, and angering him wasn’t a part of her plan.
Peter set the tray, complete with a glass bud vase containing a single long-stemmed red rose, on a corner of the worktable. “I cooked some of your favorites—scrambled eggs with cheese, spicy sausage patties, grits with extra butter, and of course, coffee.”
Alex’s stomach churned with the thought of eating anything he’d cooked. She swallowed her discomfort and offered a weak smile. “Thank you. It smells wonderful.”
He beamed and picked up a fork. “Well, where shall we start? Eggs or grits? This could get a little messy, but …” He shrugged.
Alex laughed nervously. “Uh, darling …”
Peter hesitated, looking at her with suspicion.
“Before we start, I thought we could do without these restraints, and we could sit and eat together and talk.”
He shook his head, still smiling, and picked up the plate of eggs. “You’ll just try to run again, my tricky chickie.”
“No, I won’t. I’ve been thinking about what you said and want to know more.”
He looked unconvinced but set down the eggs and fork.
She tried to shift her weight and winced. “Plus my wrist is hurting, really bad,” she said, giving her words a slight whine. “Please,