Promises to Keep - By Amelia Atwater-Rhodes Page 0,36

to eat?”

The slave answered with a hoarse voice, “There are others.”

“Go downstairs to the kitchen,” Jay said. “Get yourself something to eat and drink while I find the others. Can you make it down the stairs on your own?”

The slave hesitated, and then nodded. His mind was so odd, nearly empty. Despite his awareness of his physical needs—he probably hadn’t eaten since Pet had been thrown out, more than twenty-four hours ago—he had no inclination to alleviate his own suffering. He had been able to open the door that would allow him into the kitchen this whole time, but hadn’t done so until someone had knocked.

Slaves, Cat told him. Not human people.

Everyone is a slave to a cat, Jay commented.

Every person is a slave to a cat, Cat agreed, but these are different. They don’t have people-thoughts anymore. Only slave-thoughts. They don’t play when they want to play and sleep when they want to sleep. They don’t want anything.

Jay wanted to argue, but Cat was right. His empathy sought impulses and images, wants and feelings, more than thoughts. These poor creatures didn’t have impulses anymore. All independent, self-aware thought had been stripped from them.

Humans had enslaved humans, but they had never been able to destroy each other’s minds and spirits the way a vampiric trainer could. No wonder Rikai had been so certain a slave couldn’t be unbroken.

Maybe the Shantel elemental knew a way.

Maybe Rikai had been wrong; maybe the elemental even knew a way to destroy the new Midnight. Looking at these poor, destroyed creatures, Jay’s determination to fight that sick empire burned even hotter.

First, though, he needed to get out of here. Before he could do that, he needed to know who else knew he was here. If Brina had come for him without mentioning her intent to others of her kind, Jay could probably kill her without anyone else ever knowing she had claimed him. If she had told someone else in Midnight, however, they might pursue that claim once Brina was dead—and then, Jay suspected, he would end up in a trainer’s hands.

Against Brina, he was confident of his fighting abilities, but Midnight’s trainers had been known to take witches who had come to kill them, snap their minds like kindling, and send them back to kill their own kin. If Jay had to face one of them, he wanted backup—not to be locked in a house with doors that wouldn’t open, and windows that might or might not break.

It was time to talk to Brina.

A quick search made it clear that Brina wasn’t on the second floor but did reveal yet another staircase, leading to an elegant set of French doors, which swung open easily when Jay tried them.

Brina’s studio took his breath away—literally. Jay’s eyes instantly watered in response to the fumes. He was glad he was hardier than a human.

The entire floor was a single room, with only a few columns to interrupt the flow. Large windows and skylights, some curtained and some open, would allow sunlight to stream into the room during the day.

He started to explore but didn’t get far before he found the mistress of the house sprawled beneath a canvas in a pool of black paint. His first thought was that she had recently been suicidal, and it was possible that she may have figured out a more effective method to use than hanging.

Would he get blamed for that?

If he could get out—

Brina stirred, and some power within or around her assaulted him with a blast of pure fury and anguish that made his vision blacken and sent him to his hands and knees, retching.

A second blow made him shake and start to crawl to her side. God, the pain …

Another blast, and he realized the anger he was feeling was being channeled through Brina, but it wasn’t from her. It was someone, something else. Something powerful.

It hit him again, and he collapsed on top of Brina, who was now whispering softly to herself. She was only semiconscious at most, and wasn’t speaking English. Jay thought the words were French, but her thoughts were completely lost behind the power that was latched on to her, tearing at her, draining her in an effort to preserve itself.

The last time he had tried to help a damsel in distress, it had ended with him dragged to Brina’s home as a slave. He tried to consider this situation a little more carefully, but he couldn’t consider, couldn’t think with so much noise.

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