"War and the demons have us locked in. If any Daimon leaves here to feed, they either kill him or convert him. We're trapped."
Stryker let out a foul curse. "How long until you need to feed again?"
"I fed last night, so I'm good for a few weeks. And you, sir?"
He glanced at Zephyra.
She went cold as she understood that look. "I've taken blood from you twice. . . ."
He nodded. "I'll be good for a couple of days."
She swallowed in fear of his dry tone as a sense of dread went through her. "How many?"
"Maybe two."
And then he'd be dead.
ZEPHYRA DIDN'T SPEAK AGAIN UNTIL DAVYN had left them alone. Stryker turned toward her on the bed and her gaze dropped to where she'd stabbed him earlier. He followed the line of her eyes. Though the wound was healing, it was still a nasty reminder of her temper.
And deadly aim.
"Looks like you'll be getting your wish sooner rather than later, huh?" he said flippantly.
She clutched the sheet to her chest. "There has to be a way out of here."
"Yes, but they have one advantage. The demons aren't nocturnal. They can box us in day and night. We can only feed after dark."
"Can you bring humans here?"
In theory, yes. But things were seldom so simple. "Only if they stumble into a bolt hole. Something much easier said than done. We usually only get kids with those traps, and a large number of Daimons, including myself, have trouble swallowing the soul of a child. Even if they are human cattle."
Her gaze darkened with fury. "They've killed our children without flinching."
Again, not so simple. "Their parents kill our children, not them. They're innocent in this fight. My father forced me to be a monster when he cursed me to this life, but I refuse to lose all sense of myself to his lunacy."
She shook her head. "You're a warrior. Are you telling me that you've never slaughtered a child in battle?"
"I trained for war as a mortal, but I never battled until after I became a Daimon. So no, I've never taken the life of a child. Having been a father, I don't know if I ever could." He narrowed his eyes on her. "And that doesn't make me a coward."
Zephyra held her hands up in surrender at his hostile tone. She'd inadvertently struck a nerve when she hadn't meant to. "It never crossed my mind." At least not over his inability to harm a child. Other things he'd done . . .
That was another story.
As he got up from the bed, she saw the tattoo on his right shoulder blade that had escaped her attention while she'd been focused on their earlier play. It made her do a double take as the tattoo fully registered in her mind.
No, it couldn't be. . . .
"Stop," she said, pulling him back to examine it.
It was a broken heart with thorny vines twisted through it and a sword that plunged down its carmine center. But it was the ribbon and the name it contained that covered the tattoo that made her breath catch in her throat.
Zephyra.
Beneath it were eigh teen small black teardrops that formed an intricate pattern. She traced them with her fingertip. "Who are these for?"
"One for each of my children and grandchildren. And one for each of my wives."
But it was her name he'd put inside the ribbon. Hers alone that marked his broken heart.