Bloodlust

Prisoner

— VENICE —

The dim light from the hall ceiling faded until guards came to light lanterns between the cells. My ears burned in anticipation as I listened to the approach of their boots.

I rushed to the bars as they passed by.

"Sir!" I shouted at the nearest one. He didn't spare a single glance at me. "Please, there's been a misunderstanding! I'm not supposed to be here!"

He lit the lantern beside my cell and moved on passed me.

A sob choked at my windpipe. Crumpling to the stone floor, I submitted to loud, uncontrolled weeping.

I cried for what felt like hours—long after the other prisoners stopped hollering for me to shut up.

Once I did, I crawled over to the straw mat and collapsed on it. My bones ached, my throat was dry, and my belly wailed in its emptiness.

Eventually, I was too tired to do or feel anything. My eyes stayed open and I stared at the yellow glow cast on the gray floors from the lantern.

Thoughts and memories with Liam lanced through my mind with sorrow and grief. It was my only distraction in this misery and it in itself was no rescue.

"Hey, Lass," croaked Jarold's voice. "You okay over there?"

I was, but I didn't have the strength to say so.

"Just hold on a little bit longer." He shuffled to the gap between our cells, where his gaunt face and scruffy beard appeared. "You're damn right about one thing. You're not 'sposed to be here. Don't worry, Lass. Someone'll be 'ere to get you. Just sleep and rest easy for now. Got it?"

My lips pursed in my best attempt at a smile. As much as I wanted the lull of his raspy voice to soothe me to sleep, I simply couldn't.

The night crawled interminably on. Creepy, curious cockroaches emerged from crevices in the walls. Later, I felt something brush against my foot.

When I focused on the darkness, I saw a fat, hairy rat scuttle off down a small hole in the corner my the cell. Helpless tears poured down my icy cheeks.

Hours passed before a peak of dawn stretched in through the window like a faint pink scar. I tipped my heavy head back and swallowed dryly.

A clatter from down the hall jolted me out of my exhaustion. Shouting roused me further awake until my body found the motivation to sit up.

I pressed my back to the wall and watched the hall warily through the jail bars. My breath clenched in my lungs at the approaching stomp of boots.

Three shadows were dancing along the wall by the lantern light. Their shapes were broad and tall, distinctly male. The shadows morphed into skin and hair outside my cell, where three men turned to face me.

I grabbed onto the wall and tried to make myself blend into the cold stone at my back. In my fear, I kept my eyes down.

A deep rumbling voice spoke suddenly and I jumped. My gaze darted up to determine whether the unfamiliar language he spoke was directed at me.

The speaker was a man I recognized. He was the Princep whose lap I landed in during the fight.

He spoke to the two guards in some language I didn't recognize, yet his glowing scarlet eyes remained fixed on me.

One of the guards lifted a pair of keys, the metal jangling together. He sorted through the keys before sticking one into the cell door.

Dread filled me. I knew I should have been thrilled to leave, but I did not want to be dragged off by one of these bitches.