Home > Immortal Unchained (Argeneau #25)(11)

Immortal Unchained (Argeneau #25)(11)
Author: Lynsay Sands

Her mind immediately crowded with worries about how she could do that. Would she need a visitor’s visa? How did you go about getting one? Did her grandmother even have a passport?

Shoving those concerns away for now, Sarita pushed the refrigerator door closed and turned to lean against it as she considered how to get away from this place. Dr. Dressler had said in the letter that this was where he and his wife had lived as they’d waited for the house on the island to be built. She supposed that meant this house was on the mainland. That was something at least. There was a dock and no road so they were obviously on the coast and a good distance from the nearest village or town.

They’d have to walk out, Sarita supposed. Try to find help. Hopefully they wouldn’t have to travel too far to find it. But there were plenty of provisions here that they could take with them just in case it took them a while to find civilization.

Sarita didn’t like the idea of having to walk out of there dressed as she was, though, or in any of the ridiculous concoctions in the closet upstairs. Which was probably why that was all there was available to her. Dr. Dressler had probably hoped that would keep her here.

“Not gonna happen,” Sarita muttered and pushed away from the refrigerator to walk out into the next room. She’d quickly check the boxes while she was waiting for sleeping Dracula there to wake up. Maybe she’d find something useful, like old clothes. They’d probably stink of mold or mothballs, but she could deal with that, and at least she’d have some protection against being eaten alive by bugs.

Stopping by the boxes along the one wall, Sarita began opening them. The first appeared to be stuffed with plain brown paper, but when she grabbed a handful and pulled it out, it unraveled and something tumbled to the ground and shattered.

Frowning, Sarita stepped back and peered at the broken china on the floor. A teacup, she realized, spotting a delicate handle still attached to a broken bit of china. The box was full of china, she realized after feeling the paper-wrapped items still inside. Setting that box aside, she moved on to the next, but it too held china, as did the third. The fourth box had a bunch of old board games in it. The next two boxes had books. Most were paperbacks, old romances and pulp fiction, nothing that would be helpful to clothe herself or the man in the next room.

Sarita barely had the thought when a jangling noise drew her head sharply around. Recognizing it as the sound of chains clanging against each other, she forgot about the boxes and turned to rush for the door. Unfortunately, while she’d been conscious of the broken teacup on the floor and been careful to avoid the shards of porcelain while she’d searched the boxes, she didn’t think of them as she turned to sprint for the door. At least, not until a sharp pain had her gasping and reaching for the nearest box for balance as she jerked her foot up off the floor. The box didn’t offer much stability. The minute her fingers brushed it, the damned thing and the two boxes it rested on toppled away, crashing to the floor.

Holding her sore foot off the floor, Sarita stared at the sea of broken glass now covering the ground between her and the door and couldn’t hold back the explosive string of curses that slipped from her lips.

Domitian had just woken up and realized he was chained to a table when someone began calling their duck. At least he thought they were calling a duck. His thinking was a little slow and fuzzy, his vision blurry, and his hearing might be off too, but he was sure what he heard was “Duck! Duckity duck duck duck! Duck!”

Although why anyone would name their duck Duck was beyond him, and really, no animal would answer to the fury in that voice, he thought. And then another “Duck” rent the air, only this time he realized it wasn’t duck he was hearing at all, but fu—

“You’re awake!”

Domitian turned his head and stared blankly at the vision standing in the doorway. And she was a vision. Long dark hair tumbled over the woman’s shoulders, flowing out behind her, and beautiful dark eyes peered at him over her presently puckered lips as she peered at him with displeasure. He wondered over her expression briefly, but then she began to hop forward, the movement causing the long, sheer flowing gown she wore to play peek-a-boo with the tiny white panties and beautiful olive skin it was doing a poor job of hiding.

Damn, the woman was a gorgeous little bundle. Short, curvy with large breasts and in the most sinful nightgown it had been his pleasure to see, Domitian decided, letting his gaze slide over the see-through white gown with red ribbons. It was almost enough to make him forget he already had a life mate, he thought as he watched her breasts bounce with every hop.

Hop? he thought suddenly. Yes, she was hopping, Domitian reassured himself as she continued forward. It was not a result of whatever had left him so fuzzy-headed where he lay. The woman was hopping on one foot and leaving a trail of blood on the concrete floor as she made her way to him.

“I didn’t expect you to wake up so soon,” she said as she reached the side of the table and grasped it to balance herself. Her eyes slid over his face. “I only took out the IV maybe ten minutes ago. I figured you might be under for another hour or better.”

“IV?” Domitian queried, his voice surprisingly gruff. His throat was dry and scratchy. His head hurt too. He was obviously dehydrated and in need of fluids, he thought as he tried to ignore the scent of blood coming from the woman, but it was hard to ignore and made his stomach rumble.

“Yeah.” She reached to the side and dragged an IV stand with an almost empty bag hanging from it closer so that he could see it. “Dr. Dressler left you all trussed up here on a saline drip with a little something extra added to keep you in la-la land. I took it out when I got down here.”

Releasing the IV, she turned and hopped away.

Domitian immediately turned and tilted his head, trying to see where she was going. She hopped to a refrigerator behind him. He saw her open the door, but couldn’t see why until she let the door slide closed and turned to hop back, now with half a dozen bags of blood in her arms. His eyes widened incredulously.

“What is that for?” he asked warily.

“For you,” she said, her tone all business. Reaching the table, she dropped the bags on the metal surface next to him. “You’re an immortal.”

It wasn’t a question. She sounded pretty sure and Domitian’s eyebrows rose. He wasn’t used to mortals knowing about his kind, but she was somehow connected to Dr. Dressler, who knew. Which was a damned shame, he decided, his gaze locking on her breasts as he saw that her activity had made the cloth of her gown gather between them, leaving the lovely full globes as good as bare with just a veil of sheer cloth over them.

Domitian had a terrible urge to reach out and touch them, but the chains restrained him . . . which was a good thing, he told himself with a frown. He had a life mate, or would once he claimed his Sarita. He had no business noticing other women’s breasts.

“You work with Dressler?” he asked and scowled at both the possibility and the fact that the words didn’t come out as strong as he would have liked. Damn, his throat was dry and sore. He needed blood.

“The hell I do,” the woman growled, sounding insulted at the suggestion as she turned and hopped away toward the door.

She picked up something and turned, but it wasn’t until she was halfway back that he saw that what she’d gone to fetch was a long butcher knife. And she was hopping around with it, apparently oblivious to the fact that she could skewer herself with it if she fell. Not a rocket scientist then, he thought dryly.

“Dressler’s a whacked-out sadist,” she huffed out as she reached the table again and picked up one of the bags. “He drugged and dropped me here too.”

Domitian frowned. “Why would he—?” The words stopped on a gurgle as she suddenly held the bag over his mouth and punctured it with the knife, sending a torrent of the thick liquid splashing into his open mouth and onto his face.

Swallowing the mouthful he’d first got, he turned his head to the side to avoid the flow and snapped, “What the hell are you doing?” as the liquid now continued to pour out over the side of his head.

“Trying to feed you,” she said with exasperation. Catching him firmly by the chin, she tried to force his head back to its original position. “Open your mouth.”

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