Chase shrugged. "Suit yourself."
He put as much distance between them as he could, moving to the far side of the study to pace an agitated track near the tall windows. The electronic shutters were closed and had been since the Darkhaven's residents moved away last year. But Chase's body knew it was night on the other side of the steel and glass. His veins throbbed with the knowledge, each hard beat of his pulse a reminder of the thirst he was trying so hard to deny.
"You're not well either," Tavia said, watching him pace and prowl from across the room. "Even if you're not ... no matter what you truly are, I can see that you need medical attention. So do I."
He scoffed, a raw-sounding snarl low in his throat. "You don't need to worry about me. As for yourself, you don't seem as sick as you want me to believe."
"But I am," she insisted. "Whether or not you believe me, you're playing with my life by keeping me here like this. You've already killed several innocent people. Do you really want another life staining your hands?"
"None of them was innocent," he replied harshly. "They were Dragos's Minions, all of them. Soulless. Mindless. They were as good as dead long before I got to any of them."
"Minions," she said, watching him cautiously. "What do you mean, they were Dragos's Minions? At the police station, you tried to warn me that the senator was in danger. But then when you saw him, you said it was too late, that Dragos already owned him. What did you mean by that?"
She was genuinely confused, which only made his suspicion of her deepen. Either she truly was oblivious to Dragos and his machinations, or she was a stellar actor. Chase dismissed her with a curt flick of his hand. "Never mind. I've said too much as it is."
But she wouldn't let it go. "Tell me what this is really about. I'm just trying to understand - " "It might be better for you if you don't."
"Maybe you should have thought of that before you put me in the middle of it."
Her tone held no venom, just a bold frankness he had to respect. Chase looked at her, realizing she had a point. She was in deep now, all thanks to him. And while he couldn't be certain she would still be alive if he hadn't intervened with the senator and the Minion cop who'd been with her at the hotel, he had to admit he'd all but ensured her life would never return to its status quo of before.
Even if that status quo had been a lie.
There was still a part of him convinced she wasn't who she claimed to be, whether or not she knew it herself. He couldn't dismiss the feeling that she was something more than human. Something other. But what?
Could Dragos have that answer?
The thought had crossed his mind before, but now it nagged at him. It chilled him to think she might somehow be connected to Dragos, unwitting or otherwise. And deep down, in the part of him that was still committed to the Order's cause - still determined to see Dragos annihilated - Chase wondered if Tavia Fairchild might be useful in helping him get close to the enemy he meant to destroy.
His own life was already forfeit. He was fully prepared to go down in flames along with Dragos, if that's what it took to defeat him once and for all. After all, he had nothing left to lose. Had he stooped so low that he would be willing to gamble this woman's life as well? He wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer to that question.
On the other side of the study, Tavia moaned quietly and took her head in her hands. "Oh, God ... it's getting worse. I really need to have my medicines. I need to get out of here ..." She glanced at him then, and it was impossible to ignore the true suffering in her eyes. "Please," she said. "Won't you please ... just let me go?"
Chase stared, trying to see through her game. But there was no guile in play here, only misery and fear and confusion. He knew the right thing would be to do as she asked and release her. And if he were a better man, he might have.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
TAVIA WOKE UP screaming in the dark.
Her skin felt shredded and raw, on fire one second, the next chilled to the bone. She thrashed and bucked - only to realize she was flat on her back in a large bed, restrained at her wrists and ankles by the thick, braided ropes of the drapery cords from the other room. She dimly recalled being brought back into the bedroom after she'd refused the food and drink, too ill to stomach either one. She'd tried to tell her captor that she wouldn't attempt escape - that she couldn't attempt it, the worse her body began to rebel.
She'd begged him to let her go, pleaded for his mercy. He'd shown her none.
Tavia tried to fight the ties that held her down on the mattress now, but she had no strength. Her limbs were heavy, her head woozy, stomach pitching and roiling.
Oh, God ... what was happening to her?
She was so sick now, sicker than she'd ever been before. She ached all over, racked with a full-body tremble that seemed to originate deep down in her marrow. Her senses seemed at war with themselves, swinging from drained and weak to hyperalert. She felt her pulse drumming in her temples and in the sides of her neck. Her heart banged against her rib cage, beating so fast and hard it was a wonder the organ didn't explode.
Eyes squeezed shut, she made another futile attempt to wrest her hands free of the cord that secured them to the headboard. She yanked and pulled, moaning sharply as the tender skin at her wrists began to chafe.
"Easy now." Warm, strong fingers clamped around both her wrists. Her captor, Chase. She hadn't even heard him come into the room, but there he was, enveloped in the gloomy shadows. His touch was firm but gentle, his voice a rough whisper that skated over her brow. "Be still, Tavia. You're okay."
His eyes searched hers, flecks of amber fire smoldering in his scowling gaze. She didn't want his deep voice to soothe her, any more than she wanted his large palm to ease some of the burn from the restraints he had placed on her.
Yet she did find some comfort in his low-murmured words. His thumb idly stroking her wrists calmed her jagged pulse. Against her will, she stilled, her senses responding to him like the tide stretching to meet the moon.
"Let me go," she said, still wanting to deny what she was feeling. Her body wasn't her own right now, but she hadn't completely lost hold of her mind. Not yet, anyway.