Bitten (Otherworld 1)

"I didn't think. I should have known."

"Known what?"

"That he was in danger, too. He was looking after me. But I wasn't looking after him."

I dropped my head to my knees and felt the first prick of tears behind my eyes.

Jeremy left me in the cage overnight. As much as I wanted to believe otherwise, I knew he wasn't being heartless or unfeeling. After my crying jag, one might have expected me to give up the fight and meekly accept Jeremy's will. At least, anyone who didn't know me very well might expect that. Jeremy knew me better. When I was sobbing on the floor, he'd reached through the bars to comfort me, but didn't unlock the door. After I'd had a good cry and wiped away the tears, I flew into a rage. I broke the bed, it being the only breakable thing in the cell. I kicked the toilet, but that didn't break anything except maybe a couple of my toes. I flung my dinner on the floor. I cursed Jeremy at the top of my lungs. And once it was all over, I should have felt better, right? I didn't. I felt stupid. I felt like I'd had a fit of hysterics and made a fool of myself. I needed to get a grip and take control. Throwing tantrums wouldn't help Clay.

Of course, just because I was ready to leave the cage didn't mean Jeremy was prepared to let me out. He left me in there all morning, stopping by periodically to make sure I hadn't resumed my Exorcist imitation. When he came down with my lunch, he brought a letter-size manila envelope. Before giving me the food tray, he wordlessly passed me the envelope.

Inside was a Polaroid shot of Clay. He was sitting on the floor, knees pulled up, feet bound together, and arms behind him. His hands were out of sight, but judging by his position they must have been tied or manacled. His eyes were half closed and so clouded by drugs they looked gray instead of blue. Though I couldn'

t see any sign of bars, I knew he was in a cage. No werewolf would capture Clay without making damn sure he couldn't Change and break out. Keeping him secure would mean drugs, bindings, and/or a cage. Daniel would use all three. He'd fought Clay before and he wouldn't take any chance on an accidental rematch.

I looked at the picture again. Bruises covered Clay's arms and bare torso, an ugly slice bisected his left cheek, his lips were swollen and split, and he had one blackened eye. Despite his condition, he stared into the camera with a look of bored annoyance, like a supermodel who's had one too many photographers in her face that day. Showing defiance would have only set Daniel off. Clay knew better.

I reached inside the envelope again and found it empty. I looked up at Jeremy. For the first time since he'd brought me back, I really looked at him. His eyes were underscored with purple and his bangs fell lankly against his forehead, as if he hadn't slept or showered in days. Tiny lines had appeared around his eyes and mouth. He almost looked his age.

"Where's the letter?" I asked, more gently than I'd intended. "I know Daniel must have sent a letter. Can I see it?"

"It says they have Clay, which is obvious, and that he's not in great shape, but he's alive, both equally obvious. If you check the background of the photo, you'll see a newspaper hanging on the wall. It's today's New York Times, presumably to prove the picture was taken today."

"What does Daniel want?"

"Clay's in no immediate danger."

"Are you going to give me a direct answer to any of my questions?"

"I've sent a note back. I'm demanding daily pictures while we negotiate."

I scowled and stomped to the other side of the cell, reminding myself that I had to play nice. Another tantrum wouldn't get me out of the cage anytime soon.

"I know I lost it yesterday," I said. "But I'm fine now. I want to help. Can I come out?"

"Eat your lunch. I'll be back in a while to see if you're still hungry."

Jeremy slipped the tray through the slot near the floor and went upstairs. I bit my tongue to keep from calling him anything I might regret ... at least until he was out of earshot.

CHAPTER 30

PLANS

Jeremy let me out later that afternoon. Before we were even up the stairs, I asked about his plans. He made me wait until after dinner, probably testing how far he could stretch my patience before I snapped. I'll admit, by mealtime I was getting close, but I managed to hold it together. While Antonio and Nick cleaned up the dinner mess, Jeremy took me into the study for our talk. The Reader's Digest condensed version of our hour-long talk was this: Jeremy had a plan for getting Clay back and I wasn't allowed to know anything about it or allowed to help him carry it out. As one might expect, I accepted this news with grace and understanding.

"That is the stupidest idea I've ever heard!" I snarled for the dozenth time that hour. "I won't just sit here and do nothing."

"Would you prefer to sit in the cage and do nothing?"

"Don't threaten me."

"Then don't threaten me."

Something in Jeremy's voice made me clamp my mouth shut and settle for pacing.

"I can help," I said, keeping my voice low and, I hoped, calm. "Please, Jer, don't shut me out. Maybe you blame me for what happened in Toronto, but don't punish me like this."

"You didn't do anything wrong in Toronto. If it's anyone's fault, it's mine. I thought Toronto was safe. I didn't realize Daniel was gone until Tuesday morning, when he was already there. I'm not going to tell you how I plan to get Clay back because then you'll want to help and if I don't let you, you'll go ahead and try anyway."