Shadows (Book Two of the Accalia Series)

Brandon's POV — Two Weeks After His Kidnapping I couldn't see anything. I couldn't hear anything. Whoever had taken me had blindfolded me, stripped me, strapped me to a cold table, and cut off my hearing entirely. A witch had to be involved. On the side of my neck, a sharp, persistent pain told me something had been feeding on me. A needle-like pressure in my arm came and went. Whatever they were putting into me was moving through my veins cold, making my whole body shake. My wolf was gone. Whoever had done this had found a way to sever my connection to my spirit, which meant I couldn't heal. The drugs kept coming. I kept shaking. Harmon. My mate was out there, and she would be burning the world down looking for me. I knew it the way I knew my own name. I held on to that. Whether it was the thought of her or whatever they were putting into me, my heart started racing — too fast. Something was wrong. I pulled against the restraints with everything I had, wolf or no wolf. They didn't move. Spelled, most likely. I kept trying anyway. Then I couldn't breathe. Nothing was touching me. Nothing visible. But something was suffocating me from the inside, and I could feel my body beginning to shut down. Organ by organ, system by system. I was dying. I was going to die without seeing Harmon's face one last time. Goodbye, Harmon. My love. As I held her image in my mind, I felt something. A small hand on my chest. Gentle, deliberate, slowly moving up toward my face. For a moment, everything stopped — the pain, the cold, the darkness — and the world was simply still. Hunger. Why was I hungry? A light appeared — the kind people described when they talked about almost dying. But it wasn't that. It was a light shining directly in my eye. And standing in it was a girl I almost recognized, wearing black jeans and a black t-shirt, with red hair and the most vibrant golden eyes I had ever seen. Confusion settled in. Where was I? Who was I? She was undoing the chains. I sat up on the silver table and looked around. A dungeon of some kind. Bodies under white sheets along the walls. The smell of death was thick enough to taste. She was speaking, but for a moment the sound was too far away, and then it came into focus — her voice was familiar in a way I couldn't account for. "Emilio," she said, looking at me. Was that my name? Yes, a voice said inside my head. Hers. What the hell? "Relax," she said aloud. And my body did exactly that. My breathing steadied. A calm moved through me that I didn't question. "Who are you? What are you?" I asked as she tossed me a red shirt, jeans, and boxers. I hadn't even noticed I was naked. She turned her back and returned to a workbench where she was mixing blue and black liquids that smoked on contact. When the smoke cleared, the mixture turned brown. She bottled it and set it on the shelf, then turned back to me. She looked at me carefully before she spoke. "My name is Ana. I found you in the street, dying, a few days ago. You told me your name was Emilio. You don't remember?" she asked. I shook my head. There was nothing before this room. She smiled, and even her smile felt like something I had known before. "That's all right," she said, taking my hands in hers. My senses snapped to attention. A sound from outside — someone coughing, far away — came in as clear as if they were beside me. She heard it too. I could tell. "You were meant to die. My blood prevented that. What you're feeling now — the heightened hearing, the sharpening of everything — that's normal. You're going to experience things that are new to you. That's to be expected," she said. "Ana — what are you?" I asked again, watching her move through her bottles until she found a red one. I couldn't take my eyes off it. The moment she opened it, I felt the hunger hit — slowly at first, a warmth building in my stomach, then spreading everywhere until it settled in my throat. Thirsty. Hungry. The smell coming from that bottle was sweet in a way that bypassed thought entirely. I had the bottle out of her hand before I had decided to reach for it. I just held it for a moment, breathing it in. "Drink," she said. I tipped it back. Warm and sweet and unlike anything I had ever tasted. She watched me with a small smile while I drank, and I barely noticed her at all. "There are people coming to kill me soon," she said. I stopped drinking. "I won't let that happen," I told her. I didn't fully understand why I meant it, but I did. She had saved my life. Whatever that cost me, I would pay it. "Good. I have plans that will require your help. You'll help me?" she asked. "Yes," I said. "Good," she said, and went back to her bottles. I went back to the nectar, savoring it until the bottle was nearly empty. Then a sharp pain hit my gums and I grabbed my mouth. Relax. The pain will pass when you do, she said in my mind, and I breathed through it until it faded. My mouth felt different afterward. My gums were tender. The burning in my throat was gone, replaced by warmth in my stomach that made me grip the edge of the silver table — and when I did, the metal dented under my grip like it was clay. "Still hungry?" she asked, glancing back. "Yes. I need more," I told her, holding up the empty bottle. She crossed to the door and held out her hand. "Then let's get you more," she said, smirking. I followed her without hesitation, with nothing in my mind but the sweet red nectar and where I could find it next.