"I was held captive for two hundred fifty years," he continued. "Chained to the same wall I stared at for all that time. I memorized that wall, the zigzag of cracks, how the cold stone numbed my cheek so much when I passed out against it that I could hardly move my face to speak."
My throat pulled tight, and I closed my eyes against the images his memories provoked. His back would've been left exposed to whatever horror had chained him up in the first place.
"Who?" I whispered.
He searched my eyes, his signature grin gone as well as any sign of distress, which proved a million times over how strong he was. "A slayer named Roseff."
That truth slammed into me, stealing my breath and shattering my entire world view. Slayers were the good guys, at least according to me and how I saw my
