My frustration with him, with me, with us, boils over. Before he forces the horrible concoction down my throat, I grab it from his hand and chuck it against the far wall. It shatters in a satisfying spray of glass and crimson. “I said no, Aren.”

He stares at the stained wall, then back at me. I swear he looks amused. “Your color’s returning. And your spark.” His hand grazes my calf when he reaches into the water to unstop the drain.

“Sorry,” he says with a grin.

He’s not sorry. He’s deliberately messing with me, teasing me even.

“A towel would be nice,” I snap.

He dips his head in a shallow bow. “Of course, nalkin-shom .”

He steps over my dirty clothes. They’re stained with his blood. I hope I don’t have to wear them again. I hope Kelia’s stolen something new. I hope—

My heart stutters when my eyes lock on my jeans. The vigilante’s cell phone. Could it still be in my pocket? I can’t tell by the way the jeans have been thrown to the floor, but wouldn’t Aren have said something if he found it?

He returns before the last of the water gurgles out of the tub. I make every effort not to look at my discarded clothes as he hands me a towel, which I wrap around myself as I stand.

“Where are we?” I ask innocently.

Aren crosses his arms, watching me. “Somewhere safe. You’ll have to wear your old clothes until we get you new ones.”

“Okay,” I say, still not looking at the jeans. I’ll have to find out where we are another way. It shouldn’t be too difficult. I just need Aren to get out of here. My skin feels the touch of his gaze. Self-conscious, I pull my towel tighter around me.

Aren’s hand at my elbow keeps me balanced when I sway. “You should have drunk more of the cabus.”

“I’m fine,” I force myself to lie. “Can you give me a few minutes to get dressed? Please?”

The “please” is almost too much. His eyes narrow.

He glances at the window behind me. “We’re on the second floor,” he says. “Can I trust you not to jump out?”

“This towel won’t reach all the way to the ground.”

My quip dispels his suspicion. He laughs. “I’m glad you’re feeling better, my nalkin-shom.”

“I’m not yours,” I fire back, but he’s already left the bathroom.

“Jerk,” I mutter, but as I wring the water from my hair, I realize I’m smiling. Not good. Not good at all. You can’t have feelings for him. He’s manipulating me, twisting my emotions around and around so that whenever they stop spinning, I’ll be malleable in his hands. I have to get away from him. Now. Before I start believing everything he says.

I frown. Am I believing some of the things he says? I’ve stopped thinking of him as the false-blood. I don’t even know if I think Sethan is one. If Aren’s telling the truth about that, it’s possible some of the other things he’s said aren’t lies.

Like Kyol’s life-bond.

My dream comes back to me. It’s fuzzy. It would be even fuzzier if Paige didn’t really talk me into that blind double date. I almost forgot Kyol encouraged me to see other people, other humans. Maybe he did so because he was seeing Jacia? But surely he’d tell me if he’d agreed to a life-bond. I mean, I’d tell him if I was getting married. The life-bond is similar to that, but much rarer because it’s permanent. A bond-weaver ties the magics of two fae together, linking them for life. There aren’t any divorces in the fae world; I’m fairly certain death is the only way to break the bond.

My head pounds behind my eyes. I don’t know if Aren’s lying, or if I’m lying to myself. I hate this doubt. I need to talk to Kyol.

I step out of the tub and, holding my breath, I scoop up my jeans. The cell phone is there in the back pocket right where I left it. I hold down the On button. When the screen lights up, I let out a breath. Hallelujah, it works.

I need to leave a message with Paige. Problem is, I don’t know where I am, and I don’t know how long it’ll take my message to get to the Court. Will Kyol check with her daily? Does he have someone shadowing her?

I grip the phone and stare at the window. A dim light glows behind the blinds. I walk over and peek outside. The light is from a streetlamp. I check the time on the cell, see that it says it’s midnight, but I have no idea what time zone I’m in. Paige always keeps a crazy schedule. She could be out partying or she could be home dead asleep.

Okay. We’ll start with Plan B. I turn on the sink for some background noise and then dial the cops.

“Nine-one-one, please state your emergency.”

“My name’s McKenzie Lewis,” I tell the woman as I step into my jeans. “I’m being held by . . . some people. Against my will. I need help.”

“Can you tell me where you are, ma’am?”

I pull my damp jeans up over my undies. “Uh, no. I’m sorry. Can you tell me? Can you trace this call?”

“We’ll have your location in a few minutes. You said people are holding you against your will? How many people?” She’s calm and, I think, more than a little skeptical.

I grab my satin slip off the floor. I wish I had a T-shirt. “I’m not sure.”

“Do you know any of their names?”

I glance back at the door. “No, I don’t. Can you tell me what city I’m in?”

“You’ve called Cleveland nine-one-one dispatch.”

“Ohio?”

“Cleveland, Georgia, ma’am. Are you being threatened? Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m . . . Just send someone here. Please.” I hang up, hoping they had time to trace the call.

I dial Paige’s number as I pull the slip over my head, hold my breath when I hear a click.

“Yeah?” a groggy voice answers.

“Paige, it’s McKenzie. You awake?”

“McKenzie?” She sounds confused. Great.

“I need you to wake up, Paige. I’m in Georgia.”

“What?”

“Has Kyol come to see you?” Silence greets my question, and for a moment, I’m afraid she’s hung up.

“McKenzie, is that you?”

Finally. “Yes, have you seen—”

“Where the hell have you been? You promised you’d be at Amy’s bachelorette party.”

I grimace. “I know. I’m really sorry, but this is important. Have you—”

“You’re coming to the wedding,” she says, her tone daring me to say otherwise. “I swear, McKenzie, if you abandon me—”

“I’ll be there!” I whisper-shout into the phone. “I’ll be at the wedding if you’ll just listen for a second. I need you to tell Kyol that I’m in Cleveland, Georg—”

The phone is ripped from my hand. I whip around to grab it back, but Aren launches it against the wall, hitting the center of the red stain I made earlier as if it’s a target.

His hands latch around my arms. “I can’t leave you alone for one minute, can I? Who did you call?” His fingers dig into my shoulders. “Who?”

“Aren, you’re—”

“Naito!” he shouts.