Please, I whisper to the universe. Please, just work with me a little here. Please, just let me get one arm free. Please, please, please.

The pleading doesn’t work. Then again, I didn’t actually expect it to. It didn’t work after my parents died, either.

The chafing on my wrists has given way to intense pain—and a slippery wetness that I’m very much afraid is blood. Then again, the fluid is making it easier to turn my wrist now, so maybe bleeding isn’t the worst thing that could happen in this situation. At least if it helps get me out of here before a vampire or seven show up to finish me off.

For the first time, I understand—really understand—why an animal caught in a trap is willing to chew its own foot off to escape. If I thought it would give me a fighting chance, and if I could reach my wrist, I might be tempted to do the same thing. Especially since this yanking and pulling doesn’t seem to be—

My left hand slips, nearly comes out of the rope. I’m so surprised that I almost cry out in relief and maybe blow everything. Paranoid about letting a sound escape—although I don’t actually think it’s paranoia considering the situation I currently find myself in—I lock my jaw in place to keep the sounds of excitement and pain from spilling out into this pitch-dark room.

Ignoring the pain, ignoring the panic, ignoring everything but the fact that I am so close to getting one hand free, I twist and strain with every ounce of strength in my body, so hard and so long that it’s almost a shock when my hand finally slips free from the rope.

The pain is excruciating, and I can feel blood running down my hand, slipping between my fingers and along my palm. I don’t even care, though, not now when I’m so close to finding a way out of this. I twist my body and reach for my other wrist—not the easiest thing to do when I’m spread-eagled. With my legs tied as tightly as they are, I can only twist a little bit, but it’s enough to reach my right hand.

Enough to maybe have a fighting chance at breaking completely free.

Slipping my fingers in between the ropes and my right wrist, I start pulling as hard as I can. The bizarre twisting adds another layer of pain to the mix, but once again I ignore it. I’m pretty sure any pain I feel now is nothing compared to what I’ll feel once Lia decides to…do whatever it is she’s planning on doing.

Finally, the rope on this wrist slips, too, and I manage to slide my right hand free as well. Somehow the hope that comes with that little bit of freedom makes me panic more, and it takes every ounce of concentration I have not to cry as I sit up and start fumbling with the ropes around my ankles.

Every second feels like an eternity as I strain my ears in a desperate attempt to listen for Lia. I don’t know why it matters so much; it’s not like I’ll be able to lie back down and fake it if she shows up. All this blood pretty much negates any chance of that ever happening.

Just the thought has me doubling my already frantic efforts, yanking on the ropes and pulling against them until my fingers and ankles are as raw and bloody as my wrists.

The rope around my right ankle finally gives a little bit. Not enough to get my foot through, but more than enough to have me concentrating solely on that side.

Another minute and a half, I’m guessing, and I’ve got my right foot free, which leaves me to concentrate on the left foot with everything I’ve got. At least until a high pitched scream slices through the cold air and has pretty much every hair on my body standing straight up—especially when the scream echoes around and around me.

It’s Lia, I know it. My blood runs cold, and for a second I can’t move, can’t think through the terror. But then the voice is back, cutting through the fear and ordering me to Hurry, hurry, hurry.

I start tearing at the rope, no longer caring if I dig deep furrows into my skin as I try desperately to untie it. Try desperately to escape.

“Please, please, please,” I mutter to the universe again. “Please.”

I have no idea where I am, no idea if I actually manage to get loose if I can even get out of this place without freezing to death when I step outside. Just the idea of being trapped here has the panic simmering right below the surface rearing its ugly head again.

One problem at a time, I remind myself. Get free from the restraints and then worry about what comes next. Everything else, no matter how terrible, is still a step up from being tied to a stone table like some kind of human sacrifice.

My breath catches in my throat at the thought, a sob welling up within me. But I push the tears back down where they belong. Later, I can cry.

Later, I can do a lot of things.

For now, I need to get off this altar or whatever the hell it is. I need to escape and I need to figure out what’s happening to Jaxon. Everything else can wait.

The rope gives—thankyouthankyouthankyou—and I manage to wiggle my foot out without sacrificing too many layers of skin.

The moment I’m free, I jump off the table…and nearly fall flat on the ground. Now that I’m standing, I realize just how woozy I still am. I thought the adrenaline would burn through the drugs lingering in my system, but they must be really strong drugs. Or I must not have been lying on that table as long as I thought I was…

Still, I take a deep breath and focus. Try to see through the dizziness to figure out where I am…and how to get the hell out of here before crazy, crazy Lia finds her way back.

Another scream rends the air, and I freeze—then run. I don’t even know where I’m running to, but I figure if I make my way along the walls, I’ll find a door eventually. And if I’m lucky, it’ll be on the early side of eventually.

But I’ve barely taken a step before a roar follows the scream, this one deep and powerful and completely animalistic. For a second, just a second, I think it might be Jaxon, and a new rush of terror slams through me.

Then logic reasserts itself—I’ve heard Jaxon sound a lot of different ways, but never like that. Never like an animal with no human qualities at all.

There’s another roar, followed by the sound of something slamming into the wall. Another scream, some growls, something breaking, something hitting the wall again.

Lia’s obviously in a fight, and I should take the opportunity to find a way out and run like hell. Except what if I’m wrong? What if the person making those growls and roars is Jaxon. What if he’s as dizzy as I am and can’t fight her off? What if—

I take off running toward the wall that I can hear things clattering against. It’s a dumb move—the dumbest—but I have to know if it’s Jaxon. I have to know if he’s okay or if she’s doing to him whatever she’d planned to do to me.

I knock my knees against something as I try to make it to the other side of what I’m beginning to realize is a huge room. Whatever I bumped tips over, and liquid splashes onto my feet and the long cotton shift Lia has me dressed in for some reason.