On the Prowl (Bad Things #2)(27)

Her shoulders stiffened. “No, he doesn’t.” Her gaze never left Francis’s. “Give me the name of the person who ordered you to play the game.”

“S-Simon…”

Right. Simon. Good. This was—

“S-Simon says…” A tear leaked from Francis’s eye. “D-die…”

Not good. Not good at all.

Francis leapt to his feet. He ran past her, trying to get out of the cell, but Rayce was there and the werewolf just slammed the cell door shut before Francis could escape.

She thought Francis would stop once the door shut.

He didn’t. He ran right into the closed door. He hit the bars hard enough to send his body shuddering back a few feet, and then, in the next blink, he was up and running for the bars again. He hit them with his head. Again and again. Blood covered his face.

“Stop!” Rose yelled, but he didn’t stop. So she and Julian lunged for him. They grabbed Francis at the same time. Already, one of his eyes had swollen shut from the impact. His lip was busted, his nose seemingly broken, and blood poured from a wound on his forehead.

“H-have to d-die…” Francis whispered. “Simon says…Simon says d-die and I-I do.” He strained in their hold, and she had no doubt that, if he had broken free then, he would have just kept banging his head against those bars. He would have banged and banged until he killed himself.

Not exactly an easy way to go. Not exactly a way most folks would choose.

“He’s still under someone else’s compulsion.” She had thought he was clear when they’d pulled him out of the water, but she’d been wrong. She could see it now. “The compulsion is buried deep, and when I push him, it comes forward to stop me. He’s supposed to die before revealing the truth.”

Rayce whistled. “That’s one strong compulsion.”

Julian dragged the guy across the room. “Bring in rope. We’re going to need to tie this guy down so he doesn’t hurt himself.”

Rayce’s footsteps hurried away.

Rose just stared at Francis, her heart hurting for him. He was helpless, a puppet who had no choice at all. A man who would die for something he didn’t understand.

Life wasn’t fair.

Rayce was back moments later. He and Julian tied Francis securely onto a chair, locking him down so that the guy couldn’t move at all. When they were done, Julian stayed behind Francis, frowning down at him, and Rayce paced to Rose’s side. “Didn’t think compulsions were supposed to work like that.”

“It’s a strong compulsion,” Julian said. “The only way to make one that cuts that deep is through blood or through some very powerful magic.” A muscle flexed along his jaw. He looked damn unhappy as he added, “Just like the only way to break one that deep—”

“Is through blood,” Rose finished. Or magic. And since she had no magic to speak of, her only hope was blood. She knew this. She might not like being a vamp but she’d tried to learn as much as she could about the undead life. The majority of that education had come from the Lord of the Dark himself. Right after her transformation, Luke had kept paying her pop-up visits. Until she’d told him to keep his ass away from her unless he could change her back.

He’d stayed away.

“So, you take his blood and you break the compulsion?” Rayce asked.

“Not exactly.” She lifted her wrist to her mouth. Her fangs extended and she bit down, not deep, just enough to draw forth a few drops of blood. Then she closed the distance between her and the human. He leaned away from her and the scent of his fear thickened in the cell. “Hold his head steady, Julian.”

Julian grabbed Francis’s head and immediately stopped the guy’s retreat, but then Julian’s eyes blazed as he gritted out, “I do not like this.”

It wasn’t like the scene was a picnic in the park for her, either. “My blood will link him to me,” she said quietly, so that Rayce would understand what was happening. Based on Julian’s glare, it was obvious he already knew the score. “It will enable me to give him a new compulsion, one that cuts deeper than the other that’s in place.” A suicide compulsion—or at least, that was sure what it looked like to her. Someone had buried an order deep inside of Francis’s mind. One that switched on like a protective mechanism. Only the order wasn’t about protecting Francis’s life—it was about protecting the identity of the person who’d originally compelled him.

She put her hand to his mouth. Her blood dripped past his lips. He tried to spit it back at her. “No, stop, that’s gross—” Francis sputtered.

Julian shoved one hand over Francis’s mouth, forcing the guy to keep the blood.

Rose leaned in close. “You will swallow that blood. You will take it.”

Francis swallowed.

Her breath eased out. “Good. Now you will listen and you will obey me. You will not kill yourself. You want to live. You want to grow old and have a freaking fantastic life. The last thing you desire is to hurt yourself, in any way.”

He wasn’t blinking, just staring at her.

“Let him go, Julian,” she said.

Julian backed away from the human.

“Who put you under the compulsion to ignite that bomb?” But she already knew. Dammit…

“Simon,” he whispered. “Simon Lorne.”