Hidden by Blood. Laurie London

these low kitten heels, her feet were killing her.

      She peered through the windows into the ballroom, hoping to catch Lily’s attention. During her brief acceptance speech, Lily had nodded and smiled, greatly boosting Brenna’s confidence, but she hadn’t seen her friend in a while. While posing for pictures with the other award recipients, Brenna had lost track of her. Maybe Lily had hooked up with Mr. Handsome after all.

      Turning her attention to the impressive English gardens and a large, stately equestrian facility just beyond it, Brenna noticed several people on their cell phones.

      Good. There must be coverage down there.

      She’d call her mom and wander through the barn, away from all the small talk. Hopefully, that’d give Lily enough time to finish up with that guy so they could leave.

      The change in temperature was noticeable as Brenna strolled down the path toward the barn, so she pulled her thin wrap up to cover her shoulders. A few minutes later, she slid open the double doors and was greeted by a chorus of nickers.

      “Sorry, guys. I’m not here to feed you.” She felt more relaxed already as she stepped inside, the tension from the evening slipping away.

      She wasn’t generally impressed with fancy houses or cars, but she’d never seen anything like this barn in her life. Above the walkways, crystal chandeliers hung from the beams, casting prisms of lights on the rubber pavers underfoot. She heard the faint sound of classical music, obviously piped in through hidden speakers, a departure from the country-and-western normally heard in barns. Heat lamps shone down on the stalls where each horse’s registered name was handwritten in flowing script on gold placards. There wasn’t a Mo, a Dandy or a Flicka in the bunch.

      She checked her phone again. Still no coverage. The people back in the gardens were obviously not using the same cell provider that she was.

      “Guess I’ll call Mom when I get home,” she said to a chestnut mare and her foal in the first stall.

      After petting at least a dozen velvet noses, she emerged on the far side of the barn, slid the doors shut behind her, and headed for the other aisleway.

      If everything went as planned, she’d attend school and begin interning at Lily’s mother’s clinic in British Columbia. Through her father’s example, Brenna had been inspired to contribute to their society and this scholarship would help her do so. He wouldn’t have been happy that she was taking what amounted to a handout in order to achieve her dreams—he was a proud man and so damned stubborn. But he was gone now and so was their family’s money.

      A movement through a gap in the hedges caught her attention. A horse perhaps? She glanced around but didn’t see any horse fencing in this part of the estate. Could it have been a deer?

      It wasn’t as if she was in any hurry to get back, so she decided to investigate. Crickets chirped in the darkness as she passed through the narrow opening in the thick hedge. Just beyond it, moonlight illuminated a small field, but no deer or horse came into view. She was about to turn back to the barn when a faint breeze brought a familiar scent to her nostrils.

      She hesitated.

      That can’t be right.

      She sniffed again, and a knot of panic tightened like a noose around her internal organs.

      It was a tantalizing scent. One very familiar to vampires.

      Her gums ached as the tips of her fangs emerged. She twisted a strand of her hair and took a few deep yoga breaths. In through her nose and out through her mouth.

      It was human blood she smelled. But not just any human blood. Sweet.

      And a lot of it.

      Bloody hell. He’s back.

      Finn had to be delirious. Either that, or he couldn’t count. In the flickering light of a lone candle, he glanced at the series of hash marks he’d made on the stone wall over the past month. Fifteen, twenty, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven. Unless he’d miscounted, his captor wasn’t due for another three days.

      The sound of footsteps crunching on the gravel path outside grew louder. He held his breath and willed himself to think clearly.

      Did I lose track of time?

      After a week or so, the days had all seemed to blend together into one continuous nightmare. The guy would draw blood and leave, wait a few days to allow Finn’s body to replenish itself, then he’d be back to harvest more. He referred to Finn’s blood as Sweet, but he never said what he was using it for.

      “So you’re like a vampire drug dealer or something?” Finn had asked him once. “Is that what this is?”

      “Hardly,” was the flat reply. “Sweet is rare and very addictive to our kind, and therefore valuable, but I am not selling it.”

      The footsteps got louder, jolting Finn back to the present. For the thousandth time, he searched the tiny room, hoping that somehow he’d missed something—a hidden object, a regular item that could be used as a weapon—but as always, it was a useless waste of energy. There was nothing. Only this crappy stained mattress in the corner, a tiny commode, a cardboard box that held the week’s ration of food and a plastic water jug. His heart thudded in his chest as he stared at the half-full container. Something was wrong. If it was time for the freak to come back, shouldn’t he be almost out of food and water by now?

      In a fit of rage early in his captivity, Finn had demanded to know why the asshole used needles instead of fangs, since he clearly had a set of nasty-looking ones. Was the guy suffering from a vampire version of erectile dysfunction?

      Even as he’d had the thought, Finn had been tempted to pinch himself yet again to make sure this wasn’t all some sick nightmare. Before that night at the airport, he’d had no idea vampires actually existed, that they were more than just fictional villains in books and movies. Hell, when he’d gotten an e-reader from his aunt last Christmas, he’d actually downloaded Dracula, thinking it’d be interesting to reread the old classic.

      Fiction? My ass.

      With an unnerving calmness, his captor had merely smiled, waiting a moment before replying as if he were choosing his words carefully. When he spoke, his voice had been thin, tight.

      “Although I crave it beyond measure, I will not chance partaking of your blood. At least not now.”

      Finn had known the day would eventually come when the bastard changed his mind. And he had a pretty good idea that when it did, it’d be his own last day.

      The change in schedule could only mean one thing.

      Today was that day.

      An icy calm replaced his growing apprehension, crystallizing his thoughts into one single goal. To stay alive.

      With his legs positioned shoulder-width apart, he wrapped his forearm around the chain hooked to his ankle shackle. At any moment, it would be pulled tight, the slack disappearing through a small hole in the wall and locked, immobilizing him in the corner of the room. Then the guy would enter the cabin, replace heavy work gloves with latex ones and get to work. Finn braced himself. There was no way he was going down without a fight.

      Footsteps shuffled outside, then stopped, and the door inched open a crack. A surge of adrenaline shot through Finn’s veins—his captor had forgotten to tether the chain. This was the chance he’d been waiting for—the little freak had finally let down his guard.