I sit up and rub the sleep out of my eyes. My body longs for the couch's warm fabric the moment I stand. Morning sunlight peeks through the windows, scattered by the curtains and making the white ashes in the fireplace sparkle. Rahlan is absent. He must've already woken up.

My dry mouth urges me to get a drink. I hesitate before touching the golden knob on the bedroom door. A strong chemical smell assaults my nostrils the moment I press it open. Rahlan's mixing potions on a desk with his back to me.

I step around him to grab the waterskin, careful not to disturb him before retreating out of the room.

"Sit," he says.

I stop at the door's threshold. His gaze hasn't moved off his work.

I take a seat on the bed, watching him as he pours two clear liquids into a gray mixture. He cuts a strip of linen off a large shirt belonging to the previous resident. Small bubbles form around the strip as it's submerged into the solution.

He kneels by my legs. It's odd not having to look up at him.

He begins peeling back the bandage around my arm, taking great care not to pull off any healing scabs around the wound.

A familiar smoky aroma fills the air as he lifts the new bandage out of the gray mixture. I stare at the long cut on my arm. This is my first time seeing it. It's not gaping open, but rather a thin red line, and it feels deeper than its surface level appearance.

I wince as he begins wrapping the soaked bandage around my forearm.

"Too tight," I gasp.

He grabs my wrist to keep me still. "'Tis necessary."

I grit my teeth and try to resist the instinct to pull away. He's a soldier. He's probably done this a thousand times before, whereas I've never dealt with anything worse than a minor gash. I should trust his judgement.

He finishes the tight wrapping, ending it with a knot. His eyes travel carefully up and down my arm, inspecting the skin beside the bandage. He's meticulous with his work.

After a few minutes, he seems satisfied enough to move on to the bandage around my chest. My gaze follows his hand as he picks at the knot that holds it all together.

I wrap my arms around my stomach. When this bandage comes off, I'll be topless in front of him. I know that he has to change it, and it would be stupid to risk attracting a disease over a little embarrassment, but I can't help but feel vulnerable under his eyes with the power he has over me. If he wanted to humiliate me, in front of the soldiers or just himself, I wouldn't be able to do anything to stop him.

The bandage loosens, and my arms shoot up to cover myself. He tugs the old material out, revealing the cut on my sternum. I keep my arms crossed tight over my chest, shielding myself from his eyes.

Bubbles form in the gray potion as he dips a cloth into the liquid. He leans closer with the damp material in hand, his eyes boring into my chest.

"It looks good," he says.

What?

I wince as he dabs the cloth over the cut. Oh.

He folds over a small piece of linen and presses it against the wound, then he threads another strip under and over my arms.

The bandage gets snagged on my elbow, slipping out of his hand. His lips form a thin line. I'm allowing no more than a tiny gap between my chest and arm for the linen to slot in place.

The bandage catches on my arm again, making him growl. "You realize that I've already dressed this wound once?"

"Don't remind me."

He slides the final piece of the bandage in place and terminates it with a knot. I let my arms fall away, glad to be covered again.

He takes a seat beside me, the bed sinking under his weight. His hands work to unwrap the bandage around my head.

He adjusts my posture to inspect the wound. I hope it doesn't look too bad. The terrible headache from before is gone, so it must be at least a little better. Despite him being partially responsible for these injuries, I'm grateful that he's here to look after them.

His hands slip under my legs and lift me onto his lap. The stubble on his chin brushes against my neck, warning me that he's about to take his drink.

I run my fingers over my hair that was covered by the linen. "Aren't you going to put another bandage on?"

"No need," he says. His teeth poke into me, and he begins syphoning.

This is the first time he's drank from me since the battle. I was hoping that it would be a permanent change, but I suppose he was just giving my body time to heal. At least this affirms my belief that I am indeed getting better.

He pinches the cut closed, holding me for a minute.

His hands latch onto my hips and push me to stand. The room spins for a second from rising so quickly, but he keeps his hold on me until I'm steady.

He packs up his potions and steps out the door. "Be at the table for breakfast in one hour," he says, leaving me alone in the room.

I grab the waterskin, collect some ash from the fireplace and head out the front door, careful to avoid the puddle of dried blood.

The bright morning sun warms my skin. The keep is situated on top of a small grassy hill, surrounded by the castle walls. The dirt footpath beneath my feet leads down the hill and splits into two. The one side connects to the stables against the wall where Mitten sleeps, and the other side attaches to the large wooden front gate, which is currently shut.

There's a platform over the gate and a tower beside it. A soldier is leaning against the tower's post – Keld, the scarred vampire with black hair. He's watching me.

I find a dry patch of grass and make myself comfortable, trying to ignore his menacing gaze. I'm pretty sure I'm allowed anywhere inside the walls anyway. If he tries to chase after me, I can just slip back inside the keep.

I brush my teeth with the water and ash, making up for the days I skipped when I was recovering from my headache.

My fingers scrunch up into a fist, flexing the muscles under the fresh bandage. Rahlan may be compassionate right now, but what would he do if he learned that Ivan's still alive? What would he do to me?

It's not safe for me here. The question is not if I will go, but where? Now that Jacob's gone, I have no family or friends, no one who'd welcome me.

I pick a long stalk from the grass and begin weaving it into a circle. That's not completely true. Ivan is my blood, regardless of how long it's been since I last saw him. But if he was easy to find, then Rahlan would have cut him down already. He was far better equipped to find Ivan then than I am now.

No. Rahlan may have had resources, but I have a connection to Ivan he never had. My brother was a Huntsman, a Huntsman who visited my uncle often.

I rack my mind trying to remember if he'd ever told me about Ivan's home.

Nothing jumps out. He never described the paths he took or landmarks he followed, and now that I think about it, he was even reluctant to point out his routes on his map. The emergency plan to reunite in Fekby village was the first time he even showed me a path on his map, and that was the last day I saw him.

I sigh and press my hands over my eyes.

Fekby village, of the Kingdom of Faria. He was insistent that I memorize the route, like he was worried that our home would be lost, and we'd need to reunite somewhere else. On the night we fled, I remember being overjoyed that Neil and his companions were also heading to Fekby. It seemed like a windfall at the time, that I wouldn't have to travel alone. But Rahlan wouldn't let them escape. He took their eyes, his ritual of revenge inflicted on every Huntsmen he kills.

Four Huntsmen all planning to meet in Fekby? It couldn't have been down to chance, that they all happened to pick the same random village. It's a Huntsmen sanctuary. That's where I'll find Ivan, or where I'll find someone who'll know his location.

But first I need to escape. In both my previous attempts, I had to make a desperate dash from Rahlan who was never more than a few yards away. There was no other option. I was tethered to him and every step north was a step deeper into danger. Now, I can scope out my environment and plan my route.

The large wooden doors are immediately out of the picture. They're sealed shut most of the time, needing two men to lift the large beam holding them closed. Plus there always seems to be a guard hovering around that area, watching the road leading to the gate. They'd spot me immediately.

I walk the perimeter around the castle keep, staying a good distance away from the walls so I can retreat inside if one of the vampires try to confront me. Five guard towers link the tall walls in an uneven pentagon. Each wall is in direct line of sight of two or three towers, and I can't see any way to get over them that doesn't involve going through one of the towers. Escape won't be easy.

The front door opens behind me.

"Breakfast awaits," Rahlan says.

I follow him inside. The table sports two plates of saucy mince surrounded by silver cutlery. I grab a piece of bread from the kitchen cabinet and take a seat across from him. Breaking the stiff bread in two reveals no mold. Whoever was living here was forced out not long ago.

My eyes land on the saucy mince on my plate. One of his potions must preserve meat, as there was no time to slaughter an animal this morning.

The salty sauce calls out to my empty stomach. Meat was usually reserved for Saturday dinners, requiring hours of preparation. This is a treat.

I scoop up the mince with the bread.

Rahlan snatches my arm, yanking my hand away from my mouth. The saucy bread lands back on my plate.

"What's wrong?" I ask. Did he spot something in the bread with his vampire senses?

He releases his grip. "No human of mine will dine like a barbarian."

A barbarian? Despite what he believes, he does not own me. I am my own person, regardless of if I'm free to roam the land or stuck in a prison cell.

"I am no human of yours," I hiss.

"My pet will not embarrass me with poor table etiquette. You will use the utensils provided." He gestures to the silver knife and fork.

"I am not your pet, and I will eat as I always have." I pick the bread out of the mince and take a bite.

He shoves my arm flat on the table. The bread flies from my hand and rolls across the stainwood, leaving a trail of sauce in its wake.

"You will dine with manners," he says.

I jump to my feet, my chair screeching against the stone floor. His grip on my arm prevents me from standing straight.

"You will remain in your seat." His stone hand keeps me trapped.

"Bite me."

"Later." He rises to his feet, and his red eyes darken. "Sit."

I gulp and take my place back on the chair. He releases my arm and circles behind me. I watch him from the corner of my eye, keeping my neck stiff.

He steps into the bedroom, leaving me in peace for the moment.

I tear off a new piece of bread, scoop up some mince and quickly munch it down.

The bedroom door slams shut with a bang, making me flinch. I jump upright at the sight of the rope, but his heavy hands land on my shoulders and force me back down onto the chair.

His cold maroon eyes meet mine, and I avert my gaze.

Realizing that I've resigned to sitting, his hands retract. He picks up the torn bread and brings it up to his face for inspection.

I thought we were done with this – him tying me up. I hate having my arms restricted. He's already twice my strength. Bindings aren't necessary for him to overpower me, but he chooses to tie me up regardless, almost as an insult.

"I was going to award you one more opportunity," he begins, "but it seems you squandered it the moment I left the room." The rope snaps straight between his hands like a whip.

Why should I sit here and endure his power trip? I try stand again, but his hand presses my back flush against the chair, applying some pressure to dissuade me from trying a third time.

He wraps the rope around my middle, making extra loops around my limbs to secure them to the chair's frame.

Satisfied that I'm immobilized, he returns to his seat and enjoys another forkful of mince.

I glare daggers at him.

"You will remain in your seat until you've mastered proper table etiquette," he says without looking up.

The knife in his right hand scoops the meat onto the fork in his left. He doesn't pay any attention to me or my death stare. I'm hungry, and my meal is sitting just a foot away from me, so close I can smell it, but completely out of reach.

He finishes his food and takes his plate to the kitchen to wash. I hope it slips out of his hands and shatters on the floor.

He returns and takes a seat on the table beside my untouched plate.

"Ready to try again?" he says.

I hold his stare. He can go make love to a cow.

"Suit yourself." He hops off the table and heads outside.

I wiggle my shoulders from side to side to try get free, but the rope just allows my hands to slide up and down the backrest without loosening at all. It's wrapped around each of my wrists and the chair's frame, allowing me to bend my arms as much as I want but keeping my hands functionally useless.

My ankles are tied to the chair legs in the same way. I can bend my knees up to my chest, but the rope just slides up and down the wood, keeping my ankles rooted to its frame. A strut between the legs makes slipping my feet under the posts impossible.

The stupid pigheaded narcissistic vampire has me trapped.