A second pair of red eyes floated in the darkness behind him, but Sloan’s attention was on the metal pole in his hands. He brought the bar to rest against August’s ribs, where the bullet wound from the truck stop was leaking a single line of black.

“You’re bleeding,” he said, tone twisted into a sick pantomime of worry. “Isn’t that strange?” The bar fell away. “You know, they say that Sunai are invincible, but we both know that isn’t true.”

Sloan wound up and swung the bar into August’s ribs. The pain was shattering, and he could feel the bones threaten to crack, his consciousness fracturing around the blow. A groan escaped the gag. It felt like the tape was melting, fusing to his skin, the fumes choking his senses as he fought for air. His head swam.

“No, the hungrier you get, the closer you are to human. But close is not enough.” The jagged edge of the bar came up beneath his chin, forcing his head up. “You can hurt, you can even bleed, but you just won’t die.”

The bar connected with August’s collarbone, and pain exploded through his chest. He choked back a sob.

“You may be wondering,” continued Sloan, taking the bar between both hands, “what I want from you right now, August.”

He glared, trying to steady his breathing.

“It’s really very simple.” His red eyes danced like flames in his skull. “I want you to go dark.”

The other Malchai, who’d edged forward to the rim of the light, shot Sloan a nervous look, but August felt ill.

Sloan’s smile sharpened. “I think you know why.”

August started to shake his head, and the bar connected with his ribs. An explosion of pain, and August bowed his head, trying to ground himself in it instead of being swept away. Nails dug into his jaw as Sloan dragged his head up.

“Think.” He tapped August’s forehead with a pointed nail, then drew it down through his left eyebrow.

The line of Leo’s scar. It had never made sense, because Sunai didn’t get scars. Not when they were flesh and blood. Which meant that when Leo got it, he hadn’t been.

“I think,” said Sloan in his slick wet voice, “that a Sunai’s most powerful form is also its most vulnerable. I think that if you go dark, I’ll be able to drive this bar right into your heart.” And then Sloan leaned in, close enough that August could feel the cold rot of the monster’s soul against his fevered skin. “In fact,” he whispered, “I know, because I put my theory to the test last night. With Ilsa.”

August’s heart stuttered.

Bile rose in his throat.

No.

The darkness welled up, threatening to surface, and the Malchai hummed with pleasure.

“So many stars,” said the monster.

Don’t worry, little brother.

“I watched them all go out.”

I’m not afraid of the dark.

“Right before I cut her throat.”

When Kate opened her eyes, the world was still dark.

No, not just dark.

Black.

The heavy black of interior spaces without external light.

Her head was pounding and her throat felt raw from where Sloan’s fingers had clamped around it. She drew a ragged breath and tasted the damp of abandoned places exposed to elements, the tang of metal and earth and stone.

A shiver went through her, and she realized she was sitting on a floor, slumped against a wall, both surfaces concrete, and cold was soaking into her back and legs. Metal pressed against her wrists, and when she tried to pull away, she heard the clink of steel on steel. Her hands were cuffed to something to her right. She turned until she was facing it and raised her hands, questing with her fingers, until she found a flat metal bar, like a piece of scaffolding. Kate pulled as hard as she could, but it didn’t give.

She curled her fingers around the metal and hoisted herself to her feet, slowly, in case the ceiling was low. Three feet up, her cuffs caught on a crossbar, forcing her to stop, so she sank back to her knees, and followed the vertical line of the pole to the concrete floor, where it was screwed down with some kind of metal plate. She wasn’t going anywhere with that. She twisted her head, straining to hear something—anything—over the sound of her pulse in her good ear. At first, there was nothing, but then, muffled by concrete and metal and whatever else stood between her and the outside world, she heard a voice.

Sweet, and smooth, and on the verge of laughter.

Sloan.

Kate gritted her teeth, torn between shouting his name until he showed up and staying silent until she had a way to kill him. As she listened, more sounds reached her, muffled by the walls between—a scrape of metal, a stifled groan of pain—and her stomach turned.

August.

August trembling in the hall, his black eyes wide with fear and hunger.

Get the Sunai.

Kate dragged in air, forced herself to focus. She had to get out of here. Her lighter was gone, lost during the fight, which meant no weapon, and no way to see what she doing. She didn’t have anything to pick the handcuff locks, and— Another muffled scream beyond the walls.

She cringed, fought back the shudder of fear. Somewhere a different Kate could be terrified, but she didn’t have time, so she forced it down and felt her way back to the place where the pole was screwed into the floor. She felt four screws, all half rusted into place. The frame was solid enough, but if she could get the base free she might be able to torque it and slide the cuffs beneath the frame. She’d worry about getting them off later. Being handcuffed wasn’t as bad as being handcuffed to something. Kate took a deep breath, and exhaled, her breath catching as another sob carried on the air.