“Damn it!” I yelled, feeling better with the outburst. Angry, I flounced into the desk chair, amazed that I hadn’t simply thrown it against the wall in my frustration.

The chair wobbled, ever so slightly.

Frowning, I stood up and looked at it. Everything else in this place was state-of-the-art. Odd that I’d have a faulty chair. I knelt down and examined it more closely. There, on one of the legs, was a crack near where the leg joined with the seat. I stared. All of the furniture here was industrial strength, with no obvious joints. I should know, seeing how long I’d beat this chair against the wall when I first arrived. I hadn’t even dented it.

Where had this crack come from? Slamming it over and over had done nothing.

But I hadn’t been the only one to hit it.

That very first day, I’d fought with Dimitri and come after him with the chair. He’d taken it from me and thrown it against the wall. I’d never paid attention to it again, having given up on breaking it. When I’d later tried cracking the window, I’d used an end table because it was heavier. My strength hadn’t been able to damage the chair-but his had.

I picked up the chair and immediately slammed it into that diamond-hard window, half-hoping I might kill two birds with one stone. Nope. Both remained intact. So I did it again. And again. I lost track of how many times I slammed that chair into the glass. My hands hurt, and I knew despite my recovery, I still wasn’t at full strength. It was infuriating.

Finally, on what felt like my gazillionth try, I looked at the chair and saw the crack had grown bigger. The progress renewed my will and strength. I hit and hit, ignoring the pain as the wood bit into my hands. At long last, I heard a crack, and the leg broke off. I picked it up and stared in amazement. The break hadn’t been clean. It was splintered and sharp. Sharp enough to be a stake? I wasn’t sure. But I knew for a fact that wood was hard, and if I used enough force, I might be able to hit a Strigoi’s heart. It wouldn’t kill one, but the blow would stun. I didn’t know if it’d be enough to get me out of here, but it was all I had now. And it was a hell of a lot more than I’d had one hour ago.

I sat back on the bed, recovering from my battle with the chair and tossing the makeshift stake back and forth. Okay. I had a weapon now. But what could I do with it? Dimitri’s face flashed in my mind’s eye. Damn it. There was no question about it. He was the obvious target, the one I’d have to deal with first.

The door suddenly clicked open, and I looked up with alarm. Quickly, I shoved the chair into a dark corner as panic raced through me. No, no. I wasn’t ready. I hadn’t fully convinced myself to stake him. It was Inna. She carried a tray but didn’t wear her usual subservient expression. The brief look she gave me was filled with hate. I didn’t know what she had to be pissed off about. It wasn’t like I’d caused her any damage.

Yet.

I strode over like I was going to examine the tray. Lifting the lid, I saw a ham sandwich and french fries. It looked good-I hadn’t eaten in a while — but the adrenaline running through me had shoved any appetite I might have to the background. I glanced back up at her, smiling sweetly. She shot me daggers.

Don’t hesitate, Dimitri had always said.

I didn’t.

I jumped at Inna, throwing her so hard against the floor that her head slammed back. She looked dazed, but quickly recovered and tried to fight back. I wasn’t drugged up this time-well, not much-and my years of training and natural strength finally showed themselves again. I pressed my body against her, keeping her firmly in place. Then, I produced the stake I’d had concealed and pressed those sharp points against her neck.

It was like being back in the days of pinning Strigoi in alleys. She couldn’t see that my weapon was a chair leg, but the sharp points got her attention as I dug them into her throat.

“The code,” I said. “What is the code?”

Her only response was a string of obscenities in Russian. Okay, not a surprise, considering she probably didn’t understand me. I flipped through the meager Russian-English dictionary in my head. I’d been in the country long enough to pick up some vocabulary. Admittedly, it was equivalent to a two-year-old’s, but even they could communicate.

“Numbers,” I said in Russian. “Door.” At least, that’s what I hoped I said.

She said more impolite things to me, her expression defiant. It really was the Strigoi interrogation all over. My stake bit harder, drawing blood, and I forcibly restrained myself. I might question whether I had the strength to pierce a Strigoi heart with this, but severing a human’s vein? Cake. She faltered a little, apparently realizing the same thing.

Again, I attempted my broken Russian. “Kill you. No Nathan. Never…” What was the word? The church service came back to me, and I hoped I had it right. “Never eternal life.”

It got her attention. Nathan and eternal life. The things most important to her. She bit her lip, still angry, but her tirade had stopped.

“Numbers. Door,” I repeated. I pushed the stake in harder, and she cried out in pain.

At last she spoke, rattling off a series of digits. Russian numbers were something I had memorized pretty solidly, at least. They were essential for addresses and phone numbers. She cited seven numbers.

“Again,” I said. I made her say it three times and hoped I had it. But there was more. I was pretty sure the outer door had a different code.

“Numbers. Door. Two.” I felt like a caveman.

Inna stared, not quite getting it.

“Door. Two.”

Understanding glinted in her eyes, and she looked mad. I think she’d hoped I wouldn’t realize the other door had its own code. More cutting with the stake made her scream seven more numbers. Again, I made her repeat them, realizing I had no way to know if she was telling me the truth at least until I tried the numbers. For that reason, I decided to keep her around.

I felt guilty about what I did next, but these were desperate times. In guardian training, I’d been taught both to kill and to incapacitate. I did the latter this time, slamming her head back against the floor and rendering her unconscious. Her expression went slack, her eyelids drooping. Damn. I was reduced to hurting teenage humans.

Standing up, I moved to the door and punched in the first set of numbers, hoping I had them right. To my complete and utter astonishment, I did.

The electronic lock clicked, but before I could open the door, I just barely made out another click. Someone had unlocked the outer door.

“Shit,” I muttered.

I pulled away from the door immediately, picked up Inna’s unconscious body, and hurried to the bathroom. I set her in the tub as gently as possible and had just shut the bathroom door when I heard the main door open. I felt the telltale nausea that signaled a Strigoi was nearby. I knew one of the Strigoi could smell a human, and I hoped shutting her away would be enough to mute Inna’s scent. I emerged from the hall and found Dimitri in the living room. I grinned at him and ran into his arms.

“You’re back,” I said happily.

He held me briefly and then stepped back. “Yes.” He seemed slightly pleased at the greeting, but soon his face was all business. “Have you made your decision?”

No hello. No how are you feeling? My heart sank. This wasn’t Dimitri.

“I have more questions.”

I went over to the bed and lay down in a casual way, just like we always did. He followed a few moments later and sat on the edge, looking down at me.

“How long will it take?” I asked. “When you awaken me? Is it instantaneous?”

Once more, I launched into an interrogation session. Honestly, I was running out of questions, and at this point, I didn’t really want to know the intricacies of becoming Strigoi. I was becoming more and more agitated with each passing moment. I had to act. I had to make use of my fleeting opportunity here.