His grip tightened and he all but tugged me off my feet as he pulled me roughly around the table. "I'll make you eat those words later, little wolf. Be sure of it."

"Can't wait."

I forced a dry note into my voice, and he snarled—a sound that was half human, half cat, and totally unpleasant.

"Good, because you won't be waiting long. And I shall enjoy licking the blood from your skin as I fuck you."

And I'd enjoy raiding his mind and trying to get the information we needed so we could get the hell out of this insane asylum.

He all but threw me into the arena. I stumbled a few paces before catching my balance, then turned to face Rhoan. "Do your worst, wolf."

A slight smile that only I could see touched his lips. "I promise not to hurt your pretty face too much, but I give no such promises to the rest of you."

"Like I can believe any promise made in this place." I shifted my feet, trying to acclimatize to the reeds under my feet. It was slipperier than the sand I was used to training on, holding far less grip. I'd have to be careful.

"Five bucks on the bitch," Moss called. "And ownership for the night if she wins."

Which was an incentive to lose if ever I'd heard one.

"Done deal." Merle was standing at the sidelines, his arms crossed and expression avid. "But this blood is mine to lap, I can assure you."

"The winner is mine," Starr said quietly. "I shall find either one entertaining."

If I ever needed another reason to lose, then that was it. Starr's evil was soul wearying enough now—I couldn't stand it one on one, for hours on end. I'd die—maybe not physically but probably psychically. I wasn't a trained empath and my growing talent was too raw, too untrained, to survive the vile outpourings from Starr's aura for very long.

Not that I wanted my brother to face him, either, but at least he wasn't psychic and he did have the advantage of years of training behind him. At the very least, he'd give away less than I would.

"Let the fight begin."

The words were barely out of Starr's mouth and my brother was attacking, a whir of arms and legs and vicious, deadly blows. I backed away, ducking and weaving and generally avoiding each attack the best I could. The force of each one blew across my skin like a cyclone, sending chills down my spine. And yet, having seen my brother in action before, I knew he was nowhere near fighting speed.

Which was scary, considering how fast he was.

My foot slipped on the reeds, and as I struggled to catch my balance, the air screamed yet another warning. I twisted away from the blow, felt a slither of pain along my side as my muscles protested the sudden movement, then yelped as a blow skimmed past my cheek, drawing blood. Even so, the blow wasn't at full wolf force. Rhoan was holding back, keeping his promise. And that was dangerous.

I dropped and spun, kicking his legs out from underneath him. As his rump hit the floor, amusement briefly lit his eyes, then he was up and at me in one smooth movement. In the following few minutes, he let me know just how much he had been holding back.

If I'd been me, not Poppy, I could have let rip and at least held my own. But that wasn't an option here. Poppy was part human, not part vampire, and the time had come to get bloody.

I avoided one more blow, then let his roundhouse kick hit me in the side. The force of the blow hit like a red wave, a shudder of pain that went from my hip to the end of every hair follicle. The sheer power behind it sent me flying across the arena. I stumbled, fighting to keep my balance before going down on all fours. The vibration of Rhoan's approach ran through the reeds. I grabbed a handful before twisting around and lashing out as hard as I could. The straw whipped across his chest, drawing a thin line of blood. He laughed, a cold, harsh sound I'd never heard from him before, then he bent and grabbed a handful of straw himself. I jumped to my feet and backed away. He followed, the thick slithers of golden reeds creating a whooshing sound as he whipped them back and forth.

I ducked several slashing blows, then lunged forward, attempting an inside punch at his solar plexus. It was a stupid move and we both knew it. He dropped the straw as he sidestepped, then grabbed my arm and twisted it. Hard. Bone snapped and a scream ripped up my throat. As the red tide of pain welled, another blow came, not to my body but to my chin, snapping my head back and sending me flying. Stars danced in front of my eyes, and my mind briefly flirted with unconsciousness.

Then my back hit the floor, my head something solid, and the flirtation became cold hard fact.

Chapter Twelve

It didn't last long enough. Awareness surfaced, drifting in and out, as if my mind was caught in a fragmented dream. My arm felt like fire, and the heat of it mingled with pain that seared deep and hard. Laughter rolled around me, through me, a pain of a different kind but just as sickening. Starr enjoying the moment, enjoying my agony.

The reeds under my back trembled with the force of approaching steps, then hands were on me, moving me. The blackness surged again, and for a while there was nothing but the peace of that void.

When consciousness surfaced again, it came with a feeling of time having passed and a deep sense of familiarity. Of having been here before, in this same situation if not the same place.

My arms were raised above my head, tied at the wrists with something that was smooth and tight. The pins and needles in my fingers suggested they'd been that way for some time. The fierce fire and pain of the break had gone, meaning somewhere along the line I'd shifted shape and healed my arm, but the memory of it still drifted through my limbs and there was a weakness in my right arm that had nothing to do with the pins and needles. The rest of my body just ached with a tiredness that made no sense. Rhoan hadn't bashed me around that much, nor had we fought very long, so why the bone-deep weariness?

Sweat stung the air, sweat that was both mine and another's and with it came the heady aroma of sex and lust. My back pressed against something soft, silky, my stomach against flesh as hot as the sun. Hands were on me, caressing me, their touch bruising and familiar. Heat filled me, thrusting hard and fast if not deep, but the crescendo he was reaching certainly wasn't mine.

I cracked open my eyes. It was Merle who rode me, Merle who reached for his orgasm.

Relief swept through me. Merle certainly appeared one of the saner inmates of the asylum, and at least I knew I could touch his thoughts. If I could touch them, I could control them. Maybe not for a hugely long time, but long enough to get the hell out of this place.

Maybe.

But until I knew where we were—what the odds were—I wasn't doing squat.

My gaze drifted beyond him. The sheer blandness of the room was instantly recognizable. We were back in Merle's bedroom—and had been here for some time if the aroma of sex and sweat riding the air was any indication. I drew in a deep, careful breath, testing what other scents lie in the room. There was little beyond the stale-ness that came with air-conditioning. I couldn't see anyone else, nor could I smell them—though that in itself didn't mean much considering Starr's DNA experiments.

Merle's body began to jerk spasmodically. I closed my eyes, keeping still as he came. He slumped against me for several minutes, his dead weight making breathing difficult, then he slowly climbed off.

I cracked my eyes open again, watching him. And noted the fresh scars down his back and barely healed scratches on his arms and side. It looked as though Merle had been a little too close when I'd changed shape to heal my wounds. Couldn't be sad about that.