Page 28 of Eternal Surrender

“Let me go,” Ingrid’s voice cracked with emotion.

Marcus folded his arms.

“I know what you are,” she whispered.

Marcus reached for the top button of her shirt and played with it. “I assume you’re here for our expertise in role play?” He undid her top blouse button but left the rest alone.

Ingrid’s cheeks flushed.

Fury coiled in my gut at the way he touched her. Anger, sharp and instant that he was terrifying her like this.

My interruption had to be timed right. Intervene too soon, and Marcus might become suspicious; take too long and it may well be too late for Ingrid’s psyche.

For a fleeting moment, Ingrid’s eyes met mine again, and something unspoken crossed the space between us. Recognition flared, followed quickly by attraction, and a familiarity, a sense of having known one another beyond reason. Then her strength faulted, and just as quickly as it had appeared, the moment vanished.

“I’m not here alone,” she said. “They know I’m here.”

I marveled at the situation. Some part of me had tortured patrons in this very chamber, taken delight from pushing them to the edge and nudging them over, plunging them into agony and bringing them back with ecstasy. The fact that they kept returning for more was the mere proof we were doing something right.

But Ingrid didn’t belong here. And part of me felt the same way now. I questioned my change of heart and this unusual desire to save this woman from the inevitable.

Marcus played with strands of her hair. “So you’re not just here to mix with our distinguished clientele? Or sip our fine wine?” He wrapped his hand behind her back and yanked her into him.

He was trying to scare her, break her down, but I had a feeling it would take more than this. He pulled out her hair tie, loosening strands that tumbled over her face and down her shoulders.

“When you find your wrists in those,” he glanced at the shackles, “it means you’re no longer in control. Quite simple really.” He removed her spectacles and handed them over to the blonde. “Ingrid, love the outfit by the way.”

“Is that what this is?” She raised her chin. “Your need for power?”

“Feisty,” he said.

“Let’s talk about Gillian Stewart,” Ingrid said quickly.

Marcus paused, as though intentionally allowing the silence to pressure her.

“Tell me what you know about her.” Ingrid pressed him.

“Does this look like an interview room?” Marcus asked.

Ingrid swallowed hard. “How about Tabitha Web?”

He glanced at each one of us. “Anyone know that name?”

“Two girls were found dead.” Ingrid shifted her position. “One at Stonehenge, the other at Avebury. You’d have seen it on the news.”

Marcus pressed his hand to his chest. “Ah, yes of course. Terrible.”

From Ingrid’s confused expression she seemed to be searching the recesses of her mind, failing to remember; the dark side of having her memory wiped by Snowstrom.

And Marcus could see she was struggling too.

I detected much of what she’d ascertained about us came from the detailed notes she’d made in her reports. This was what she was drawing from, not her own memories but facts she’d documented and now used to find her way back to Belshazzar’s.

Marcus was right, Ingrid didn’t seem to remember ever having met Orpheus. Though stirring within her were fragments of moments, delicate trails of thoughts that even now she was chasing after.

“I’m sure I read somewhere,” Marcus began, “that incident at Stonehenge was the work of a cult, or a witch’s ceremony.”

“Vampires murdered those two girls,” Ingrid said.