His body had prepared itself for a life-and-death fight, only the fight had already been won. He was too far gone into his rage to do any more than snarl wordlessly at her.

She had collected everything Anthony had left in the hall and set it in a pile to one side before turning her attention back onto him. Then she did the most incredibly foolish thing.

She walked up to him, put a hand on his chest and whispered, “Hush.”

Didn’t she know she should never approach a Vampyre when he was in such a frenzied state?

He didn’t want to hush. He wanted to tear and rend, and drink the blood of Melly’s would-be attacker until he felt the man’s body crumble to dust in his hands. He bared his fangs and hissed at her.

She just looked at him. “Now you’re being pissy.” Her voice was gentle as she said it. She patted his chest and raised her hand to his face. Because it was her, he fought to control his impulse to strike at her. As she cupped his cheek, her palm and fingers were warm. “Julian, I really need you to calm down. I’m starving and exhausted, and there are over a hundred ferals that are going to be back at the tunnel gate at any minute, let alone Justine who might show up earlier than she had planned if she decides to go looking for her missing attendant.”

Her words began to penetrate the killing instincts that had flooded him. He ran his gaze over her. She did look exhausted. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and her face was drawn with marks of stress.

He also noted that the other Vampyre hadn’t been gentle when he had grabbed her. The slender, elegant line of her throat was already turning dark with bruises and swelling. The cut at the side of her neck had broken open again and was bleeding lightly.

The sight brought him back into himself.

“I hear you,” he growled. Taking a strong mental grip on his self-control, he forced his fangs to withdraw. “I got it.”

She searched his gaze, then gave him a small smile and a nod.

When she pulled her hand away, he missed her touch and grew angry at himself for it. Digging into her pocket, she pulled out two misshapen metal springs and knelt at his feet.

As she got to work again on the manacles at his ankles, he said, “That’s what you were doing earlier. You were making another set of lock picks.”

“Yep.” She sounded as tired as she looked. “I told you I wasn’t going to leave you. No matter what you might think of me, or what anybody else might have said, I always keep my promises.”

He didn’t know what to do with that, so instead of responding, he fell silent and watched her.

This time after a few minutes of trial and error, there was a snick and the lock fell open. She sat back on her heels and beamed up at him.

Triumph surged, along with a fierce sense of pride in her. He said in a soft voice, “Will you look at that. You’re going to fucking break us out of jail after all. You are full of wow, lady.”

“I don’t know about that. I gave my bag of tricks a good shake a few minutes ago, and it’s pretty much empty.” She shifted and bent over the other manacle.

“That’s all right,” he told her. “If you can get me free, I can take care of the rest.”

“That’s my plan, soldier.”

After a few moments, the second lock fell open with a snick. She put a hand at the small of her back as she straightened to look at the manacles overhead. “I know you said I would have to climb up your body, but I’m still not sure how I’m going to do that.”

She sounded hoarse and listless, and he really didn’t like how she looked. “First, check out what’s in the bag,” he told her. “It’ll be a while before Justine starts to miss Anthony, and it won’t take you more than a minute to take a few bites of food and a drink.”

After a brief hesitation, she didn’t waste time arguing. He watched in approval as she dug in the bag, pulled out a paper-wrapped sandwich and bolted a few bites. After she sucked down half a bottle of water, she held it to his lips so he could drink the rest.

While he needed a strong infusion of blood more than a drink of water, the hydration did help him to feel better too. When he had rinsed out his mouth and drank the rest of the bottle, she threw the empty container into the bag, squared her shoulders and turned back to him.

“Now, climb up on my leg and stand,” he said. Bending one knee, he braced his foot on the inside of his other thigh and held steady for her to perch on him.

She squinted at his posture. “You can take my whole weight like that?”

“Yes. Use me to steady yourself.”

“The strength you undead lot have is something else.” Slipping off her delicate-looking flats, she stepped barefoot onto his thigh and held on to one of his arms as she straightened. Even though she clutched him in a tight grip, she still wobbled on her perch. “This isn’t going to work. I need both hands to pick the locks.”

“Don’t just hold on to my arm,” he said. “Use my torso as your support. Brace one foot at the top of my thigh and lean against me.”

After a quick glance down at his expression, she gingerly eased against the length of his body. Their positions were odd and strained, yet the full curves of her body felt so incredibly delicious, he couldn’t resist closing his eyes and turning his face into her warm, narrow abdomen.

She sucked in a breath and wobbled again, clutching at his shoulder to steady herself.

The whole maneuver had turned unexpectedly torturous.

She felt so good, smelled so fucking good. Her top had ridden up, baring her skin to his cheek. He wanted to lick her and bite — not to draw blood, but lightly, in sex play — and he tightened his jaw against the impulse. If he did nip at her, more likely than not, she would lose her balance entirely and fall off her perch, and until he was free, they were in no position to play games.

Clamping down on his self-control, he gritted, “Can you reach the manacles?”

“Yes, but they’re too high and they aren’t at the right angle.” Her voice shook.

She was showing all the signs of being near the end of her rope, and it brought his attention into focus like nothing else could have.

“You’re doing an amazing job,” he said gently against her soft skin. “I knew they were underestimating you, but not even I could see how much you could accomplish on your own. I want you to hold on tight to me now.”

“O-okay.” She wrapped an arm around one of his biceps and gripped him by the shoulder again. “Like this?”

“Yes.” As soon as he felt her weight stabilize, he flexed up as high as he could, gripped the chains and shook his hands so that the manacles slid down his wrists. There wasn’t much give. After only a few inches, they were stopped by the thickness of his muscled forearms. His voice muffled against her, he asked, “Is that enough?”

“It might be. At least now I can turn the lock toward me.” She twisted at the manacle, and he turned his wrist to help. “That’s it — hold still!”

Obediently, he froze while she worked.

The lock snicked open just as she slipped and started to fall. “Oh shit!”

Shaking his wrist free, he snaked his arm around her and clenched her to him. “It’s all right, sweetheart.” He hefted her up a few more inches, and gods, even just that small freedom, just the ability to put that one arm around her, felt like bliss. “Only one more to go. Now you don’t even need to balance.”

“Piece of cake, right?” she said breathlessly. “Mmn, what I wouldn’t give for a piece of cake right now.”

It surprised a chuckle out of him. Never mind all the gourmet foods she had generous access to — she always had been a fiend for chocolate cake made from a box mix, with sour cream frosting.

“When we get out of here, I’ll bake a cake for you, myself,” he promised. “One with a file in it.”

Her flat stomach flexed as she snorted. “Now, that I would have to see, although I don’t know about eating any of it. You don’t know the first thing about how to bake a cake, or for that matter, how to bake anything else.”