Brynleigh had enough to deal with already.
“I know, but… I need to do this. I thought he was my friend.” She looked up at him, her black eyes wide and sorrowful. “Right up until those last moments, I thought… but I was wrong.”
He tightened his grip around her hand, even as his heart cracked for Brynleigh.
Ryker’s instincts had him wanting to hurt the shifter for betraying Brynleigh in such a manner. That wouldn’t help anything, though.
Instead, he reiterated his promise from earlier, knowing he would say it a thousand times over if it made her feel better.
Brynleigh drew in a deep breath, and she dipped her head.
“Alright, I’m ready.”
The captain didn’t do her the disservice of questioning whether that was true. He didn’t really think anyone could be ready for what awaited them, but his vampire was strong. If anyone could handle this, it was her. And if she couldn’t, he’d be here for her. Just like he promised.
Ryker placed his hand on the keypad. Once the light turned green, he twisted the handle.
“Let me go first,” he murmured, brushing the lightest kiss against her temple.
To her credit, Brynleigh didn’t fight him.
Ryker pulled his hand from hers, instantly missing their connection, and stepped inside the cell.
Gods, it was tiny. The space was maybe ten feet long and four feet wide. A metal cot rested against the wall. The floor and walls were made of cement. The only light came from a flickering yellow bulb dangling from the ceiling. It barely lit the cell, casting it in shades of grey despair.
And the smell. The air was thick with sweat, blood, and sickness.
A ghost was huddled on the cot, the shifter was barely recognizable as the man who’d attacked Ryker a month ago.
Brynleigh whimpered as she entered.
“Isvana have mercy on us all,” she breathed.
Ryker knew the prisoner was in bad shape, but this was worse than he’d expected.
Red hair coated in blood and grime hung limply around the shifter’s face. Black and blue bruises covered his visible skin. Dried blood crusted his lip. Several deep cuts were scattered over his body. They weren’t healing.
Zanri cradled his right arm to his chest, the bone jutting out oddly from the socket. Thick prohiberis manacles were attached to the shifter’s feet, connected to a chain locking him to the bed. He had just enough leeway to get to the small toilet and sink in the corner, but that was it.
The shifter’s name left Brynleigh’s lips on a whisper, but the man didn’t show any sign he’d heard it.
Brynleigh glanced up at Ryker, eyes wide with horror. Then, she darted around him to the sink before Ryker could stop her. She ripped off her sweater, leaving her in a black tank top, and turned on the tap.
The shifter was a statue on the cot.
Ryker’s gaze darted between the prisoner and his wife. Fuck, taking Brynleigh here had been a bad idea. Why had he thought he could keep his wife under control? He’d stupidly assumed she would stay behind him at all times.
Clearly, he’d been mistaken.
“What are you doing?” he growled.
She dipped the sweater under the tap, soaking it. “I’m helping him.”
Before Ryker could tell her what a dangerous idea that was—the man was in chains for a reason—she glanced over her shoulder. Her eyes flashed as if to say,Just try to stop me.
By all the gods, why had Ryker Chosen such a strong-willed wife? Most people never dared to talk back to him, and yet Brynleigh was challenging him in the middle of a fucking prison.
Damn it all, he was equally frustrated and turned on.