Styx slowly fell to his knees, his face buried in his hands.
"I at last understand."
Viper knelt at his side, his arm around his shoulders. "You understand what?"
Styx lifted his head to regard Viper with haunted eyes. "I understand what you meant when you said you would sacrifice everything to keep your mate safe."
"Yes." Viper gave a slow nod. "You are well and truly mated, old friend. But there will be no sacrifices necessary on this night. Soon enough Darcy will be back in your arms, where she belongs."
Darcy wasn't at all surprised to awaken with a headache the size of Texas. Or a jaw so swollen it felt as if she had stuffed a grapefruit in her cheek. She wasn't even surprised to discover she was in a strange room and chained to a bed.
In fact, it all seemed fairly par for the course.
How scary was that?
Swallowing a groan, she managed to force her heavy lids open and glanced cautiously about the room.
It was barely worth the effort.
There was nothing to see. Not unless you counted the faux wood paneling that was haphazardly nailed to the walls and puke-yellow carpeting that was growing a lovely crop of mold.
It was a narrow, grim room that looked exactly like any other room in a seedy hotel. She had lived in enough of them to recognize it by its stench.
No, not exactly like any other seedy hotel, she acknowledged as she turned her head enough to see the heavy bars across the window. They were obviously a new addition that did nothing to lighten the morose ambiance.
And ridiculously unnecessary considering she was chained and leashed like a raving lunatic.
Shifting on the hard mattress, Darcy glared down at the iron shackles that encircled her wrists. They were connected to heavy chains that were bolted to the floor. Chains that no doubt weighed as much as herself.
If her kidnappers thought she was the most dangerous creature to hit Chicago since Al Capone, or they needed her chained and helpless for a reason.
Crap.
She hoped it was the scary Al Capone option.
Nothing good could come from someone wanting a person chained and helpless.
Ignoring the lingering pain in her head, Darcy wriggled on the narrow mattress, using her feet to help push herself up the headboard to a seated position.
She was no closer to escape, but at least she didn't feel quite so helpless.
Thank Cod since the door across the room was being thrust open to reveal a now familiar woman.
Her own beloved mother.
The rotten bitch.
Darcy was momentarily shocked by the force of her anger toward the woman who supposedly gave birth to her.
Granted their first meeting had hardly been the stuff of dreams. Not unless her dreams included being cold-cocked, kidnapped, and chained to a bed. But while she could reasonably expect a sense of betrayal and even disappointment, the sharp, tangible anger was definitely out of character.
Perhaps because Darcy could no longer cling to her childhood fantasy of a mother who was kind and gentle and loving.
A mother who had been forced to give her up. but still held a deep affection for her lost child.
The knowledge left an aching hole in her heart and made her long to lash out at the woman who had created it.
After closing the door, the woman casually strolled toward the bed. Darcy shivered as a strange prickle ran over her skin. It was a sensation she was beginning to associate with being in the presence of a Were.
As if something in her body recognized she was in the company of her own species.
Oh ... poop.
Halting near the window, the woman folded her arms over her chest and allowed her gaze to take in the sight of Darcy.
She didn't appear particularly impressed with her daughter. Not surprising. Darcy was well aware she looked like a grunge groupie. Her mother, on the other hand, was boasting an ivory pantsuit that looked like it came straight out of the fashion pages, and her hair had been elegantly braided and coiled at the nape of her neck.
She would have been stunningly beautiful if her expression hadn't been cold enough to frost the air.
"So you are awake," the woman commented in an offhand tone.
Darcy narrowed her gaze. "So it would seem."
"I was beginning to fear that I had hit you too hard. It would be a shame to have killed you after we have at last found you again."
The anger humming through Darcy's body picked up steam.
That was what her dear, beloved mother had to say?
That she was glad she hadn't killed her?
"Please, your concern is overwhelming," Darcy gritted.
A mocking smile touched her mother's perfect lips. "Would you rather that I kiss your boo-boo and make it better?"
"Considering you were the one to give me the boo-boo I think I'll pass."
"Suit yourself."
Darcy shifted on the mattress, a surge of irritation rushing through her at the dull rattle of chains.
"Since I'm obviously to be a guest here, whether I want to be or not, I think you should at least introduce yourself."
"But you already know, my dearest child." The mocking smile widened. "Of course, I shall become quite violent if you dare to call me mother. I am Sophia."
Sophia. Somehow it suited her, Darcy decided. Far more than mother ever would.
"It never occurred to me to call you mother," she lardy assured her companion. "Where am I?"
"Salvatore's lair." Sophia cast a disparaging glance around the room. "A pigsty, isn't it?"
"I've seen worse."
"Perhaps you have." Her mother tilted her head to one side as she studied Darcy's fierce gaze. "You have a fragile look to you, but there is fire in your eyes. As is only fitting for your position. You will need a great deal of fire, my daughter. Weakness is not tolerated among the purebloods."
"I'm assuming that good manners aren't high on the list either." Darcy glanced pointedly at the shackles. "When I used to fantasize about meeting my mother it didn't include being attacked and chained to a bed."
"It is not how I would have wished our first meeting to be, but it is entirely your own fault, you know."
"My fault?"
Sophia lifted her hand to study her perfect manicure. "You should have listened to Salvatore when he first approached you. It would have saved us all a great deal of trouble."
Darcy gave a short, disbelieving laugh. She was being blamed for being stalked, terrified, and now waking up chained to a bed?
That was going over the line.
"Forgive me, but I don't make a habit of listening to strange men who stalk me through the streets of Chicago."
"A pity. You managed to lead Salvatore around like a fool, which I must admit does have its amusing moments, but I don't possess his patience. It's time you are with your family."