Lord Rhaegal stirred, his head pounding like a drum. His eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first, the world around him swimming in a blur of shadows and faint light. For a moment, he couldn't tell where he was—only that the ground beneath him was cold and damp, the air heavy with the smell of iron and smoke.
He blinked hard, forcing his vision to clear. He was in and empty room. dimly lit by a single lantern hanging from a crooked nail. His arms and legs ached, bound tight by coarse, dark ropes. The kind even vampires or werewolves couldn't break easily.
A soft groan came from beside him. Turning his head, Rhaegal saw Duke Cedric sprawled on the floor, still unconscious. He shifted closer and nudged him with his knee.
"Wake up," Rhaegal said, his voice low but firm.
Cedric stirred, his eyes flickering open with a confused glare. "What—" He tried to move, only to realize the ropes dug deep into his wrists. His expression hardened. "Damn it… bonding ropes."
