Moth tried to stand, but realized her legs were bound by heavy silver chains. At least her jeans offered some protection. She frowned, wondering why the silver that she assumed bound her wrists was so painful. Vampires were sensitive to silver, but it wasn’t usually this bad. More like an irritating allergy—and even then, only with really good-quality silver.

She gazed at the suspiciously familiar-looking young man who was watching her. The first thing she noticed about him was that he held some kind of crossbow trained on her, and it was aimed straight at her heart.

He said, “The silver chains and handcuffs are blessed, that’s why it hurts.”

Moth scowled. “That’s just mythology.”

“So, that’s why your wrists are burning?” His mouth twitched. “You must be a girl of faith for it to be so painful. Ironic, huh?”

“Who are you?” Moth resisted the temptation to bare her fangs, just in case he was simply a nutjob who didn’t really know what he was talking about. Considering the blessed silver chains and the crossbow, she doubted that was true, but it offered some comfort while her mind raced to figure a way out of here.

The young guy with spiky blond hair and dark eyes leaned forward as he smiled at her, but it wasn’t a friendly smile. His face was flooded with candlelight.

“You,” whispered Moth.

“Jason Murdoch, at your service. Sorry that Dad couldn’t be here to say ‘hi.’”

“You’re Thomas Murdoch’s son?”

He nodded, looking pleased that she’d figured it out. “Jace. I’d shake your hand, but you’re a little tied up over there.”

Moth was fighting a nauseating combination of fury and panic.