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For a second I couldn't understand what had happened. One moment Bayer had been sprawled on the dirt floor looking beaten and defeated, and the next he was holding me pinned against the stone, his body forming an immovable barrier between me and Christopher.

"Let me go!" I struggled against him.

"Stay down."

The words were rough against my ear.

I froze.

The broken tremor I'd heard moments ago was gone. Not completely—Christopher would never notice the difference—but enough that every instinct I possessed immediately sat up and paid attention.

Bayer's grip tightened.

"I said trust me."

My heart stuttered.

Trust him?

Christopher had Ben.

Christopher had his fangs buried in Ben's throat.

Ben's scream ripped through the basement.

But Bayer didn't even look at me.

Instead, he was watching Christopher.

At first I thought he was simply witnessing the horror of it, forced to stand by while someone else suffered because of him. Then I realized he wasn't watching Ben at all.

He was studying Christopher.

Tracking him.

Waiting.

The realization sent a chill racing down my spine.

Christopher had become completely consumed by the feed. His eyes were half-closed, his expression almost blissful as he drank.

And Bayer knew it.

Oh.

The bruises were real.

The blood was real.

But the surrender wasn't.

Every bowed shoulder. Every whispered apology. Every look of shame and defeat.

A performance.

He'd convinced Christopher he'd broken him.

Ben's screams weakened into ragged gasps, and Christopher leaned further into the bite, greed overriding caution.