Scorch

by Nikki Rae

  My eyes widened when I realized what he was insinuating. No, what he’d decided.

  “I should have known,” he said to himself, shaking his head again. “The high emotions, mood swings, nausea…all the signs were there.”

  “N-no.” I hated myself for stuttering, but with my arms around my knees, I was able to speak more clearly. “I haven’t been taking Cerberus or anything else.”

  He moved too fast, pinching my chin between his fingers. “Do. Not. Lie.” Master Lyon had kept his voice to a whisper, but he said it through clenched teeth. His touch became softer, along with his tone. “I could not bear it.”

  It took everything in me to speak in an even tone. “I don’t know how that got into my drink.”

  Master Lyon drew back a fraction, glancing from me to the nightstand. “You said Zoe’s name before. Was she with you?”

  I swallowed, not needing him to elaborate his reason for asking. She had bought me the water bottle and filled it for me—twice—but that didn’t mean this was her fault. “She wouldn’t do this.”

  However, if there was a chance, she most likely would have realized by now that my Owner had found me. Then she would either flee or return to the Chaos. Or Marius. Whomever had tasked her with drugging me, if it was true.

  When we looked at each other again, he got to his feet and took out his phone.

  After a few rings, my Owner hung up.

  My eyes widened. It wasn’t like Marius to not answer. In contrast, Master Lyon remained calm.

  “You drank that.” He’d fed me the poison himself, and his expression reflected that he was aware of it. “Over how many days?”

  I tried to make my head stop hurting, the room to cease spinning. “Two? Three?” I couldn’t remember any important detail. “But I don’t—”

  “I’ll be back,” he announced, standing before I could finish. “You need the counter drug, and I might be able to get it.” My Owner was already digging into his pocket for his phone, texting with one hand while pouring me more water with the other. From his bag, he gave me a package of crackers. “Try to eat something.”

  As he crossed the room, he made a show of closing the window but leaving the curtains open so I could see all I couldn’t have. I could certainly open it again, but trying to climb out would mean falling fifteen stories.

  “I won’t be long.”

  The door shut with a hollow finality that couldn’t compare to the clicking of the lock. I counted to one hundred before I tried to get out of bed, but a sour taste filled my mouth and I needed to be still. My body didn’t belong to me, and without the high of the drug, it had only left claw marks behind. Shivering, I turned on my side and pulled the sheet around me, unsure whether I was hot or cold.

  If there was a silver lining to this, it was that I was so physically uncomfortable I couldn’t focus on anything else. I clutched the pillow under my head like it was a life raft, and I tried to remember to take deep breaths as I willed the room to stop moving. It was impossible to keep my eyes open, but sleep wasn’t an option.

  Eventually, Master Lyon returned, and I couldn’t tell if it had been hours or days. My head had become slick with sweat again, and before the door had fully shut he was reaching into his jacket. I knew I wasn’t asleep, that this wasn’t a dream, yet everything felt disconnected from my body, my mind no longer present.

  There was a damp cloth over my eyes, and I tried to remove it as he repositioned me—taking my drenched pillows and throwing them to the floor and replacing them with the ones from the opposite bed. Once I was flat on my back, he took away the sheet, which I was helpless to hold on to.

  My eyes cracked open when he sat beside me to change me into a clean shirt and boxers, gave me a new cover I’d only soil. I spotted the syringe on the nightstand, and then it was between his fingers.

  He was quick to find a vein in the crook of my arm, and the tiny pinch was a small price in exchange for the warm relief flooding through me. I was desperate to stay awake as the pain subsided, and Master Lyon stroked my hair as my temperature decreased and I was no longer tense.

  “Rest, my love,” he whispered in my ear. “It will be…”

  I was unable to decipher whether I’d drifted into the darkness or if he couldn’t finish, but it didn’t matter. I let myself slip under the waves like they were a warm blanket that could offer me anything but death.

  However, the deeper I fell, the more difficult it was to stop the thoughts.

  Marius was nowhere to be found. I didn’t know where or how Odette was. There was a real possibility that someone I’d trusted had done this to me. All of us.

  And even once I’d banished these dreams, I still couldn’t shake the feeling that just beneath the surface, something was very, very wrong.

  Eleven

  One moment I was in the dark and the next, reality set in around me. Too stubborn to move and too afraid to wake to more pins and needles traveling through my body, I tried to go back into the night. A stale taste coated my tongue, and as soon as I became aware of one sense, all the others came back to life.

  Beneath me were soft sheets, and they smelled clean yet unfamiliar. I’d been covered with the rest of the blankets, and the cloth had disappeared from my forehead.

  “Come back to me, Doe.”

  My muddled mind almost couldn’t decipher who’d spoken, but my Owner stood before me. Still not completely lucid, I attempted to sit up by bracing my hands on either side of me, but I was met with resistance.

  The jingling of his belt buckle registered before I could fully take in the leather around my wrists. He’d used it to secure me to the metal frame under the mattress, leaving enough slack so I could sleep comfortably but not much else.

  “You…” My throat hurt, and my body still echoed with dull aches. “You tied me up?”

  I couldn’t summon the strength to act appalled; in all honesty, I didn’t blame him. I’d proven I wasn’t trustworthy, and he needed to illustrate that to me. In a vague sense, I wondered if last night had really happened. That we were apart and then suddenly together, where we currently found ourselves.

  Crouching, he unwound the knots and freed me. “Only for the last few hours. You’ve been out for nearly two days.”

  As he slipped the belt through the loops of his new black pants, I noticed the paper bag on the nightstand. When I glanced back at him, I realized his hair was slightly damp, and his navy shirt hadn’t been buttoned all the way.

  Two days. I scanned the room with unsteady eyes, searching for some sign of where we were. The generic art depicting blackbirds on the wall meant nothing to me. The brown and grey sheets could belong to any hotel in any part of the world. The curtains were parted again, window cracked so the slightest breeze filtered in. The sky was dark and rumbled with distant thunder, but I couldn’t tell whether it was day or night. My head was heavy, but I refused to give in and lie down again. I was done not moving forward.

  “How are you feeling?”

  I blinked a few times, thankful nothing spun anymore. “Okay.”

  Master Lyon smiled, but it was clinical. A doctor putting a patient at ease. “I brought you food,” he said, gesturing with his head to the table, where he had cleared my belongings and replaced them with cups of coffee and plates I couldn’t see from the bed. “Come try to eat something.”

  My sprained wrist announced itself as I got to my feet, and I shifted my weight so I wouldn’t hurt it more. He let me wobble to a chair, but pulled it out for me before he took his own seat.

  As we shared a silent breakfast, I chewed slower than usual, overly cautious of not upsetting my stomach. He’d purchased both herbal tea and coffee for me, and I chose the former. Halfway into my toast and eggs, Master Lyon dug into his pocket for the gold cigarette case and lighter he always carried on him.

  It was eerily similar to the night I’d been sold—waking in a strange new place with a man I hardly recognized, him watching me satisfy my hunger without eating anythi
ng himself. He waited patiently, watching as I finished the meal I’d demanded.

  I pushed aside my plate, unable to eat any more after days of withdrawal. Though I eyed the chocolate muffin in the center of the table, I couldn’t handle the idea of sugar right now.

  “Finished?”

  I nodded, folding my hands in my lap. Standing, Master Lyon stubbed out the rest of his cigarette and came towards me.

  “Have you already forgotten what I’ve taught you?” he asked in a soft voice. “I expect you to answer me; to look at me.”

  Taking a deep breath, I leveled my gaze with his. This was how he wanted to proceed, and I would go along with it if it meant he’d talk to me. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

  The words sounded dry and tinny, like a rusted wheel under tremendous weight.

  He accepted my answer then offered me a hand. As he brought me to my feet, his hand tangled in my hair. “You’re sure you’re feeling better?” He seemed to genuinely want to know.

  Now that I was somewhere the ground wasn’t constantly moving beneath my feet, I was less dazed. My fever had broken, and the drug had finally left my system. Now any unease was provided fully by the man who stood before me.

  I stopped myself mid-nod. “Yes, sir.”

  My voice became tight as he led me towards the bed, compensating for my labored breaths. “In that case,” he said, “I believe you have earned a punishment. Wouldn’t you agree, Doe?”

  I gaped at him as he sat me on the edge of the sheets. I tensed when he took up the empty space beside me, but then both of my hands were in his grasp.

  “I don’t want you to be afraid of me,” he said, “but I don’t see another way. Not with something like this.”

  I opened my mouth to defend myself, but he cut me off despite his gentle tone. “You will have a chance so speak, and I promise you I will listen to what you have to say.”

  Swallowing, I waited for him to continue, knowing that as of yet, I didn’t even know where to start with all I needed to tell him.

  Master Lyon squeezed my hand. “I understand just how important this is to you,” he said. “but this is what you need right now.”

  I stared at him, anticipating he would lunge forward and seize my arms, knock me to the floor the way he had when I’d tried to run from the car. Then he would beat me senseless—a blow for each mistake I’d made.

  But he simply held my hands as he thought. “It won’t be scary. I want to show you how it feels afterward, which I think will help you.”

  I cleared my throat, and when he didn’t object, I asked, “What do you mean? How do you know I need your ‘help’?”

  His eyes narrowed slightly as if the answer was obvious. “I know you.”

  For the longest time, we were silent. Then he finally smoothed a thumb across my cheek. My mind flashed with the last punishment I’d received, and I couldn’t imagine how much worse this one would be considering I’d gotten so far. This wasn’t a trip outside and a ride in the ATV. This betrayal crossed borders even he appeared to not have known existed.

  “You…” I whispered. “You aren’t angry?”

  He sat a bit straighter. “Yes, I am furious, ma petite,” he said. “But that doesn’t matter. What you need comes first.”

  I stared back at him, searching for any sign he was on edge or having trouble separating what I had done and how he felt about it. I found nothing but his boyish features beneath a scruff of beard, but I wouldn’t allow him to win so easily. “We can talk after?”

  Master Lyon’s lip twitched at my need to be sure, but he nodded. “Yes. I think it might help loosen your tongue a little.”

  I gulped at the sound of it, but his tone hadn’t changed. “Will it hurt, sir?”

  Head to the side, he studied me a moment. “I think you’ve hurt yourself enough, no?”

  We were quiet as he rubbed the bandage around my wrist where he’d taped it.

  My eyes were glued to the sheets between us, but I couldn’t respond. No, I hadn’t. I deserved so much more than a sprained wrist and a few cuts and bruises.

  I couldn’t look at him as he returned to the table for my backpack. My pulse slowed when he opened the front pouch and ripped open the seam inside. From that, he pulled out a small, flat, square object. He gave it to me, and I wasn’t sure if this was another crime he thought I’d committed so I kept my mouth shut.

  “It’s a tracking device,” he said quietly, sitting across from me so we could speak on the same level. That alone calmed me. “I sewed it into your bag the night you arrived. Then I kept it there when you ran.”

  My eyes shot to him. “You always thought I would run again.” My voice cracked with what I couldn’t say: you never really trusted me at all.

  I didn’t care if I was speaking out of turn. Despite all I’d done to him, it stung unlike anything I’d felt over the past few days. Part of me wished he would unleash all his anger on me so I could do the same. I’d rather he whip me with a blunt instrument than talk in circles and get nowhere. I’d prefer burns over him telling me all the reasons I was pathetic.

  “Fawn.” He was quiet, and I hadn’t realized I’d looked away from him to shield my expression. He knelt in the tiny space between the beds, hands on either side of me but keeping a respectful distance.

  “I’m trying to tell you that I don’t want to lose you. That even when I’ve trusted you, I’ve always known where you are.” When I glanced up at him, he seemed startled, but he recovered quickly. “I need to keep you safe. I’ve failed too many times already.”

  His voice broke and he took a breath before digging into the pocket of his black pants. “I need to keep you with me,” he said in a fainter tone, dangling the necklace he’d given me inches from my face. The stones sparkled in the dim bedside lamp, the circular, rose-filled frame rotating with the golden chimera in the middle. “Just as you need to keep me with you.”

  I understood now. I felt safe with his mark against my skin, and he was only content if he knew this. These were the things we could control. Leaning forward, I shifted my hair to one side. After a moment, he clasped the chain around my throat.

  For a long while, we stayed that way, my head grazing his shoulder, his lips just above my ear. I could hear every breath he took, his hard swallows.

  “Fawn,” he said, moving closer, like he was telling a secret. “Would you like me to hurt you?”

  He wasn’t threatening me, only asking. I could say no and he would respect my answer—at least I hadn’t ruined that. I’d hoped he would continue talking, telling me all the many ways he had missed me when a second ago I would have welcomed this offer.

  “It’s all right,” he said softly, brave enough to touch my hair, tangled and knotted from sleep. When I didn’t protest, he cupped my jaw, letting me turn my eyes to him before he moved my head.

  So clearly, I remembered his belt as it struck my thighs, the raised welts; being left in the dark and not knowing when I would be freed. He would be right to beat me now, when I’d so blatantly disobeyed. When I’d hurt him so deeply. He needed to know how sorry I was and I needed more of him than I was willing to admit. Any proof he’d touched me after this was preferable to his pity.

  I wanted to believe that what he was trying to show me was important, and I couldn’t keep his question from tumbling through my head, gaining strength each time it rolled over: did I want him to hurt me?

  My initial reaction was to recoil, but the longer he made me sit and think, the more I wondered whether that was completely true. Marius has asked me something similar, but I’d been too afraid to ask—too afraid to consider it. Master Lyon knew me as much as anyone could; he saw my decisions before I made them, when I was lying, when I was sincere. Even so, I couldn’t recall a time he’d given me a choice in how I was reprimanded.

  In the Order, something like that was unheard of—it was considered the Owner’s weakness, asking whether their slaves should be disciplined and being outsmarted by a being of lower s
tatus. But I wasn’t a slave anymore. The second the curtain had been peeled back, House Chimera had done everything in their power to make sure I knew this.

  No matter how much we hurt each other, he wanted what he thought was best for me. If there was a chance he would listen—really listen—to what I had to say, I needed to show him I wasn’t afraid as equally as he needed to display he wouldn’t approach me in anger.

  Master Lyon let go of me in favor of holding my hand, careful not to brush the few scrapes he hadn’t bandaged.

  “Will you keep calling me Fawn, sir?”

  I added the title so he would know I only wanted the name, not the role that came with it. Sometimes, freedom was overwhelming, and my Owner understood this just as well. Thanks to the Cerberus I’d ingested, I’d spent the last forty-eight hours viewing myself from the outside. He’d helped bring me back, and now I needed to do the same for him.

  The way the corner of his lip lifted gave me hope. “If that’s what you’d like, of course.”

  I was still uncertain, but if nothing else, maybe the pain could bond us in some sick way. He might be open to my ideas if I was willing to listen to his.

  “Okay.”

  A knowing grin stretched his mouth. “You know better, Fawn,” he mock-scolded, voice still soft. “Use your words if you want something.”

  “I’m sorry, sir.” I tried to match his tone, but my voice cracked. Unconsciously, I squeezed his hand tighter, sending a shooting throb through my forearm. I found I was unable to care; the comfort was worth the pain.

  “I…” He let my gaze dart to the wall behind him, where there was a gold art piece hanging; multiple circles crashing into each other so once you were sure you were following one, you were already attached to the other. “I would like you to hurt me, sir.”

  I expected the pride in his expression, not the sadness behind his dark eyes.