The King

by Jennifer Armentrout

  Don’t get stuck on your back. Don’t get stuck on your back.

  Swinging out a fist, I jerked upward, but he was still holding the chain and pulled it back. The back of my head cracked off the stone as he caught my fist and then my other hand. Tsking under his breath, he pressed my wrists together as he transferred them into one hand.

  “Keep fighting me,” he said. “I find it greatly amusing.”

  Lifting my hips, I twisted toward him, kicking out. The heel of my foot connected with his thigh, causing him to grunt. The burst of satisfaction was short-lived when he drew my arms up over my head.

  “Kicking is not nice, little bird,” he admonished. Panic choked me just as badly as the band had earlier when cool metal clicked around my wrists, securing my hands to the stone. “You wouldn’t like it if I did it to you.”

  “Fuck you.” I kicked out again, catching him in the stomach.

  The blow to the side of my head stunned me. I hadn’t even seen him move, but I felt the explosion of pain. White crowded my vision as I breathed through the agony.

  “Didn’t like that, did you?” He had a hold of my leg as he moved down to the end of the slab. “I can do much, much worse.”

  “You…you hit like an…underdeveloped five-year-old,” I said, blinking to clear the starbursts from my vision.

  Cool metal snapped around my right ankle and then my left, and the only good takeaway was that I wasn’t spread eagle. But when I dipped my chin and peered down, I could see that the hem of my dress was riding up. Not like it had far to go to begin with.

  Aric stalked back toward me. “I didn’t know you had such a mouth on you.”

  “Surprise.”

  He gave me another tight smile as he placed his hand over mine. “I’m going to have to teach you how to be mindful of what you say to me.”

  My heart tripped over itself as he trailed his hand down my arm. “Good luck.”

  “I won’t need it.” His hand left my arm, and he gripped my cheeks. “You will, but you will find none of it.”

  I forced myself to meet his pale eyes. “I’m not scared of you.”

  His smile increased as did the pressure on my face. “That is a lie. Do you know how I know that?”

  He was right. God, he was. I was terrified of the Ancient, but I’d be damned if I gave him the satisfaction of admitting it. “You’re a super special, know-it-all fae?”

  “Cute.” His chuckle dripped ice down my spine as he guided my head up. “I can smell it in your sweat. It reminds me of kerosene.”

  “Sorry I…”—I swallowed back a groan as the pressure on the joints of my jaw increased—“I don’t smell better for you.”

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself.” Using his grip on my face, he pulled me upright as he held the chain in his other fist, shortening the length until the cuff pressed into the front of my throat. My back bowed painfully, and my arms stretched. “I love the smell of fear. It gets me hard.”

  My heart stuttered and then sped up. A whole new horror swamped me. There were a lot of things I could deal with. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself. Pain. Humiliation. Fear. None of those were new. But this possibility? I didn’t know how to deal with that.

  “You’re sick,” I gasped out.

  Aric aligned his face with mine, causing my hands to open and close. When he spoke, his icy breath coasted over my nose. “Not sick enough to fuck you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  A rush of relief pounded through me so fast and hard, I almost lost it. A burn in my throat crawled upward—

  “Don’t be too relieved to hear that. It offends me, and”—he tilted his head, his gaze traveling over the length of my body, lingering in areas that caused my skin to crawl—“well, I can always be swayed.”

  Revulsion threatened to choke me as he lifted his gaze to mine. I glared back at him, my hands trembling as they curled into fists. Once again, I found myself wishing I was wearing anything but the sleeveless sheath dress. Then again, I had a feeling if I were wearing a parka or a head-to-toe shapeless jumpsuit, I’d still feel stripped bare.

  One side of Aric’s lips kicked up. “But right now, there is something else I want from you.”

  “I’m not going to tell you a damn thing about the Order.”

  “Silly girl.” He jerked the chain, snapping my head back. “There is nothing about the Order that I don’t already know. They are no threat to me.”

  Whether that was true or not, I had no idea, but I couldn’t really focus on that. Not when the strain of the chain was sending jagged shards of pain down my neck. “Then I’m of no use to you.”

  “Not true.” He leaned away from me, reaching behind him. “You have so many uses to me, you have no idea.”

  Aric pulled something out of his back pocket. In the golden light of the torches, my heart stopped in my chest when I saw what he held. A long, slender blade that came to a wickedly sharp point.

  My gaze flew to his, and my breath caught as his hand and the blade it held moved out of my line of sight. “What are you doing?”

  He continued to smile at me. “Pulling out your feathers.”

  There was a good chance my heart stopped.

  “Scream as loud as you like,” he offered, and I felt the tip of the blade press into my skin. I bit down as the slight pressure turned to pain. “Because no one is coming for you.”

  Chapter 9

  My body was on fire, and for once, I wished for that bone-chilling coldness that had greeted me when I first came to in the chamber.

  And when was that?

  Had to be…days ago. Definitely days. Maybe five if I based it on when Aric arrived. Twice a day, I believed. Possibly the morning and the night, and each time he stayed…long enough to do what he needed, which was to take me outside to do my business like a dog on a leash, and then do what he wanted, which was to turn me into a living, breathing pincushion.

  And to feed.

  He generally fed on the second visit, and I was always left unconscious when he left, waking the same way I had the first time, my head throbbing and feeling disoriented. And each time, it seemed to take seconds longer for me to remember how I had gotten here.

  Why I was here.

  My painfully empty stomach grumbled as I stared at the withered vines by the door. It had to be at least three days since Aric had tossed a bag of cold McDonalds at me. I’d scarfed that grease-soaked crap down and then promptly vomited it all back up. Now, I’d probably murder someone for a stale and cold cheeseburger.

  Working on a dry swallow, I tipped my head back. Water would be nice, too. I was given enough to survive, but nowhere near enough to quench my thirst.

  A full-body dip in lidocaine would be great also.

  I sighed, not daring to move too much. The heavy chain pooled on the floor beside where I was propped up against the base of the stone slab. My wrists and ankles were always unlocked after the feeding, allowing me to roam as far as the chain would allow.

  Which wasn’t all that far.

  The only thing I knew was that Aric had no plans to kill me. At least not yet, and despite how…horrific all of this was, alive was better than dead.

  I kept telling myself that. Repeatedly.

  I probably shouldn’t be sitting on the floor, considering my body was one giant, open wound, and God only knew what kind of dirt and water was getting into the hundreds, if not thousands of tiny slices that covered nearly every inch of my body. I was probably going to contract some kind of flesh-eating bacteria.

  Dragging my gaze from the vines, I looked down at my legs and winced. Purplish bruises mottled the pale skin, left behind when Aric had bored of me fighting back and secured my legs and arms. They were all pretty gnarly, but they were by no means the worst. The cuts were worse.

  Dozens and dozens of them on each leg, on the front and the back, all methodically two inches long and carved into neat lines just a touch beyond shallow. My arms were the same. So were my chest and a g
ood part of my back, which was why I was on the floor and not lying on the slab.

  The back…those were fresh.

  Another grumble echoed through my stomach. I’d thought I’d known what hunger pains felt like. I, of course, had been foolishly naive to think that skipping a meal could cause these gnawing, strong contractions that nearly doubled me over.

  I was starving, and thinking about food was surely the worst thing I could do. So, I focused on my butchered arms and counted the slices starting at my shoulder.

  One. Two. Three. Four….

  I hadn’t given Aric what he wanted. Not the first or the second time.

  Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen….

  I’d nearly cracked my molars from not screaming. But by the third time, Aric had started with the more sensitive areas first, and there hadn’t been any numbness to soften the shock to the system.

  Twenty-five. Twenty-six. Twenty-seven….

  When he cut along the back of my knees and elbows, I’d screamed.

  I’d screamed until my throat felt as raw as my skin.

  I stared at the smudges of dried blood as another shudder rolled through me. Aric had been right about something, though. No one had come when I screamed.

  Thirty-five. Thirty-six. Thirty-seven. Thirty-eight….

  The next breath I took was shaky as I continued counting. Forty-one. Forty-two. Forty—

  Footsteps drew my attention and I jerked up my chin. He was back. Lurching to my feet, I winced as my skin stretched. The room swayed a little, a kaleidoscope of flames and gray walls as I steadied myself.

  The door swung open, and Aric strode in like he was taking a walk in a park and not strolling into a torture chamber. I wanted to shout at him, but I saw that he carried a white paper bag. I inhaled, catching a faint whiff of meat.

  My knees felt weak.

  “Look at you, standing when I arrive.” The door swung shut behind him. “I’m impressed.”

  All I could do was stare at the bag of food.

  Aric followed my gaze. “Hungry?”

  I didn’t nod or speak as he stopped a few feet from me.

  “Is that why you’re not lying in wait or pouncing on me like an inept buffoon?”

  I didn’t think my tactics were that of an inept buffoon, but he could say whatever he wanted as long as I got what was in that bag.

  “You are hungry.” Smirking, he unrolled the top of the bag and reached in, pulling out a loosely wrapped sandwich. “Sorry. I forgot how often you humans need to eat.”

  My mouth started to water.

  He peeled back the wrapper, revealing what appeared to be a breakfast sandwich. So, I’d been right. It was morning. “Actually, I didn’t forget.”

  Shocker.

  Stepping forward, he dipped his chin and smiled. Every muscle in my body locked up. Aric was…well, he was an Ancient fae. So, of course, he was strikingly handsome. And when he smiled, it transformed all those angles into something truly majestic.

  And something entirely evil.

  Because he smiled like that when he cut into my skin, and he grinned like that when I screamed. He beamed like he was right now when he led me outside, when it was too dark for me to get my bearings while I went to the bathroom.

  “I just want you to know that I control everything,” he said as if he were suggesting that I check out a new TV show. “When you’re awake. When you rest. When you expel. When you eat. I control your every waking second.”

  His words burst through my fog of hunger. Words rose to the tip of my tongue. I wanted to tell him that even though he may control all of that, he still didn’t control me, but I was hungry, and I needed to eat so that I had some sort of strength. It would be stupid to mouth off, so I wisely kept said mouth shut even though it ate away at a part of me.

  Aric offered me the sandwich.

  I eyed him warily, resisting the urge to snatch it out of his hand.

  “Come on,” he coaxed. “It’s going to get cold, and I hear this stuff tastes even worse when it’s not hot. Be a good girl.”

  Hatred swarmed me, hot and heavy. The tips of my fingers itched to dig into his skin, to rip at his flesh. Pushing all of that down was one of the hardest things I’d ever had to do, but I managed to do just that as I reached out to take the food.

  The stinging blow seemed to come from nowhere, knocking me back. My legs went out from under me as the room spun. I went down, my knee cracking on the hard floor. Stunned by the taste of metal flooding my mouth, I planted my hands on the floor and lifted my chin.

  Aric wiggled the sandwich in my direction. “You didn’t say please.”

  * * * *

  Scratching at the slab with the tiny rock I’d found near the wall of vines at some point, I worked and worked until my fingers ached and cramped, but a thin line the length of the ones that marked my body eventually took form.

  My name is Brighton.

  Friends call me Bri.

  Tink has christened me Lite Bright.

  Caden calls me sunshine.

  My name is Brighton, and I will kill Aric.

  That was my mantra as I finished, dropping the stone and then counting with one functioning eye. The other was swollen shut.

  Thirteen. Thirteen days. I didn’t quite recall exactly when I started doing this or if I had counted the days before I had begun marking them into the stone, but thirteen days had passed. Knowing that seemed important.

  Just as important as forcing myself to remember who I was and why I was here every time I woke up and couldn’t…couldn’t recall a single thing.

  Almost as important as remembering that I would kill Aric.

  Footsteps echoed outside the tomb, causing my empty stomach to drop. I pushed the rock back so it was hidden and remained where I was, learning that it was safer to do so.

  The door inched open, revealing Aric. He carried food, a platter covered with plastic, but it did very little to stop the aroma of roasted beef wafting its way toward me. A grumble rattled my insides as dread exploded in my chest. The dueling reactions ratcheted up the unease. Sustenance shouldn’t equal fear, but it had begun to.

  But the fact that he had food wasn’t the only reason alarm rang its way through me like a siren.

  Aric wasn’t alone.

  Behind him was a female fae, and this was the first time anyone besides Aric had entered the tomb. And when he took me aboveground, I never saw a soul, even though I could hear traffic. The female was tall with a blunt, icy-blond haircut, and she carried something, as well. A tote.

  Was Aric going to let her get in on the fun of torturing the ever-loving hell out of me?

  Knowing my luck, probably.

  Aric approached me, kneeling down a foot away as the female stayed near the door. Smugness crept into his disgustingly handsome face, as did a sick look of pleasure. “How are you feeling today?”

  I said nothing as I glared at him.

  “You do not want me to ask you twice, little bird.”

  My wounded fingers spasmed as I croaked out, “Dandy.”

  He tilted his head. “I’m happy to hear that.”

  I’m sure.

  “You surprise me each day, you know? That you’re still alive, still there. It’s impressive.”

  “I live to impress you.” My gaze darted to the plate of food.

  His chuckle was low. “Hungry?”

  Every muscle in my body locked up as my eyes shifted back to him.

  “Oh. Are you not hungry?” He lifted his brows as he peeled back the plastic wrapping. “Here.” He held out the plate as I zeroed in on the meat. The hunk of beef sat in its own juices and looked so good, it made my stomach ache. “Take it.”

  On reflex, I reached up, touching the split in my lower lip.

  Aric smiled as if I were a child showing him a report card with straight As. “Come on, it’s just food. It won’t hurt you.”

  That was a lie.

  My hand trembled, and I quickly hid it in the folds of my staine
d dress. The female fae remained quiet, still standing by the door.

  “Be a good girl,” Aric murmured.

  Anger flushed me as my gaze flew to his. I’m going to kill you. A shudder rocked me as I forced myself to take a breath. I’m going to rip your fucking head off. Slowly, I lifted my hand and reached to the plate—

  He tipped forward suddenly, and I couldn’t stop my reaction. Flinching, I pressed back against the stone, waiting for the blow.

  This was why food equaled fear. Why hunger had truly become painful and something to dread. It was another form of torture, one both physical and mental. I was Aric’s messed up version of Pavlov’s dog, but instead of salivating at the sound of a bell, I saw food and experienced horror.

  Classic fucking conditioning at its finest.

  “Take the food,” he ordered when I didn’t move. “Take the food, or I will take from you.”

  Ice dripped down my spine as I found myself stuck between a rock and a more messed up rock. Reach for the food and most likely get punched or kicked or slapped or grabbed? Don’t reach for the food and he’d feed.

  I chose the former, lifting my arm once more.

  His other hand whipped out, catching mine. My heart jerked to a stop as he squeezed—squeezed until the bones of my hand ground together. I gasped back the cry of pain.

  “You do not learn, do you, you stupid cow?” His smile twisted into a snarl that made him look more rabid animal than human. “What are you supposed to say?”

  What he wanted tasted of bitter ash on the tip of my tongue.

  “Say it.”

  I knew what was coming.

  His lips peeled back. “Say it.”

  I said nothing because all I had left was my will, and I clamored to preserve that even when I knew he was going to take that, too.

  “Say it!” he roared.

  I swallowed hard. “Make me.”

  Letting go of my bruised hand, he grasped my chin, digging his fingers into the skin. He yanked me up onto my knees with his grip. His eyes caught mine, and there was no looking away, no blinking as his pupils seemed to constrict to pinpoints.