“There’s this place I go to…I want to bring you. I brought Lydia once. She wasn’t impressed, but I didn’t do much to make it special. Maybe together we can—“
“Daederich.”
“—she’ll see why it’s so beautiful. She’ll appreciate a break from the world. I don’t think she wanted one then. She still hadn’t been part of the world at all. She needed more.” Daederich clamped his mouth shut when Elah’s lips curved. He didn’t usually talk this much. He’d taken on jobs he couldn’t stomach and shut down his mind, doing what must be done and tucking any regrets into the back of his mind to die.
“Daederich.” Elah gave him a tight smile. Leaned in close. “We’ll bring her back there. Show her how wonderful it is to be away from the noise. She’ll appreciate it more now that she’s seen so much.”
“Yes…” Daederich inhaled roughly. Looked down at the crude blade. “I’d say you’re like a brother to me, but you’re more. Losing my son, losing Lydia…it would have destroyed me if you weren’t there.”
“No. It wouldn’t have because they needed you.” Elah placed a hand on his shoulder. “You were ready to fight without me. You just didn’t know it yet.”
Pressing his eyes shut, Daederich nodded. “Maybe. But I still believe I needed you then. And I need you now.”
“I’m right here.” Elah curved his hand around the back of Daederich’s neck. “And I love you too.”
A laugh escaped before Daederich could stop it. He met Elah’s eyes. “I don’t say those words lightly. But I am saying them now. I do love you. I’m not sure what that will mean once we’re free, but it won’t change.”
“Mmhmm, well, we shall see.” Elah’s eyes lightened, the blue and grey and golden brown of his irises sparkling. “I’ll be a lot more gentle with you than you were with me.”
“Elah—”
“Don’t. I know.” Elah pressed a finger to his lips. “You promised to kill me if it ever came to that, but I’m glad you didn’t. I couldn’t leave you alone in this. She’ll need us both when this is over.”
“If it ever is.”
“It will be. But I need you right now. I need you to be the fucking badass I know you are. Make it quick and don’t see me as less when you’re done.”
“Never.” Daederich lifted the sharpened piece of metal. Took hold of Elah’s wrist. “You’ll always be the strongest man I know.”
He didn’t warn Elah. The hunter didn’t need it. They both needed this to be over.
The first hack broke through skin and bone, splitting Elah’s wrist halfway. There wasn’t much blood. It flowed slowly. Thick. Soaking into Daederich’s jeans.
Once more and the glove hit the floor.
Elah swayed, bracing his hand on the edge of the bed. A single tear trailed down his white cheek.
Daederich pulled the hunter into his arms, holding his bloody wrist against his chest. He pressed his lips to the other man’s cheek. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s done.” Elah shuddered. “I wouldn’t admit this to anyone else, but…I think I need a minute.”
Laying the other man on the bed, Daederich quickly stripped his shirt, using it to cover the wound. To give Elah some time to absorb his loss.
He would heal as soon as he was given blood. The pain would be gone. But there was no way to replace what Elah had sacrificed.
And he’d have to recover quickly, or all this would be pointless.
Daederich used the edge of the bloody piece of metal to slit his own wrist. Held Elah close and pressed it to his lips.
A sound.
The door opened.
A gun.
One shot.
Only one.
Elah went limp in his arms.
Rosali’s guard, the one with long blond hair, stepped into the room. “You’ll want to move away from him now. I don’t think I saw what was happening clearly. You wouldn’t try to help him escape?”
The answer. He had to give the man the right answer. They were back at the beginning, without a chance to break free, simply fighting to survive until they found one.
He settled Elah on the bed. Pressed his slit wrist to his side as he stood. “No. He did this to himself.”
“Of course he did.” The guard’s lips thinned. “Rosali has such hopes for you.” The guard strode across the room. Motioned with the gun from Daederich to the door. “We wouldn’t want to disappoint her.”
Daederich kept silent, watching as the guard placed a metal collar around Elah’s neck, attaching a chain before holding a small flask to Elah’s lips. Elah woke, blinking fast, disoriented. The guard jerked him to his feet.
“Where are we going?” Daederich glanced back as the second guard grabbed him, forcing him down the hallway. “What does she want from me?”
“She’ll let you know.” The guard with the fancy hair jutted his chin forward. “Keep moving and you’ll be just fine.”
Chapter Fifteen
The wounds were a bloody mess, but Cyrus admired the brutality of them. He sat on the edge of the bed in one of the larger rooms of the mansion, one of many Rosali had acquired in the area from lovers with more money than brains, and watched Lydia’s skin slowly begin to heal. Rosali had traced out every single scar on her back, which must have been painful, but the glorious cruelty was forcing Lydia to relive the torture he’d inflicted on her.
Lydia had handled it surprisingly well and he’d struggled not to laugh as Rosali grew more and more frustrated at her lack of response. Rosali pulling out the electric branding iron had concerned him—he didn’t want his pet permanently disfigured—but the intricate rose burned into Lydia’s face was lovely.
Just below her eye in a tribal design, the darkened skin would never heal completely, though it might lighten after she’d fed.
Which was why he hadn’t given her blood yet. Artwork like this was meant to be appreciated for as long as possible. He could still hear her screams. See her struggling against Rosali, desperate to escape the blazing heat.
But Rosali had held her still, keeping the lines of the design nice and clean.
Impressive.
Groaning softly, Lydia turned her head. Her burned cheek touched the pillow and her whole body jerked. She clawed at the sheets, gasping as the agony returned, fresh now that she’d regained consciousness.
“Shh, it’s over.” Cyrus sighed, tearing his gaze from the beautiful damage, cutting a vein on his wrist with a fang and holding the wound to Lydia’s lips. “Next time, perhaps you could refrain from offering yourself up to someone who takes great pleasure in making you suffer?”
Without releasing his wrist, she arched a brow.
He chuckled and smoothed his hand over her hair. “I do not count.”
She huffed, licking the wound closed and easing away from him. The tense lines of pain on her face smoothed away. She rose gingerly, not seeming to care she was naked. “Where are we?”
“A room prepared for me above the theater.”
“It’s not a fucking theater. Just a mansion where rich assholes gather to buy innocent girls.” Lydia’s lips curled with disgust. “I guess paying is the only way any of you can get any.”
Well, she was in a feisty mood. He smiled as he lifted a strand of hair off her cheek. “There are other methods. I’ve never paid for my entertainment. Money doesn’t motivate quite as well as pain.”
Her jaw hardened. “You tried that with me. And failed.”
“I suppose, but I still found a way.” His smile faded as she looked away. “What is it? You seem angry.”
“I’m not.”
“Bullshit.” He framed her jaw with his hand, turning her to face him. “You can’t blame me for letting her hurt you. You did that to yourself.”
“I’m aware.”
“Then what is with the attitude? I’ve helped you heal, fed you, brought you out of her reach so you can recover.” His lips thinned as she stared at him, her expression unreadable. �
��I won’t coddle you all the time, Lydia. I’m a social creature. It pleases me to have you by my side.”
She nodded slowly. “You wanted to show me off.”
“Naturally.”
“Then I hope my performance met your expectations.”
Her tone was off. For the week after he’d pulled her from her grave she’d been receptive to him, still wary, never forgetting who he was, but leaning into his touch, rather than shying away. Had she simply been giving him what she thought he wanted? No, she couldn’t hide her feelings from him that well.
But being under Rosali’s mercy might have Lydia shutting down to protect herself. Seeing those girls had also had an impact. Reminded her of the life she’d lived. The power she’d once had to save so many from the clutches of men like him.
The old Lydia, the one who’d challenged him as he held her life in his hands, was still in there somewhere.
Which pleased him. He’d enjoy taking that side of her out to play now and then.
But he wouldn’t take Rosali’s sloppy seconds. Lydia would be comfortable with him when he tore down her defenses, leaving her raw and bloody at his feet, struggling to find that defiance she wore so well. She was ready for it now. On guard.
“I will care for you in my own way. I won’t let anyone break you. I won’t let you die.” He brushed his fingers over the brand on her cheek and she winced, though the wound had healed, leaving a deep red scar. “Unless you continue to irritate me. Put away the claws, pet. You should be grateful that I didn’t leave you to suffer longer.”
“Oh, I am grateful. Very.” She bit her bottom lip and lowered her gaze. “Please tell me that girl got away?”
He cocked his head. “Would that please you? She’s a stranger. A stupid child who made foolish choices. Her life means nothing.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. Where you’ll always be wrong.” Her voice was soft, so soft he had to lean closer to hear her. “Even if she has no family to go back to, even if no one will miss her, her life is worth something. If she’s free she’ll have another day to see the sun rise. Another day to choose a different path. To grow old, to make a difference, to simply be alive.” She smiled a little. “You’ll never understand what that means. But I believe she does, now more than ever.”
He lowered his hand, not sure what to make of the longing in her voice. Almost as though she wished she could be that girl. A weak creature who could be ended in a moment, crushed like a butterfly in the jaws of a predator, useful only for food no matter how pretty some thought it was.
Lydia’s belief that the girl’s escape mattered at all aggravated him. She couldn’t be this naïve.
The girl lived. Had somehow evaded Rosali’s guards. They would find her eventually, but he wouldn’t have Lydia hanging on to the hope that the girl would have the life she’d imagined. The very idea of such a mundane thing bringing her happiness was pathetic.
“She’s dead.” He touched the scar again and Lydia’s eyes hardened. But she didn’t pull away. She’d managed to steel herself for that eventuality rather quickly. Good girl. He stood and offered his hand. “You may take a shower and dress, but we must return to the party. Rosali is much too pleased with herself and we can’t have that.”
Her brow furrowed as she followed him to the bathroom, holding her arm over her breasts, showing the first sign of uncertainty. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to piss her off? The only reason she hasn’t killed me is because breaking me is more fun. She won’t like seeing that she’s failed.”
“Which will be quite amusing, because there’s not a damn thing she can do about it.”
She ground her teeth. “Easy for you to say.”
“Very.” He smirked as she glared at him. “Don’t you trust me?”
“Not fucking likely.”
Laughing, he shoved her toward the shower. “That’s a shame.”
Her brow rose. “Why?”
“Because, my dear.” He undid his jacket and set it aside. He enjoyed their banter, but they were running out of time. “You don’t have a choice.”
Chapter Sixteen
Cyrus was in a good mood, which freaked me out even more than him gently washing me in the shower. Not that he’d never done that before, but he enjoyed playing the doting master when I was fragile, not when I was feeling strong enough to mouth off to him.
Aggravating him wasn’t the smartest thing to do, and yet…I didn’t care. I was torn between wanting to make this fucked up existence I was trapped in bearable and knowing no matter what I did, I would bleed before long.
I hated the creature I’d become. She didn’t deserve to live as much as Kimmy had. Kimmy, who’d come so close to getting a second chance. I’d dreamed up a whole lifetime for her in moments, like she would live my perfect fantasy. Starting a family, bitching about bills, fighting with her husband about all the little things I’d never had the opportunity to be angry about.
How fucking sad was it that I wished I’d had a home with Daederich where I could yell at him about leaving his shit lying around, or forgetting to buy milk. I wanted a crying baby to keep me up all night, a dog to pee on my floor, neighbors’ kids throwing a ball through my living room window.
All right, maybe my fantasies needed some work, but I wanted it all. I’d wanted it for her because I knew it would never be mine.
But at least she’d died quickly. With how annoyed Cyrus had been about me wanting her to live, he would have given me details if she’d suffered. She hadn’t given him that satisfaction.
He came up behind me as I used my fingers to comb my hair into a tight ponytail, dropping a pair of leather pants, a black T-shirt, and a leather jacket on the end of the bed. “Get dressed.”
I glanced over at him, then stroked the leather, fighting not to smile as I picked up the plain black T-shirt. These clothes were exactly what I’d have worn when I was free. No fancy silk, no embellishments. I didn’t want to face Rosali again, not so soon after she’d managed to make me scream, but at least I’d be doing it looking like myself.
The cotton of the T-shirt was soft, snug, but not enough to hamper my movements. The leather fit me like a second skin. I could fight in this. I could kill.
“I’d rather you not. That leather is custom made.” Cyrus chuckled when I stared at him. “And have you any idea how much it costs to clean a place like this?”
“You’ve got issues, you know that?”
“Perhaps, but I do hope you’ll save that smart mouth for when we’re alone. It would be a shame if I had to discipline you in front of those ‘rich assholes’.”
“Considering you’re one of them?”
“Careful, Lydia. I’ll stop finding this cute shortly and remind you who you’re dealing with.” His lips thinned. “I’d prefer if that wasn’t necessary. I fully intend to enjoy the rest of our night.”
That sounded ominous. I finished dressing, taking a second at the vanity mirror to finally look at the scar on my face. The skin along the scar was shiny, a deep crimson which stood out in stark contrast to my white flesh. My face didn’t look like my own anymore. These creatures had marked every part of my body, as though the scars proved they owned me. As though I needed a reminder every time I saw my own reflection.
Maybe I did.
We headed downstairs, Cyrus letting me walk on my own, not holding my hand or keeping me too close. I slowed as we reached the ballroom. The guards standing at either side of the doors moved to open them, but Cyrus held up his hand for them to wait.
His steady gaze held mine. “Are you ready?”
I took a deep breath. Nodded.
The doors opened.
I started forward. No one seemed to notice me. They were all watching the stage.
Chains sounded. I refused to look. My throat tightened. I couldn’t move.
The bond hadn’t broken. I could sense him, so close.
Cyrus placed his hand on the small of my back. “She is watching, pet. This performance is f
or you. Don’t give her the satisfaction of hurting you again.”
A whip cracked.
I inhaled sharply.
“He’s strong. This is nothing.” Cyrus guided me to a chair. “If not for your own pride, do this for him. Show him you’re the strong woman he remembers.”
Lifting my head, I met Elah’s eyes. His lips curved slightly, his expression hardly changing as Daederich laid the whip across his back so hard blood splattered up to cover his bare chest. Elah was locked into a metal stockade, facing the crowd, which didn’t make sense because they couldn’t see the whip slicing open his back. But maybe that wasn’t the point.
There was something grotesquely beautiful about the scene. Both men shirtless, muscles slick with blood, brutal power barely contained, so deadly, within reach of an audience they could both eliminate with ease. There was a nervous energy in the room, as though the crowd was both excited and afraid.
They’d never faced real danger. This was no more than a carnival ride, a quick rush to leave one breathless, shallow entertainment before carrying on with a pointless existence. They might as well be visiting a zoo, throwing rocks at a wild cat and laughing as it slammed against the bars of the cage.
I pictured Elah breaking loose and slaughtering them with cold indifference. They saw him now, starved and restrained, and thought he’d been subdued, but all it would take was one mistake…
Looking at him again, I shook my head. Something was wrong. He kept still as the whip struck him, again and again. His expression remained calm. Hardly any blood spilled under the lash.
But the glove. The glove was gone.
The shackle on the right was closed around the bloody stump of his wrist. A fresh wound, one that hadn’t been given time to heal.
Blinking fast, I fought to hold back tears. Elah gave me a hard look as though to say ‘Don’t you dare cry.’
I wouldn’t cry. I wouldn’t look away.
He’d tried to escape. He would again. With or without me. I had to believe that.
Once he was free, he would go to Alrik. Make sure Cyrus and Rosali never got their hands on him.
The End (Deadly Captive Book 3) Page 15