He laughed softly as his eyes drifted shut. "Yeah. Something like that."
Pressing my teeth harder into my lip, I nodded, though I knew he couldn't see me, and I tucked the threadbare blanket under his chin. Fussing with the edges, I breathed slowly, barely holding the emotion rolling within me in check. As tempted as I was to set it free now that Joe couldn't see, I resisted. Once I started, I wouldn't be able to stop. Surrendering to the tears would be a form of giving up. I couldn't give up. I had to be strong, for both of us.
Fate didn't wait to test me.
The door opened. My head shot up. The door was still moving, slowly, but no one stood in the threshold. I could see only the darkness of the hallway outside our cell.
Glancing back at Joe, I inhaled deeply and pushed to my feet. I knew someone was there. Who it was, I could only guess. It really didn't matter. I stepped into the hall with a single purpose in mind. I had to find a way to help Joe.
My eyes adjusted to the darkness. Slouched against the wall, arms crossed, Cyrus was watching me. I searched his face for some clue of his intent. With his hair pulled back from his face in a tight ponytail, all his features were displayed in clarity. He didn't try to hide the amusement in his eyes. He enjoyed keeping me in suspense.
After trying so hard to keep my emotions in check, I was taken off guard when my rage abruptly boiled over, rising above my flimsy mental shields. I moved without thought and lashed out, my fist catching Cyrus square in the jaw. "You sick son of a bitch! It's not enough that you toy with us? You had to beat him nearly to death and then leave him?" Without giving a thought to my own safety, I shoved him. "Get him a fucking doctor! If he dies—"
Cyrus grabbed my wrist and pulled me close. "What, Lydia? What will you do if he dies?" Turning sharply, he pushed me back into the wall and braced his forearm against my throat. "Please entertain me with your threats. I'm curious to see how delusional you really are."
Sanity returned. Cyrus was right. Threatening him was a useless indulgence.
Still, I wasn't ready to give up. "Care for him, and I'll do whatever you want." I closed my eyes. Once I'd smothered my pride, I opened my eyes and gazed up at him. "Please, Cyrus. Don't let him die."
His gruff, cruel laughter sliced through me. "Resorting to begging now, Lydia?
How pathetic." He grabbed hold of my hair and wrenched my head back. "You'll do whatever I want anyway. You have nothing to bargain with. You are mine, you are powerless against me."
I sneered at him. "Am I?" I laughed. "You know what? Go ahead and believe that.
I think you'll be unpleasantly surprised by just how wrong you are."
Brow arched, Cyrus smirked, pressing his body against the length of mine. "Silly little girl. You must feel very brave, very noble. I thought you were smarter than that."
He pressed his mouth to my lips, grinding against them. His hands moved down my sides, and he cupped my ass. I could feel him, already hard, digging into my belly.
Holding in my mind the image of Joe's broken form, laid out on the bed in the room just beyond us, I remained completely unresponsive. Mouth still, completely passive, I just stood there while he moved against me.
At first, he seemed not to notice, merely enjoying his dominance. When he tried to work his tongue into my mouth, I bit his tongue, hard enough that blood spilled hot over my lips. Shocked, he backed away and put his hand to his mouth. His narrowed eyes snapped to my face; then the back of his hand hit my cheek, whipping my head to the side.
I hit the wall hard. My head throbbed, both where he'd struck me and where it had connected with the hard surface. Somehow, I managed not to fall.
Cyrus grabbed my chin and forced me to look at him. "Do that again, and I'll skin you alive, you little bitch." His hand moved to my throat, and he squeezed until I dropped to my knees, fingers digging at his hand as I fought to breathe. "You want to beg, beg now. Beg me to forgive you, to spare your life. Then beg me to fuck you. If I enjoy it, I just might let you live through the night."
Releasing me, he stepped back, arms crossed, looking down at me, waiting. I rubbed my throat and bowed my head, struggling to breathe without gasping. One hand splayed against the ground, I regained my center. Regained control. The pain, the fear, locked away where they couldn't sway me, I titled my head back, regarding him with dead calm.
"No."
The expectant smile he had held on his lips vanished. "No?" He shook his head in amazement. Using my hair to lift me back to my feet, he shook me. "No?" Enraged, he shouted, his own cool control lost. "You've had only a taste of what we can do, Lydia!
I'm going to skin you, whip you, tear you limb from limb. And I'll keep you alive, scarred and broken . . . ."
I rolled my eyes and sighed. "Do what you must, Cyrus. I don't care."
His eyes flashing unnatural light, Cyrus rammed me against the wall. Lashing out mindlessly, he hit my face, kicking me in the gut when I fell. My mind closed off from my body. I was aware of each and every strike, aware of the damage being done, but it was as though I was simply observing it from afar. I prepared for the darkness to come, whether it came in the form of unconsciousness or death. But both were held off by the strange discipline my body had adopted.
My memories were lost and could never be recovered. Still, deep within was the instinctual awareness of long conditioning, something that I didn't need to remember, something automatic. My body and mind had been honed as one into a tool of sorts. I might never know for what purpose. All I knew was that conditioning served me now.
It was a small mercy that Cyrus didn't notice how unaffected I was by his brutal beating. Outwardly, I appeared crushed, and he chose to believe I was. Lifting me up, he pressed me face first against the wall and pushed my pants down just enough for quick access. His dick stabbed into me. The rough friction of him fucking me dry was nothing compared to the pain I'd detached myself from.
Cyrus came hard, but I could tell he gained little satisfaction from it. He jerked out of me and pulled up his pants, looking down at me with disgust as I braced myself against the wall, too weak for more. "I hope you're pleased with yourself, Lydia. You just signed your own death warrant."
I rolled my eyes and licked my cracked and bloody lips. "So what? I was dead either way. At least now I know you won't get to enjoy it."
With a low growl, Cyrus grabbed the front of my shirt and tugged me back to the room, shoving me inside. I stumbled into the table and used it to hold me up.
Cyrus stood in the doorway, eyes on me, a far-off look on his face. For a long time, he stood there. It was an effort not to give into the agony and fall to the floor.
Finally, he turned his eyes to Joe's still form. With a curt nod, he turned. "I think I will enjoy it. Very much in fact."
The door slammed. At the sound of the lock clicking, I relaxed, dropping my head. The bed looked so far away, but I made it there anyway. Lying down, I put my arm around Joe and pressed my bruised body as close to his as I could. Pressing my forehead to his chest, I finally let out a sob, allowing a few tears to spill free.
"I'm sorry, Joe." I whispered, cuddling close to him, needing his warmth. "I had to try. I had to. I couldn't just let you die." I laughed and shook my head. "Part of me knew there was no point, but if there was a chance, even a small one . . . ." I bent my head back and shifted so I could press a gentle kiss on his still lips. "I know you'd be pissed if you knew. I've just condemned us both to death." I bit my lip, then smiled a little at a thought. "Fortunately, you're in no condition to argue with me about it now."
Joe couldn't hear me, but I had to tell him the real reason why I'd decided to stop doing anything I could to survive. "I don't want to live without you, Joe. Not here, not anywhere else. Maybe I'm weak, or pathetic, like Cyrus said. I don't care. I know you're dying, Joe, and I want to come with you."
Chapter Fifteen
"Wake up, Lydia."
I opened my eyes. Chrissie stood over me. I immediately scooted back, feeling
behind me. I had to keep Joe safe. My hand touched nothing but bare mattress. Fully awake now, I turned.
Joe was gone.
Shaking my head, I sat up, fixated on the bare, bloodstained mattress. "No." I whispered, something shattering within. "Oh, God, Joe. What have I done?"
Chrissie laughed. "Oh, Lydia." taking me by the arm, she pulled me off the bed. I turned to face her. "Did you really think pissing Cyrus off would make the end come quickly? Silly little girl. You just gave him incentive to be creative."
I waited for her to say more, to gloat, or try to frighten me with gruesome details.
Instead, she motioned to a dress draped over the chair by the table.
At first glance, the dress looked like the kind Chrissie would wear. But, when I held it up, I changed my mind. Made of heavy red velvet strewn with black lace, the gown had much more of a Gothic look than the Victorian dresses Chrissie preferred. I didn't say so, but I liked the dress. It would be a good dress to die in.
The material felt nice against my flesh, soft and clinging, fitted so well to my form I knew it had been made just for me.
My breasts rose as the material tightened against them. Chrissie was tying the back. Her tugging made me realize something.
I was no longer in pain.
Pressing my hand to my face, I felt for swelling and was surprised to find none.
Chrissie finished with the binding of the dress and came to face me.
"You were healed while you slept. Cyrus wanted you at one hundred percent."
She took my hand, guiding me from the room.
"Healed? But how?" I said.
"It's amazing that anything surprises you anymore, Lydia—"
Not interested in her mocking observations, I cut her off. "If I was healed then Joe—"
Chrissie chuckled. "Don't you worry about Joe. He's gonna be just fine."
Joy burst with candy sweetness, filling me so much that I smiled at her. Ignoring her secretive smirk, I followed her down the hallway.
Joe was going to be okay. He had suffered, had come close to leaving me, but that was over now. Now, he would live. Elated, I told myself everything would be okay.
It wasn't until I was seated before Chrissie and she was dressing my hair that reality hit. Joe would be fine. I wouldn't.
Cyrus had warned me, but I had been so deflated by my grief over Joe that I hadn't cared. I hadn't wanted to be left behind. Now, the roles would be reversed.
Desperation snuffed out the short-lived joy. Suddenly, I couldn't breathe.
Chrissie seemed to sense the change in my bearing. Finishing with my hair, letting soft curls drop down to my shoulders, she bent toward me to drink in the full depths of my hopelessness.
As I seemed to be doing more and more frequently, I ignored her. There had to be a way to convince Cyrus to let me live.
The tiny black slippers, snug on my feet, made a light padding sound against the carpet as I walked to the door.
"I'd like to see Cyrus."
Chrissie clapped her hands together, rocking on her heels as she giggled like a child. "He said you would."
Reaching past me, she opened the door. Not sure what she was so thrilled about, but sure I would be taken to Cyrus, I moved into the hall. Chrissie practically skipped ahead of me, but my mind wasn't on her. My whole focus was on what I would say to Cyrus.
I was ready to do anything to get a little more time.
* * * * *
The large door, one of the only visible ones in the hall, towered over me. None of the other times they'd brought me here had I taken such minute notice of it as I did now, waiting where Chrissie had left me with the guards to be summoned into the arena.
Chrissie promised me I'd see Cyrus. She'd also informed me it was a full house tonight. Whatever I said to Cyrus would be before an audience.
My prospects were becoming rather bleak.
"Nervous?" A hand curved around my waist.
I jumped, not having sensed his approach.
Cyrus wasn't inside the arena at all. "You wanted to see me?"
"Where's Joe?" My tone was sharp. I cursed myself. So much for humbly begging him to spare my life.
Smiling, Cyrus reached out and twirled one of my loose curls around his finger.
"Oh, you'll see him. Very soon, actually."
Another show. I had already guessed as much.
I swallowed and licked my lips. "Is he okay?" I'd managed to keep my voice soft this time.
It didn't seem to change a thing. My abruptness hadn't fazed Cyrus. Neither did my deference. He simply nodded. "Joe's fine." He gave me a look dripping with condescension. "Was that all?"
I shook my head. "No. Actually I wanted to say—"
Cyrus covered my mouth with his hand. "Hush. I know, but don't. It will ruin the image I have of you, that fierce defiance that broke through my aloof front." He stroked his fingers down my cheek. "I have to admit that I admire you for it. I won't ever forget you."
That said, Cyrus opened the door and gestured me inside. I went, expecting him to follow.
But the door shut securely behind me.
The room had changed again. The glass walls were reflective now so the crowds beyond were unseen. The bed was still there, as were the tables, freshly laid with whips and twisted toys. The light was dim, and, for a moment, I wondered how the audience would see a thing. I dismissed the thought, realizing they would probably be able to see everything even if the room was pitch-black. They didn't suffer from my limitations.
I walked to the center of the room, feet away from the bed, turning slowly, my reflection revealing my uncertainty. I didn't know what they wanted or what they were waiting for. Anticipation was thick in the air. I could almost taste it. Something was coming. But what?
A figure moved behind me in the reflective glass. I turned. I saw nothing. A low growl sounded behind me. Perfectly still, I waited, still monitoring the mirrored glass. I could see a large form approach me. For a moment, I didn't recognize him. Then I saw his face.
"Joe." A grateful whisper. I felt at ease.
He turned me to face him. The relief died when I looked in his eyes. There was nothing in them. No recognition, no love. Abruptly, light began to glow in the steel depths. And recognition, not of me, but of what I now was to him. Food.
I took a step back. "Joe."
Right then, I knew exactly what they had done to him. Backing away, I watched him stalk toward me, a smile on his lips as he matched pace with my slow retreat. The bed prevented me from going any further. He pressed against me, bending his head to sniff at my neck. I closed my eyes, tears rimming my lashes as I groped for a way to get through to him.
Words sputtered out when he opened his mouth against my flesh. "Please, don't.
Joe . . . remember—"
Tongue teasing along a throbbing vein in my neck, he let out a rough exhale.
"You smell so good."
I put my hands against his chest, trying futilely to hold him back. "Joe, listen to me. You're more than this, you can fight it . . . ."
The points of his fangs pressed down, not yet breaking the flesh. I had a feeling he wanted to savor my fear. Any chance of stopping him was fading fast. He was going to kill me. The only hope I had was to end it quickly. Sliding my hands up over his shoulders, I clasped my hands around the back of his neck and pulled him to me. If this was how I was going to die, then I wanted to do it before I had to face what he had become.
He pressed down a little more. The very tips of the razor sharp fangs pierced my flesh. His tongue lapped the tiny trickle of blood.
"Slow down, Joe." The commanding voice came at us from all around. I recognized it immediately as Cyrus'. Joe went still. "Play with her first, then you may feed. These good people paid for a show."
Joe's low growl went right through me. "I'm hungry."
I tried to push myself harder against him, urging him on. It was no use. Joe had already turned his face. I watched his angry glare throug
h the reflection.
Laughter rang down. "Good. Then you'll do as you're told. You might have noticed, Joe, you can do nothing unless I permit it."
With another feral growl, Joe shoved me back onto the bed. I shook my hair away from my face and dragged myself back, the weight of my skirts making it difficult to move. They tangled around my legs, and I whimpered in frustration and fear when Joe languorously crawled onto the bed, latching onto my ankle to prevent me from slipping further away.
Jerking at my foot, I tried to free myself, but Joe's grip was as solid as a shackle.
He smiled indulgently, moving over me. Defeated, I dropped back, letting him cover me with his large form. My strength had barely been a match for Joe's before.
Compared to his power now, it was negligible. There was no way I was going to best him. The best I could hope for was that he wouldn't hurt me too much before he killed me.
Joe's warm breath caressed my skin. His cheek pressed to mine, he let out a soft chuckle. "Don't tell me you're giving up already, Lydia."
Turning my head, I scowled at the wall. "There's nothing left to fight for."
Hand still wrapped around my ankle, Joe pressed up. I let my leg bend, hissing in a breath as he stroked his hand up my thigh. He kissed my cheek. "Just let it happen."
My body went stiff. My mind raced. I recalled the last time he had said that to me. The first time he'd saved my life. I had a feeling Joe was trying to tell me something.
Trust was still there, deep-set, fairly tangible. But it was a trust for Joe. It was hard to tell if there was anything of him left in the creature pressed against me. I decided to test it. "There was something you wanted to tell me. When you thought you were going to die . . . ."
Brow pressed against the side of my face I felt, rather than saw, his slight nod.
"My name. I still want to hear you say it. Softly, though." I gave a quick nod of accord.
Like a hot breeze tracing into my hair, reaching parts of my body that missed him so very much, his name came to me. "Daederich."
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