Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
I’ll help you remember.
Slowly, so slowly it’s like the painstaking blossoming of a flower, he unfolds the petals of my heart.
I am not a slave.
I pull away from our kiss too soon, the knowledge of who I was just right there on the cusp of awareness. My lips part, but he presses a finger firmly against them.
“You are my slave,” he whispers.
I nod my head.
“This is the first time we’ve met,” he says, his voice choked with emotion.
Again, I nod.
His voice deepens, hoarse and husky. “You will obey me.” He speaks with conviction.
I nod again. I will obey him.
And even though I know who I am, even though I know there was a time and place when I wasn’t subservient to another, my body responds on instinct.
I long to obey him.
Is it the old me who craves his dominance, or the one broken in training?
And does it matter?
I know that this isn’t the time to reveal truths but to do whatever it takes so we’re free again. Safe. Though we’re alone in this room, we’re in the heart of deception and lies, mired in a place where danger lurks in every corner. The oppressive weight of the lies I’ve swallowed constricts my lungs. Wickedness and death surround us.
Where are we going? How will we survive this?
“Show me,” he whispers. “Show me that you…” he pauses. “Show me that you know who you are.”
Holding his gaze, I slide off his lap and kneel before him. I take one of his hands, marked with ink, words I don’t recognize and symbols that represent his new identity, and bring his fingers to my lips.
“I am your slave,” I whisper, tugging his hand to my heart. My voice trembles. “And my name is Marissa.”
I watch his gaze soften, as he drags one thumb along my cheek until he reaches my chin. Pinching my chin between his thumb and forefinger, he smiles at me, his eyes crinkling around the edges, and the sight makes my heart sing. I made him smile. Nicolai, my master—the two roles are welded together, and my mind can’t separate the two—is pleased with me.
“They call me Aleks,” he says, his voice imbued with meaning. I must never refer to him by his real name. “But you will call me Master. And you shall be called Slave.” Now that my memory is resurfacing, I have so many questions.
Where are we?
Where are we going?
How did he escape?
How did he find me?
And other more pressing questions I fear to know the answers to.
Who did this to me?
How will we ever survive what comes next?
What hope is there for us?
Just hearing him speak in his accent plucks the strings of my heart like a master strumming a long-lost instrument. The strings are taut and frail, but they remember how to sing.
Leaning down, he brings his mouth to my ear once more, a reminder that our secret must remain hidden. “You must not forget that I am your master.”
I have so many questions, I don’t even know where to begin.
For the first time, I become aware of the sounds in the rooms that flank either side. The slap of skin on skin, moans and creaking beds. My eyes go wide as I look to Nicolai.
“We’ve been given… a reward,” he says with chagrin. It isn’t a reward, but a command. He doesn’t need to tell me this.
I nod. I heard the instruction myself.
Take their virginity before you return.
Leaning down, he takes my face in both hands, holding my gaze. “They didn’t take your virginity,” he says. “Tell me they didn’t.”
I can honestly tell him they did not. “No,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s why I’ve been held for so long.” This much I’ve surmised from what the other girls have told me. The others were taken and sold at a lower price, so they moved quickly through the market, but the virgins were trained for longer, preserved as it were.
“What else did they do to you?” he says in a deathly whisper that makes the hairs at the back of my neck prickle in fear.
I swallow hard. My voice trembles when I answer. I have to give him the truth he doesn’t want to hear. “Everything else.”
His hands on my face shake. He’s so overcome with rage, his nostrils flare and his cheeks color, his lips press into a thin line. I shiver with fear.
“I will find them,” he says. “And they will pay the ultimate price for touching you.”
He’s the fierce protector who’s guarded me since I was a child. I close my eyes, my fingers gripping his still holding my face.
“I know you will,” I whisper. I’ve been through hell, and I still haven’t clawed my way out of the fiery depths. But the knowledge that he’s come for me, that he’s found me, speaks more than he will ever say aloud. How much I mean to him. How precious I am to this fierce, possessive man. How much he loves me.