Chapter 67 Cold to Touch #2
"See how easily you obey when you have no other choice. Obedience always starts with things you deem inconsequential. It’s so much easier to give those up," Caliban said lowly.
And she realized she’d played right into his hands.
As he left, his dark laughter echoed.
Luella sat down, placing the empty cup near the tray. She tore the rest of the bread into chunks, then threw them outside the bars. All the while, the water sloshed in her stomach. It didn’t help.
She still felt empty.
Luella was roused from a fitful sleep by the feel of something cold on her ankles. She woke slowly, too tired to be frightened. She drank when Caliban showed up, shadows forcing the cup to her lips. He made her eat only enough to keep her alive, but she could barely stomach anything more.
She tried to track how many times he’d visited her, how many cups she’d drunk, some way to gauge how long she’d been here. But they blurred. She remembered the first time, the second, the third… Had it been a week? Longer than a week?
She didn’t think it had been longer than a week, but her thoughts were addled, growing more so with every moment, every breath.
She was weak, muscles trembling. She should want to eat so she could be strong and fight, but she was so tired.
Luella’s eyes were crusted as she opened them, and she rubbed her good hand against her face to clear the sleep away.
Her head was pounding in tune with her heart.
She struggled to sit up. It took her far longer than it should have.
Shadows swirled across the ground, edges lapping against her feet like ice water.
Her tired eyes drifted to the bars, but through the gleam of blue, she saw nothing. Caliban wasn’t here, then.
So why were the shadows?
The remnants of her dream clung to her. Without the amulet, she could remember nothing in detail. Only flashes of water at her ankles, pure and cool. A harsh droning sound. Then nothing.
It must have been the same dream from before.
Was that why her head hurt so badly?
Luella rested back against the wall, sitting up halfway.
The shadows grew, shifting before her eyes until they took the form of a male. She blinked, wondering if she imagined it in her fevered, exhausted state.
But it was there—before her eyes.
The absence of light within the shadows bled into color. Deeply tanned skin, eyes that she would know anywhere, large shoulders, hands that were scarred and calloused yet touched her so sweetly, deep brown hair that fell over a strong brow. And curving horns that jutted above.
Luella could only stare.
"Az," she breathed.
Az was here. Standing in the cell, right before her. His amber eyes fell to where she sat, and a choked sob ripped free from her chest as she scrambled up to a stand.
"Az, Az," Luella sobbed, throwing herself against him. She was so tired; he caught her weight easily.
"Luella," Az said, a large hand tangling in her matted white hair. Her wings—once still and curled—shivered at the sound of his voice. "You are okay, Luella. I am here now. Don’t worry."
His strong arms enveloped her with desperation. She tucked her face into his chest and breathed in. His scent was muted. Or maybe she’d been tucked away here so long her senses had dulled. But being in his arms didn’t quell the sick churning in her stomach; it worsened.
It was nothing, she assured herself.
This was Az. He was here. She would be saved!
He cupped her cheeks and pulled away, eyes scouring hers. "I am here now. Please, don’t cry. I hate to see your tears." The words were so caring that she cried harder.
"Why are you h-here—how did you find me?" she hiccupped. "Where are the others? Are we leaving?"
His eyes filled with sadness. "Luella, I am not here to rescue you."
Her lips parted. "What—why? What do—what do you mean? I thought…"
He leaned forward, fingers digging into her cheeks and jaw. Her ruined arm curled against her chest, and she placed her good hand on his shirt. The fabric was cold and unfamiliar under her palm.
"There is no being rescued. Not from this.
Gods, I wish I could save you." Az leaned forward, and her lids fluttered shut as he pressed his lips to her brow, then moved down to her cheeks, tasting her tears.
"Let me help you, Luella," Az begged. "Let me make you feel at peace.
If I cannot save you, I can help you be at ease here. "
She tried to shove him off. "Az, stop."
He didn’t stop. His teeth dug into her jaw, and she gasped at the soft bite of pain. His tongue soothed the ache. It felt nothing like him. He was cold to touch. If a bit dreamy, then wholly hypnotic. But his presence did not soothe. It agitated.
His grip turned bruising. Her hand shoved at his chest, clawing.
"Az, this isn’t you. It’s not."
He gripped her cheeks, turning tender in an instant as he pressed the tip of his nose to hers. That was Az. Yet his fingers dug in so hard his nails cut her flesh. That was not Az.
Az did not touch her so roughly. Never.
"What do you mean, Luella? Of course, it’s me. I am here for you. Let me love you for tonight, so you can feel at peace when you dream."
She had no chance to speak; his mouth descended upon hers. Nipping, biting, tongue shoving past her lips, brushing the roof of her mouth.
Her right hand screamed in pain as she placed it on his chest and shoved with all her might. He broke away, but not from her strength, from her gasp of pain that fell into his open mouth.
His lips were wet, shiny with their saliva.
Luella stumbled back, hand cradled to her chest. Her ankle twinged. The pain reminded her of where she was.
"You’re not Az," she whispered, staring at him.
A coldness gripped her ankle and surged up her leg, tightening beneath her shift until she felt shadows in her hair, against her wings.
Her mouth opened in a silent, desperate plea for a final breath, as they wrapped like a vine around her neck, forcing the spikes on her collar to dig in. Harder, deeper.
Blood trickled.
Her head grew light from lack of air.
And the last thing she saw was Az’s amber eyes, lips swollen, as he watched her fall to the floor in an unconscious heap.
She dreamed again, but could not remember it.
When she awoke, her head hurt worse.
With trembling fingertips, she touched her skull, wincing as she did so. She lay on her side, shivering against the chilled stone.
Luella didn’t sit up this time, staying prone. Each blink brought thoughts to the forefront of her aching mind—
Something about Az…
Had she dreamed of him?
She coughed weakly.
Right before she drifted off, she had a sudden moment of clarity. She was growing sick from the distance to her Vincire. She’d felt this before. The nausea, the pounding head, shaking, fevers, and chills. She was so sick that she must be hallucinating.
The thoughts drifted away like sand through a sieve.
Luella shifted to get comfortable, and her cheek pressed to the ground, aching as if bruised.
Days passed, and she dreamt of Az again. He’d tried to kiss her after telling her he would not save her. She had cried, and he did nothing but hold and shush her. She wanted to scream and plead with him. Get me out of here.
But he only kissed her brow, then his amber eyes had grown dark as he’d taken her lips. His tongue had been cold as it had swept through her mouth.
She’d shoved him away and hit the wall, wings crushed behind her. Then she knew nothing else; she’d woken up—to sore wings and a dry mouth.
Caliban appeared, forcing her to drink and eat, his eyes glinting as he left.
Time blurred in sickness and sleep. Her headache grew worse, her stomach churning with nausea.
Shadows crawled over the ground, tickling her feet.
Weakly, she looked toward the bars, clutching her swollen wrist.
From the shadows, a familiar figure formed—Bastian, whose red eyes immediately fell to Luella as he pressed a shaking hand to his mouth to stifle a low sound of anguish.
"Luella, look at you. Gods—I am so, so sorry. What has he done to you?"
She didn’t move as Bastian knelt by her side, pressing a cool hand to her brow. The coolness was not out of place; she was accustomed to his flesh holding a chill. She couldn’t help but lean into his touch.
He hummed in pleasure. "You’re wasting away here. Let me help you. Let me make you feel better."
She was too tired to care if he was real or not. Wasn’t it so much easier to give in to games of pretend?
"What do you mean?" Luella whispered, voice broken.
Bastian’s fingers tangled in her hair and tugged, forcing her head up. "Let me help you get out of here."
"What do you mean?" She held her breath as she awaited his answer. Was he real this time? Was he truly here? She sat up slowly, his fingers never disentangling from her hair. When her face brushed his chest, she breathed him in, finding his usual spiced bergamot scent absent. That didn’t mean anything.
Maybe it was her. He was here; he was real.
He must be.
If not…
She didn’t want to think of what that meant.
She was stiff, anticipating him to turn on her like her dream of Az had done, but when Bastian’s fingers soothed over her scalp, sending shivers down her spine, she sighed, tension seeping away.
She leaned into his touch, his chest, his absence of smell—all while ignoring the way her stomach flipped and twisted from her growing sickness.
"I mean, I can help you escape the only way I know how. It will not be easy, but if you wish to be free from here, you must listen to me and do as I say."
She clung to his every word, nodding.
Bastian cupped her cheeks and tilted her face up to his, brows upturned in sorrow. "Give in, Luella."
She gave a low sob. Why couldn’t even a dream be kind to her?
"No, no. Don’t cry." He wiped her tears away. "Just give in. That’s all I’m asking you to do. If you give in, all of this will go away. You’ll be safe, treated as a queen."
"You’re lying. Caliban doesn’t want me to be a queen, he wants me to be a captive—a doll. I want to get out of here, Bastian. I do not w-wish to give in."
He leaned forward and kissed her brow. She felt a brief moment of wetness, as if his tongue had traced her over her temples. "Give in, Luella," he repeated, harsher this time.
She tried to pull away, desperate to see his red-tinted eyes and remind herself that this was Bastian—he wouldn’t hurt her—but his grip turned bruising, refusing to let her go.
"Give in to him. Give in, give in. I know you can do it. Just give in. This will all go away. This will all become a dream. Let him have you." Bastian’s every word was punctuated with a wet kiss to her face. Her cheeks, tasting her tears; her jaw, biting her already bruised flesh.
"I said, no!" Luella twisted her face away, but he only chased after her.
"Alright, okay. I will not force you." He kissed her brow. Sweet, once more.
Was it so wrong of her that she leaned into his touch?