Lysaria
I woke with a start, my body instantly freezing at the unfamiliar weight of an arm draped over my waist.
This wasn't my thin pallet in the corner.
For a moment, I was adrift in confusion.
Then the memories crashed down on me: the sale, the torturous car ride, the furious taking.
My cheeks burned with shame as I remembered how I had clung to him, how I had arched into his touch.
Oh, Goddess, I had enjoyed it. What did that make me?
My body was sore in ways I didn’t want to think about, a deep, lingering ache that was a testament to his possession.
Zayne. He was asleep beside me, his chest a warm, solid weight against my back, his legs tangled with mine.
I was frozen, terrified of waking him. But even through the fear, I could feel it—a faint, insistent hum beneath my skin, a low-grade fever that hadn't broken.
He stirred, shifting against me, and I tensed, my heart hammering against my ribs.
He grabbed my shoulder and rolled me onto my back. I squeezed my eyes shut, my fists clenched, bracing myself for whatever he meant to do to me. But to my utter surprise, he just sighed, a sound of weary frustration, and rolled away, putting space between us.
I risked a peek. He was walking to the closet.
I curled into a tight ball, clutching the sheet to my chest.
It was a flimsy shield, but it was all I had.
He returned a moment later, dressed in a black t-shirt and dark slacks, a bundle of clothing in his hands.
I stared at the wall as he approached, holding the clothing out like an offering.
“You can wear these until I can get you some better clothes,” he said, and I flinched at the sound of his voice. I turned to look at him but made no move to take the clothes. He set the items on the edge of the bed and stepped back, giving me space.
“I’m going downstairs. Come down when you’re dressed.”
I didn't answer, just watched him, trying to decipher this new, confusing game.
After several moments, he turned and left the room, closing the door softly behind him.
I sat there, staring at the door, my body coiled with tension, but he didn't return.
Cautiously, I reached for the clothing he had left.
The t-shirt was huge, and when I pulled it over my head, it was immediately saturated with his scent—that wild, clean smell of pine and thunderstorm. I forced myself to ignore it, shoving my arms into the sleeves of the soft robe and wrapping it securely around me.
I took a deep breath and forced my feet to move.
I opened the door. The hallway was empty, but I could hear sounds from downstairs.
I made my way down the hall, hugging the wall, moving like a ghost through the unfamiliar house.
I descended the grand staircase, my memory a blur of him carrying me up it the night before.
I found him in the kitchen. Making breakfast. I stopped in the doorway, staring.
“Good, you’re just in time,” he said, glancing at me as he scooped a pile of fluffy eggs onto a plate. He slid the plate across the counter toward me. “Come on, sit down and eat.”
He sat down at a small table and began eating his own breakfast, pointedly ignoring me.
I was terrified, my stomach in knots, but the food smelled incredible.
It had been so long since I’d had a real meal, not just scraps from the floor.
I took a small step into the room. He didn't react.
Another. Taking a chance, I closed the distance, snatched the plate off the counter, and retreated into a corner of the room, shoveling the food into my mouth before he could change his mind and take it away.
“Come on,” he said, once I was finished, his voice soft.
“I’ll show you your room.” I flinched as he stood and walked out of the room.
I set the empty plate on the counter and cautiously followed him.
He led me back upstairs and down the hall, stopping at a door next to his.
He opened it and gestured for me to enter.
I slipped past him carefully, stepping into the room.
My breath caught. There was a large four-poster bed made of dark wood, a matching dresser, and a cozy armchair sitting in front of a cold fireplace.
The room was done in soft blues and whites, a stark contrast to the oppressive darkness of Marcus’s world.
“If you need anything, just ask,” he said, his face a polite mask.
I didn't answer. I didn't know how to explain that I didn't have needs, that I had been taught never to ask for anything, because wanting only brought pain.
He sighed again, a sound I was beginning to recognize, and left the room, closing the door and leaving me alone.
I waited, convinced he would return at any moment to demand something from me.
But the house remained silent. Slowly, my muscles began to unclench, most of the tension leaving me, but that residual hum of anxiety remained, thrumming just beneath my skin.
It almost felt like it belonged to someone else, a persistent but distant echo.
I walked around the room, my fingers trailing over the smooth, cool wood of the dresser.
My feet sank into the plush, thick carpet.
There was one other door, and when I opened it, I found an ensuite bathroom, a vision of creamy tile and soft white marble that was more luxurious than anything I had ever imagined.
I closed the door and walked back to the bed, sinking to the floor with my back against the solid post.
What was I going to do? I could still feel the echoes of his touch on my skin.
And that low-level hum was still there, a promise of more to come.
What if the feelings came back? The heat, as he’d called it.
Goddess, even the word felt primal, dangerous.
My head dropped into my hands. He was seemingly giving me space now, but what about when the heat returned?
If last night was any indication, he wouldn’t hold back.
And I apparently wouldn't stop him. No, I would probably beg him to take me.
I could feel my cheeks blazing as I remembered his hands on me, his mouth…
oh, Goddess, his mouth. What was wrong with me? Why was this happening?
I raised my head, staring around the room as if I could find an answer in the empty space, but there was only silence. I was just as trapped as I had been with Marcus. Except here, I didn't understand the rules. I was lost, drifting through a world I didn't know.
I let my head fall forward, my forehead resting on my knees.
And then the tears came. They fell silently, one after another, soaking the soft robe he had given me.
My frame shook as the pain and uncertainty I had fought so hard to suppress finally leaked out.
I cried until I had no more tears left, utterly spent, and drifted into a deep, dreamless oblivion there on the floor.