Chapter 13 Zaria
ZARIA
Aknock snaps me awake so violently that my whole body jerks.
For a disoriented second, I'm sure I'm back in the ritual house, under the Order's watch, surrounded by brothers and sisters.
I jolt up and my head spins. I look around the room, panic rising and falling in a slow, dizzy wave. My limbs feel heavy, like my dreams tried to drag me somewhere I refused to go.
I see a bed and a window.
Not the compound or the woods.
Callum's house.
I scramble to my feet, my legs unsteady, and the door unlocks and swings open.
Callum steps inside first, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, tie loosened around his neck. He looks exhausted, shadows under his eyes, jaw tight, hair slightly disheveled. Behind him, a guard carries a silver tray covered with a dome.
Callum gestures toward the nightstand without looking at the guard. "Leave it there."
The guard sets the tray down, nods once, and exits, shutting the door behind him.
I stay frozen, waiting.
Callum walks over to the nightstand and lifts the silver dome.
Steam rises from the plate beneath. It's a steak, roasted potatoes, vegetables.
The smell hits me and my stomach cramps. I press a hand against my abdomen, swallowing hard.
It's a real meal.
A warm one.
A plate someone cooked intentionally, not a ration tossed at me. Not cold porridge in a metal bowl. Not the scraps leftover after men ate first.
Callum glances at me. "Eat."
I stare at the food. My mouth waters, saliva pooling under my tongue.
"What do you want for it?" I ask.
His brow furrows. "What?"
"The food." My voice cracks. "What do you want for it?"
"I want you alive so you can answer my questions. Eat."
I don't move. Is this a trick? Can I trust him? Maybe it's poisoned.
"I'm not hungry," I say, lying.
He steps back from the nightstand, gesturing toward the tray and ignoring me. "Now."
I edge toward the nightstand, my eyes darting between him and the door. My fingers brush the fork. I pick it up, the metal cold against my skin.
I cut into the steak. Juice pools on the plate. The scent makes my head spin.
I take a bite.
The flavor explodes on my tongue and I chew slowly, forcing myself to swallow.
Then I take another bite.
And another.
I try, I really try, to eat like a normal person, but something inside me collapses.
I start shoveling food into my mouth, my hands shaking, grease smearing across my fingers. I bite into a potato, the skin crispy and soft inside. I grab some veggies with my fingers, too impatient for the fork.
Callum stands near the window, arms crossed, watching me.
I don't care.
I haven't had a warm meal in weeks. Maybe longer.
My stomach screams for more even as I chew. I scrape the fork across the plate, gathering the last bit of food.
I finish off the whole plate in under ten minutes, and when I'm done, I set the fork down carefully.
My hands are sticky. My lips are slick with butter.
I wipe my mouth on the sleeve of the robe and stand.
Callum tilts his head slightly, still watching.
I don't say a word.
My face goes blank. I let the emotion drain out of me the way I was taught.
Feel nothing. Be nothing. Serve.
I reach for the tie at my waist and pull it loose. The robe slips off my shoulders and pools at my feet.
I stand naked, arms loose at my sides, staring at the carpet, not at him. The air chills my skin, goosebumps rising across my arms. Instinctively, I spread my feet slightly apart. The pose is automatic, trained into me over years.
"Thank you for the meal."
Silence.
I don't lift my eyes.
"What the hell are you doing?" Callum's voice cuts through the quiet, sharp and confused.
I swallow, not looking up. "You fed me. You housed me. This is the payment." My voice comes out hollow, rehearsed. "Just, please be quick."
He moves suddenly and I flinch, my shoulders tensing, bracing for the impact.
A hand in my hair, a push, a command to fall to my knees, something, but I get none of that. He doesn't even touch me.
He bends down, snatches the robe off the floor, and shoves it in my direction.
His breath is hot against my cheek, but not intimate, angry and furious.
"We don't do that here," he growls. "Cover yourself."
I clutch the robe, my fingers trembling.
I blink at him, disoriented. He didn't take it. Didn't want it.
Fuck, he didn't even consider it.
In my world, kindness always has a physical price.
The fact that he refused does something to me more than if he had accepted.
"Sorry," I say, sitting down slowly on the edge of the mattress, feeling a bit embarrassed and confused.
Callum exhales sharply, rubbing the side of his face.
"Look, I'm dead already just by being here captured. If you don't kill me and let me go, Cormac will, so." I shrug. "And my body is yours if you want it."
Callum stares at me as though I've spoken a language he doesn't recognize.
"Why do you say that?"
"Well, Cormac won't like that I ran off and…"
"No." He cuts me off. "About your body."
"Oh." I shrug, pulling the robe tighter around me. "It's what men desire. In the Order we obey."
"Yeah, but you're not in the Order when you're here."
I look down at the ground, my eyes stinging. "It's all I know."
He nods. "Well, let's just make one thing clear, I don't want your body. Far from it."
His words sting a little but I'm not sure if it's because he's making me question all I've ever learned about my worth or because that means I have less power here than I did at the Order.
Or maybe something else entirely.
"So if you don't want me," I ask, "what do you want?"
"Information," he says, crossing his arms. "For starters, how to find this brother George who killed my father, or gave the nurse the IV bags and your father, Cormac. You must know everything I need to end this."
I nod slowly. "Maybe. I'm not sure I have the capability of saving anyone. I know a lot, sure, but as for my father, he's got tricks even I don't know about. I mean, he doesn't really care about me much."
His phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out, glances at the screen, and curses under his breath.
"I need to leave."
He turns and walks toward the door and panic grips me, not because he's going, but because I need to understand the rules here.
"Oh, umm." I stand. "The TV. Am I allowed to watch it?"
He pauses, turning back to look at me. His eyes narrow like he's about to say something, but he stops himself.
"I don't care, just don't kill yourself."
He heads for the door again.
I hesitate, then blurt out, "Food." I clear my throat. "Is there more food?"
He stops and looks at me without speaking for a moment.
Finally he does. "What do you want?"
"Pizza? Do you have pizza?" My voice comes out softer, showing how scared I am to ask.
"Really?"
"Yes." I nod. "I haven't had it in a very long time, but Hawaiian is my favorite. My mom always got it for me."
He looks at me blankly for a long moment.
"I'll see what I can do."
Then he's gone.
The door clicks shut. The lock slides into place.
I sit back down on the floor beside the bed, my knees pulled up to my chest.
I replay the interaction in my head.
I want to feel ashamed, but I can't shake the fact that it was my duty to offer myself to him.
And a small, pathetic thought slips into my mind, uninvited and unwelcome.
I hope him seeing me naked was enough to get a pizza.