6. Phoebe
6
PHOEBE
T he simplicity and familiarity of cooking and cleaning are relaxing. Scrubbing the dishes with the sand like substance isn’t the same, by far, as doing dishes on the ship but the intent is.
Vapas clears his throat, but I’m only tangentially aware of it and him at all. My thoughts are on what is next. I know I’m still in danger but maybe I’m getting used to it? For right now at least it doesn’t seem real. No, that’s not it.
It is real. That fear that at any passing second there will be a knock on the door, or worse the door will burst open. I know it, it’s not gone away. Maybe I’m overloaded on how worried I can be. It feels more like that. As if I’ve reached a point where danger and fear are so commonplace they don’t really matter anymore.
It’s weird what we can find to be normal. Vapas clears his throat again but this time there is something of a growl to it. The fear rushes through my new normal and becomes clear and present. Flooding my body. Every muscle stiffens. I have a death grip on the towel in my hands as I force myself to turn and face him.
This is it. I don’t know what it is, but it’s going to be bad.
“I have… an idea,” he says.
He is staring as if he expects me to react with joy or happiness. I don’t have any clue what his idea is or why he thinks it will make me happy. I am sure it’s not that he’s going to take me back to the Zmaj.
His mouth turns down into a frown when I don’t answer and his eyes narrow, furrowing his brow. His busy eyebrows clamp down over his eyes as if they are shielding them from seeing what is in front of him.
My heart thumps in slow motion. I blink slow too. I don’t know what I should say or do. He keeps waiting and all I know is I need this over.
“Yes?” I ask, my throat too tight to say more.
“You will be my dragoste.”
Dragoste? I know that word… no. No, no, no. He wants…
The world tilts unexpectedly, and my vision blurs at the edges, darkening like shadows closing in. My heartbeat pounds in my ears, loud and uneven, drowning out everything else. My legs feel like jelly beneath me, trembling as I struggle to stay upright.
I blink rapidly, trying to focus, but it’s useless. The air feels heavy, too thick to breathe, and my chest tightens. Heat rushes to my face, and then everything goes cold, like ice spreading through my veins.
A strange weightless sensation takes over as the ground seems to rush up toward me—or is it me falling? My knees buckle, and I reach out instinctively, but my arms are sluggish, uncooperative.
Before I hit the floor he has me. I’m in his arms, which are bulging and strong. Veins standing out in his biceps. Why does he wear a sleeveless shirt? Is he showing off?
“Phoebe,” he says, his voice gruff.
He carries me to the couch and lays me gently down. The darkness recedes as blood returns to my head. My limbs tingle painfully, making me squirm in discomfort. He takes two steps back, close but also giving me space.
“Sorry,” I say, rubbing my face.
“Are you okay?”
“Uh,” I say, trying to figure out if I am okay or not. I really don’t know. I push up to a sitting position. “Yeah.”
He drops heavily into the seat across from me. The chair squeaks in protest at his weight. He leans forward, arms on his legs, head lowered so he’s staring at the floor.
“Good,” he says softly.
Neither of us say anything. I rub my face again moving my fingers through my hair as I roll my shoulders. I don’t know what that was.
Yes I do. I know that word.
That word I do know. The Zmaj have their ‘treasure’ which is what they call their fated mate. The Urr’ki call theirs ‘dragoste’, different word but same intent. And it comes with… a lot. Everything that a couple would do but… no. I can’t.
I can’t stop him.
And that’s what happened. If he decides he wants to, what am I going to do? He’s two, maybe three times bigger than me. Those bulging muscles aren’t just for show. There would be nothing I could do to stop him taking anything he wants.
Yet, he hasn’t. There is no denying he could, but he hasn’t. I know what he said though and I know what it means. Those two things aren’t coming together to make a picture. Moistening my lips I take a steadying breath and rush ahead.
“I thought you… did you say… I mean…,” I stumble over the words which should be simple but I can’t get them out of my head.
“Dragoste?” he asks.
I reluctantly nod. Push through girl. You got this.
“Yeah.”
“You know this word?”
“Uh, yeah,” I say then think better of claiming I do. I’ve picked up the meaning but no one has told me what it means, not exactly. “I mean. I think so.”
He nods and looks up for the first time, watching me with hooded eyes. He motions with his hands then drops them.
“It is the only way I see to protect you.”
“Protect me? You mean if I don’t… if we don’t…” I try to say it but my tongue refuses.
“Don’t?” he asks, shaking his head in confusion.
“You know, dragoste, have…”
I can’t finish the thought. Tears swell in my eyes and there is no holding them back either. I don’t want to do this but I also don’t want to die. And if that is what it takes, it’s better than the alternative isn’t it? How bad can it be? Let him get what he wants and then it’s over. At least I’ll be alive.
I’ve survived it before.
“Have?” he rumbles as he continues shaking his head. “I do not understand. Have what?”
Is he playing with me? Being deliberately obtuse? Isn’t it bad enough I have to do this? Can he not at least afford me a modicum of respect? But he stares with a blank look of no comprehension on his face.
“Sex!”
It comes out as a scream as tears stream down my face. If I agree to it it’s not rape, maybe, but I still don’t have a choice. Choosing between this and death is no choice at all. Living at least I’ll have a chance to get even. At some point. A chance is better than no chance.
He jerks back, eyes wide, and mouth open.
“Sex?”
“It’s what you want, right? It’s all you care about. I know it. You just want to use me to pleasure yourself. Fine. If that’s what it takes for you to keep protecting me. I don’t want to fall into the hands of the Maulavi. I’ll do it.”
He leaps to his feet and I jerk back, protectively raising my hands out of reflex even knowing that it won’t do any good.
“No!” he shouts, tripping over the small table between the couch and table as he backs away.
He falls onto his ass but continues crawling away from me. His eyes wide and shaking his head. That and the shock clearly written on his face are all in direct contradiction to what I expect.
“No?” I echo, my voice trembling, caught between confusion and disbelief. He scrambles backward, hands splayed on the floor as if putting as much distance as possible between us.
“ No! ” he repeats, louder this time, his voice raw and almost frantic. His chest heaves with heavy breaths, and his gaze locks onto mine, filled with something I can’t quite name. Horror? Pain?
“I would never—” he chokes on the words, his hands clenching into fists before releasing. “Is that truly what you think of me?”
I blink, my tears flowing freely, my body trembling with the weight of what I’ve just accused him of—or offered.
“Isn’t it? Why else would you… why else would this be your solution?”
His face contorts as if I struck him. He slowly climbs to his feet but remains where he is, keeping a safe distance between us.
“You think I would force myself on you?” His voice drops, low and guttural, filled with a kind of anguish that slices through my fear.
“I… I don’t know!” I stammer, the words tumbling out in a rush. “What am I supposed to think? You said it’s the only way to protect me. What else could you mean?”
He presses a hand to his chest, like he’s trying to steady something inside and then exhales shakily.
“Not that,” he says firmly. “Never that.”
The sincerity in his voice is undeniable, but my heart is still racing, and my body refuses to relax. I cross my arms, hugging myself, trying to hold everything together.
“Then what did you mean?”
His gaze softens, but there’s still a flicker of pain in his eyes.
“I meant that we pretend to the bond,” he says quietly, almost reverently. “Pretend to the true bond of dragoste. It’s the only way I can see to protect you from the Maulavi.”
“Pretend?” The word feels foreign on my tongue, and my brow furrows. “Pretend how?”
His gaze holds mine, unwavering but cautious, like he’s afraid to break me further with his words.
“We would need to make them believe it’s real,” he says slowly. “I think… I hope that the Maulavi will still revere the bond of dragoste. If so, they would never risk violating it. If they think you are bound to me, they will leave you alone.”
I swallow hard, trying to process what he’s saying.
“But if it’s not real, won’t they see through it? Won’t they know?”
“Not if we are convincing,” he replies, his voice steady now, though his hands still twitch like he’s resisting the urge to reach for me. “The bond is more than words or gestures—it’s an energy, a connection. I think we can mimic it well enough for them to believe.”
Mimic it. The idea makes my stomach twist.
“And what does that mean, exactly?” I ask, the trembling in my voice giving way to something sharper, more defensive. “What would I have to do?”
“Nothing you don’t want to,” he says quickly, the words tumbling out with an urgency that almost makes me believe him. “We would need to act close—intimately, yes—but only what you can bear. We would need to touch, to… appear bound. But I swear to you, it will never go further than you allow.”
I hug myself tighter, my thoughts racing. Appear bound. Pretend to be something I’m not, to feel something I don’t feel, or I don’t think I do. I like him, but this? It sounds impossible. And yet… what’s the alternative? The Maulavi don’t leave survivors.
“You think this will work?” I ask, my voice small, desperate.
“I think it is the best chance.” His tone softens, almost pleading. “I know this is asking much of you. Too much, perhaps. But it’s the only way I can see to keep you safe.”
I study him for a long moment, searching his face for any hint of deceit or ulterior motive. All I find is raw honesty, a vulnerability I didn’t think someone like him could possess. There is something more here too. Something he is not saying.
“And you?” I ask. “What does pretending do to you?”
His eyes widen slightly, like he wasn’t expecting the question. Then he looks away, his jaw tightening.
“It doesn’t matter what it does to me,” he says after a pause, his voice quieter now. “Your safety matters. Nothing else.”
The words hang between us, heavy with meaning. I want to believe him. I need to believe him. But can I?
“And if they don’t believe it?” I ask, my voice breaking.
His gaze snaps back to mine, his expression fierce.
“They will. I’ll make sure of it.”
I take a shaky breath, the weight of the decision pressing down on me like a physical thing. Pretend. Act like I trust him, like I care for him—like I belong to him. It feels like stepping off a cliff, blindfolded, with no idea what waits at the bottom.
But maybe it’s better than the abyss that’s already chasing me.
“Okay,” I whisper, the word barely audible. “I’ll do it.”
Relief floods his features, but it’s tempered with something else—respect, maybe. Gratitude.
“Thank you,” he murmurs. “I’ll do everything in my power to protect you.”
I nod, though the knot in my chest doesn’t loosen. I can only hope that this fragile plan, and this fragile trust, will hold. Because if it doesn’t, I know I won’t survive what comes next.