chapter forty-eight
THE POISONER
T he walls closed in more every day.
I swore the room had been bigger upon my arrival.
Seven days had passed since then. It was like someone moved the walls an inch every time I closed my eyes.
It had also been seven days since I last saw anyone familiar.
The only ones who kept me company were the maids, and it took them several days to trust me enough to talk to me.
I was shuffled between three rooms throughout the day—the bedroom, a small room with a table for dining, and a bathroom. This morning, they served me pomegranate, berries, aged cheese, biscuits, and some eggs.
They still had not given me clothes.
“So, you are saying Host positions are voluntary?” I picked at the pomegranate on my plate, rubbing the irritated skin on my neck from the collar.
“Yes! Hosts are approached to serve a Nest or individual. They are paid very well and get to live their lives comfortably,” the maid answered.
“Why is it that I am here, then?” I watched the blonde-haired maid seated neatly across from me.
“Unfortunately, that is something I cannot answer. Not due to any reluctance, but because I simply don’t know. It is unusual.”
She was nice enough to join me for meals when I requested her. They all seemed a bit ignorant to most of the happenings. It was like she was reciting from a guidebook on how to answer my particular queries.
“Why haven’t I seen anyone? It’s been a week.”
“We were told we are not allowed to let anyone see you while you heal and acclimate to the routine.” She sounded rehearsed.
I nodded in acknowledgment of her answer as if convinced.
“My appetite is no longer here. I am ready to go back.” I smiled at her, cupping the small cheese knife in my palm as I rested it on my lap.
Once I was escorted back to my room and the door was closed tight, I slipped the knife inside the pillowcase. It gave me some relief knowing I was not completely helpless, though I knew they were keeping me locked in here for my own safety and theirs.
From what I’d gathered from the maids, the Hosts and the Vipera were on strict schedules. They rang a dinner bell to indicate when they were allowed to feed on Hosts, and if even one was damaged, it could mean exile from the Nest or losing a finger or two, depending on the damage.
It made me feel better knowing that, while I was still a hostage, my title as a Host meant I was afforded some protections.
The edge from the venom I’d used on myself had long worn off, but it left me feeling like I was sinking into a void. My reliance on substances was not something I was forced to reckon with until now. Life was extremely blunt when you did not use anything to soften the blow.
I threw myself on the bed and buried my face in the softness. A scream ripped through my throat, muffled by the lush pillow. All I could do was follow the routine, as simple as it was. I was confined by four walls for however many hours until the next time they fed me, bathed me, and repeat.
A sharp noise cracked through the air and jolted me awake.
“Welcome back to the land of the living!” Luka chirped.
With a screech, he dragged a wooden chair across the floor to the corner.
“You’re not supposed to be in here.” I sat up quickly. “I know you’re not allowed. The maids told me.”
“Is that right?” He did not pay me any attention as he examined the chair placement. In his hand was a thin braided riding crop. He swung it in an upward position, whistling as it cut through the air. He inspected the flat leather tab at the end.
“You can’t feed on me. You can’t even touch me without permission. I’m a Host now, correct? You’ll lose a finger.”
“And who do you think is the one in charge of taking fingers, hmm?” He turned on his heels to face me. I noticed his outfit was a bit equestrian as well. Tall, shiny leather riding boots with dark trousers and a loose shirt.
“Is this a ruse?”
“What makes you think this is a ruse? It’s time for a lesson.”
“Lesson?”
“Well, you were half right about being a Host. You’re also a hostage. A hostage that might need some…breaking.” He smirked.
“You’re sick. Why do you smile when you say it like that?”
“Because this will be more fun for me than it will be for you.” He moved over to the edge of the bed, his knee sinking into the edge of the mattress before crawling slowly toward me.
“You’re a sadist.”
“You say that like it is something I should be ashamed of,” he said slowly. His movements stilled briefly before he lunged.
I whipped the blade out from under the pillow and cut him across his cheek as I stumbled to the other side of the bed.
He stilled, smoothing his finger over the fresh cut. Blood beaded in a neat line, and he inspected the fresh droplets on his hand. A slow grin crawled across his face before his eyes snapped at me, narrowing on their prey. “You are making all the most terrible, delightful decisions today.”
He lunged again, sweeping over the bed and to the other side, grabbing me by the collar, and making the sharp points of the design dig up under my jawline.
“Luka, don’t?—”
“Too late for that.” He gleamed as he pulled me over to the corner with the chair.
A soft click was heard, and the pressure relief from my neck followed, the collar clamoring onto the floor. I glanced at him through my lashes as I rubbed my neck.
“Don’t look so hopeful,” he said flatly. “I need you to focus on this exercise. I simply cannot have you getting overstimulated from anything other than the task at hand.”
“What do you mean?”
He picked up a mason jar from the floor and dumped the contents out in front of the chair. Hundreds of grains of rice scattered onto the floor, mimicking the sound of soft rain. I suspected that sound would be the only comforting thing about this activity.
“Kneel.”
“Kneel?”
“Yes, Alina, you heard me correctly. On your knees, on the rice,” Luka instructed.
I looked down at the rice scattered along the floor. What was this?
Before I could think too hard, Luka kicked the back of my knees one by one until they landed on the rough surface.
I cried out, shaking at the shock of the movement. The little bits of rice dug into my skin from my own weight on top of it.
Luka stepped around me and sat in the chair. I was not facing him in this position. He had a nice view of my side profile from where he sat. He rested that long crop across his knees, watching me.
“Stand up on your knees, nice and straight,” he ordered, giving a light tap to my behind with the end of the crop.
As I went up on my knees, I could feel the rice grinding against the bony parts of my knees. I stumbled forward slightly, and my hands landed on the ground.
Fwip!
His crop slapped my hand, and I flinched away from the ground.
“I said straight, not forward or backward.” He tilted his head mischievously at me. It was like he was waiting for all the wrong moves without telling me the rules—I had to figure them out as I went.
“You can’t just punish me when I don’t know what you want me to do,” I gritted through my teeth, staring forward at the wall and refusing to look at him.
“I gave you pretty clear instructions.”
I stood on my knees as straight as possible, but the rice made it hard not to waiver. I leaned back slightly to adjust my position on the coarse surface.
Fwip!
He whipped the back of my thighs, eliciting a yelp from me. I could feel the burning continue in a straight line where the crop had hit me.
The same would happen if I leaned too far forward.
Fwip! Fwip!
Back and forth, he would hit the back and front of my thighs to keep me straight. When I glanced down at my thighs, I could see red lines appearing in the places he hit, searing into my skin so it remembered.
After a while, I got really good. I kept myself straight, still, calm.
If I just focused on the wall ahead and let myself drift, I forgot the pain digging into my skin, burning my flesh.
Breath control was paramount when trying to tune everything else out.
He stopped hitting me with the crop. There was nothing to critique until he decided to change the rules again.
While I got him to stop smacking me with the crop, it did not stop the lashing in my head.
The pain was the only thing to focus on unless I dissociated from it, which risked my posture faltering.
The lightheadedness crept up on me slowly.
Soon, I could no longer ignore the pain, but with it came another feeling.
It was like my body was making up for my situation by sending endorphins.
The pain and numbness bloomed in small increments and became more intense the longer I waited.
During the first half, maybe I was running on adrenaline, but now it was all melting together, and I could not tell pain from anything else I was feeling.
“You are doing so well, Alina,” Luka praised.
I looked over at him. He blurred in and out of my vision as my eyes became glassy. I could not bring myself to talk. It would break my focus.
“Do you want to get off the rice?” he asked, almost kindly.
I nodded slowly.
“How do we ask for things?” he crooned, standing from his seat and circling to the front, kneeling in front of my face. His riding crop traced gently over the red marks on my thighs, making even my skin twitch at the touch.
“Please,” I barely made out in a breathy voice.
“Please what?” he asked, tilting his head like there was something to be confused about.
I shifted desperately. “ Please let me off the rice.” My voice shook.
“Do you think you’ve earned it?”
“Yes.” I nodded. “Please, I have done all you asked!”
“Not everything.” He grinned. “I will reward you, but you are staying on the rice.”
“No!” I trembled. “Please, I will do anything. Just let me get up!”
“Dangerous words, Alina,” he warned, getting up and walking around me to the back. “I will ask one more thing, then you may get up.”
“Anything.” I shook, my hands clenched against my thighs.