3. Sawyer
SAWYER
Collapse.
I feel it coming as Aiden drags me by leash downstairs. My shoulders hunch inch by inch until there’s nowhere left to sink but the floor.
The metal cuffs around my wrists and ankles are heavy as anchors, and it takes all my strength to keep up. I slog forward like an old mule plowing the field for its master. For Luna.
A bitter taste fills my mouth—a metallic tinge teasing with Luna’s flesh. Not only the taste of her cheek mixing with my putrid spit, but the memory of her cum on my tongue weeks ago.
I try to swallow the tinge but lose my footing as my knee caves. The leather collar clutches the back of my neck, and I’m jolted forward by a hard yank on the leash.
I stumble. Catch myself on the wall. Cough water from my lungs.
When Aiden jerks a second time, I force myself forward and fight the aches and pains weighing down my entire body.
Until we turn one last corner, and Luna enters my line of sight.
Perched on a long dining table, hands rested in her lap, her back perfectly straight as always. A steaming plate of food sits neglected at her side while she stares at crackling flames boxed inside brick.
Heat crawls up my jaw and traces the shell of my ear, and for a moment I think it’s the fire’s doing. But the longer I stare at the black clothed witch, the hotter I get.
Rule your emotions or they will rule you.
Aiden’s throat clearing draws Luna’s eyes. When he slaps the back of my head, I lower my chin.
“Has the Dreg’s attitude been addressed?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Aiden says without a moment’s pause. “He’s ready to behave.”
Cold eyes fix on me. “Is that true, Dreg? Are you ready to behave?”
That taste again—stronger.
Aiden’s elbow jabs between my shoulder blades.
“Yes, Your Grace.”
My teeth tap six times.
“Very good… Come then.”
Before I have a chance to lift my foot, Aiden barrels past with the leash woven around his fist. He drags me to Luna and shoves me into the chair directly in front of her. When I go to lift my head, he forces it back down.
I stare at Luna’s thighs wrapped in black wool—an exact match to her sweater. Free of any design or ornament, but flattering with the way it lays over a poised body. Sophisticated. Timeless. High quality, yet practical. The same taste I saw before, when she was supposed to be a captive.
Anyone can hide their name, their occupation, their upbringing. Almost no one can hide who they truly are.
I may have gotten things wrong, but I wasn’t blind.
My chin stays lowered while I look up through my lashes and meet irises as icy as tonight’s sky.
Neither of us blink while Aiden loops rope through a ring in the metal cuffs to secure me to the chair.
I must look angry, but Luna… She shows nothing at all—no humanity, no regret—as she watches me carefully, that little smirk she had before now gone.
The smell of rosemary and butter drag at my stomach, but I don’t allow my eyes to shift first. A small victory, but painfully important.
It isn’t until Luna’s throat clears that I realize Aiden has stood.
“Thank you, friend.” She dips her head at him, giving him the signal to go stand at the end of the table and stare at us.
“You must be hungry,” Luna says to me as she picks apart the chicken. A glossy coat of grease paints the pads of her finger and thumb.
As drool collects in one corner of my mouth, I rub it on the shirt Aiden gave me. A black duplicate of the brand I wear—tag freshly ripped. The golf pants hugging my legs are the same material as the shorts I wore here. Even the shoes are pristine replicas of the tattered Nikes I lost in the mines.
Luna brings a piece of chicken to my lips. Grease coats the chapped skin, but I don’t open my mouth.
As if to remind me of my earlier punishment, my shoulder spasms. Sensitivity lingers in my nerves, an invisible current still whispering beneath the skin. My mind would rather die than eat from this woman’s hand while my body begs for reprieve. It’s confusing. And frustrating. And overstimulating.
And I understand. For the very first time, I understand why some women on my island chose punishment or even death over assimilation.
I told them they were senseless. Stubborn. Too stupid to survive.
My eyes close. As I force my jaw open, my pride fractures, but pride is useless for survival.
Luna wedges the chicken inside until rosemary starts to override the perpetual taste of blood. Turning my head away, I chew. Slowly. Painstakingly. It’s harder to eat now than it was yesterday when I filled my belly with cabbage slime.
Luna brushes her hands together. “You may go now, Aiden. I can take it from here.”
“Yes, Your Grace. I’ll wait out—”
“No.” Luna scrapes a helping of mashed potatoes onto the tip of her index finger. “Go home. Be with Sylvie… I said I can take it from here.”
Hesitation, but then…
“Yes, Your Grace. Have a good night.”
Luna watches him leave before she turns back to me. White hair hangs in her face as she peers down. She drags several strands behind an ear, then hovers the mashed potato finger in front of my mouth.
For a moment, she looks like a girl.
Beautiful. Innocent.
At a glance from afar, I would read her confidence and poise, but I would never imagine her capable of commanding the respect and admiration of multiple grown men. I would never guess her to be cruel.
Even now, with her finger at my mouth so I can eat from her hand like an animal, there’s this odd sense of self-consciousness that flicks her eyes up and down like she can’t seem to decide whether she should be staring at my eyes or my lips. The slightest hint of pink kisses her porcelain cheeks.
Embarrassment.
Lust.
Or is it just uncertainty? What kind of leader can afford to be so uncertain?
My mouth opens easier as I settle into the chair, the twitching of my muscles easing. The food has cooled, but the butter is still rich and nutty as Luna pushes her finger past my lips. She goes to pull away when I suck off the food but stops when my teeth lightly clamp.
She takes in the softest gasp while I trace my tongue along her nail bed. With little thought, I move over the pad of her finger in a back and forth rhythm she might remember.
Her eyes divert as she rips her hand from my mouth. Her breaths come quicker than before.
Just like a girl.
“You should know… Your actions today will determine your tomorrow,” Luna begins like a fucking nineteenth-century war general, wiping her hand on my shirt instead of her own.
“I provoked you before, with the pet names. I shouldn’t have done that.
Your mind is obviously much too weak for such games, but uh…
” She grips the edge of the table as she leans toward me.
“If you choose not to cooperate, I’ll be forced to send you back to the mines.
We both know you won’t last much longer there. ”
“So?”
She blinks. Her spine straightens as she waits for me to go on.
I don’t.
“So if you wish to keep your life…” A surprised laugh pops from her mouth as she waves to the food, then the fire.
The treasures my mistress has kindly offered.
“If you want to be warm and fed, then you’ll do as you're told. You won’t disrespect me, especially in front of others.
You won’t… Why are you smiling?” Her brows kiss. A blush creeps between both temples.
“What is it you think you’re telling me to do, Luna? Am I supposed to be training sex slaves? luring sex slaves? Am I your sex slave? My head has gotten foggy with all the lies and false identity shit. Please, enlighten me.”
“We have an inbreeding problem,” she doesn’t hesitate to say.
Her glare softens, and the ice in her eyes thaws with importance she’s stupid not to hide.
“We need new women added to our gene pool. But the Shadow Sanctum has had little use and little luck initiating women, and I’m afraid finding willing individuals to fill the necessary role of breeders is even less feasible… ”
She scoots to the edge of the table and takes a deep breath.
“I don’t want the women to feel pain as much as I don’t want the situation to make my people uncomfortable.
While the women’s purpose will primarily be to breed, my plan is to slowly replace the Seraph cast with the new initiates.
They will be sacred, both to the Sanctum, and to me personally. ”
Her hands draw to her lap while her nose lifts in conviction. For such a talented, intelligent woman, she tells herself the most ridiculous lies.
“They’ll be as cherished and content as the women on your island,” she goes on. “All I need is for you to get them here and open their minds. That’s it. I can handle everything from there.”
My eyes narrow as I watch her face for a tell—in the twitch of a cheek or the break of her gaze. For her sake, she’d better be lying. Trafficking rings are disgustingly simple to establish, and mind-shatteringly difficult to live with. They have no place for the well-intentioned.
But there’s no twitch. Luna’s face has hardened to stone, and her conviction is solid in her sloped jaw and crystal eyes.
She’s serious.
Already, she’s failed.
“Take a good look at me,” I say, my face drooped with exhaustion while my lips find the energy to lift. “Do I look like the poster child for paradise?”
“Not today.” She tips her head. “But in a week, after you’ve had plenty of rest and food… You’ll be fine.”
“Unless of course, you throw me back in the mines.”
She’s quiet for a moment. Then, a nod.
“Luna…”
She doesn’t respond to the whispered word. I’m not even sure it’s her real name—or if anything she told me was true.
But my read on her… That was real.
Abusive father.
Obsessive compulsive disorder.
Self consciousness that finally makes sense.
Vulnerabilities and patterns of behavior that can be mapped, analyzed, and manipulated, just as thoroughly as anyone else.
My wrists gently tug at the rope binding me to the chair. Eager to sit next to her. Make myself level.
“Do you even know the type of man you’re dealing with?”