Chapter 9 #2
The warmth seeping into my bones, chasing away the cold that's been there since I crossed that creek, since I spent hours running through the woods.
I lean back against the tub and close my eyes.
Try to process what's happening, try to understand his game, try to figure out what punishment looks like if it's not violence.
Vaughn is behind me. I can hear him moving around.
Opening cabinets.
Running water.
Then his hands are in my hair.
I flinch violently.
"Relax," he says, his voice low and calm. "I'm just washing your hair. You're covered in dirt and leaves and God knows what else from running through the woods."
"I can do it myself."
"I know you can. But I'm doing it anyway. Because you're mine to take care of now. Mine to tend to. Mine in every way that matters."
His fingers work shampoo through my hair with surprising gentleness.
The scent is masculine—sandalwood and something else, something that smells like him.
His shampoo, probably. Marking me with his scent.
He massages my scalp with steady, rhythmic pressure.
Working out the tangles from running through the woods, from hours of not caring about anything except getting away.
It feels good. Too good.
The kind of good that makes me want to close my eyes and lean into his touch and forget everything except this moment.
I should pull away.
Should maintain some distance, some barrier, some piece of myself he doesn't get to touch.
But I'm so tired.
So cold despite the hot water.
So defeated by everything that's happened.
I let him wash my hair.
Let him rinse it with warm water from a cup, his hands gentle as he shields my face.
Let him condition it and rinse again with that same careful attention.
Let him take care of me even though he's the reason I need care in the first place.
The irony isn't lost on me.
"Why are you doing this?" I ask quietly, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Doing what?"
"Being gentle. Taking care of me. I expected—I thought you'd hurt me. Thought this would be punishment. Thought you'd finally show me what you really are."
His hands still in my hair for a moment, then resume their gentle massage. "I told you I wouldn't hurt you."
"You also told me I had choices. That this was about my healing. That you were different from Elder Jacob and my father. You told me a lot of things that turned out to be lies."
"They weren't lies. I can care about your healing and still be training you for my purposes. I can give you choices within the constraints of your captivity. Nothing I told you was a lie, Eden. You just didn't like the whole truth."
"That's the same as lying."
"No, it's not. But I can see why you'd think that."
He moves around to the front of the tub and kneels beside it.
He looks at me with those ice-blue eyes that see too much, that strip away every defense I try to build.
He's still fully clothed.
I'm naked in the bath.
The power dynamic is crystal clear.
"I don't need to hurt you to own you, Eden. I don't need violence or pain or any of the things you're afraid of. I don't need to break your bones or bruise your skin or make you bleed to prove my control."
"Then what do you need?"
"I have something much more effective than pain."
"What?"
"Your own body."
The words send a chill through me despite the hot water surrounding me.
"I don't understand."
"Yes, you do. You understand perfectly. You ran because you found out about the showcase. Because you realized I've been training you. Because you understood that everything between us has been leading to that moment when I display my control over you in front of the Consortium."
"Yes."
"But Eden—" He reaches into the water. Trails his fingers along my collarbone with maddening lightness. "You also ran because you were scared of how much you wanted what I was offering. How much your body responds to me. How much you need what only I can give you."
"That's not true."
"Isn't it? You tried to use the vibrator alone after that first night. Spent an hour trying to make your body respond the way it did with me. Couldn't make it work. Couldn't get yourself to that edge, couldn't push yourself over. Couldn't feel what you felt when I was there guiding you."
How does he know that?
The answer comes immediately.
The cameras.
Of course.
He watches everything.
Sees everything.
Knows everything I do even when I think I'm alone.
"You've been watching me," I say, and I can hear the betrayal in my own voice.
"Yes."
"That's—that's violation. That's invasion of privacy. That's—"
"That's me knowing everything about you. Understanding you better than you understand yourself. Seeing the truth you're trying to hide even from yourself."
"What truth?"
"That you need me. That your body craves what I showed you. That running wasn't just about escaping the showcase—it was about escaping yourself. Escaping the knowledge that you want things you were taught to be ashamed of wanting."
"You're wrong."
"Am I? Then tell me you didn't think about that while you were running. Tell me your body didn't remember how it felt. Tell me you didn't spend those hours in the woods wanting to hate me but craving what I could give you instead."
I can't.
I can't tell him any of that because it would be a lie.
Because he's right.
Because even while I was running, even while I was cold and scared and desperate, some part of me was remembering.
Wanting.
Craving what only he could give me.
My silence is answer enough.
"That's what I thought," he says softly.
He pulls his hand from the water, stands and looks down at me with an expression I can't read.
"Finish your bath. Get warm. Make sure your core temperature comes back up. Then we'll see who's right about what you really want."
He leaves, closing the door partway.
Giving me a semblance of privacy that we both know is meaningless when he can watch me anytime he wants.
I sit in the cooling water, trying to process everything.
Trying to tell myself he's wrong.
That I don't need him.
Don't crave what he offers.
Don't want to surrender to this thing between us.
But my body remembers.
Remembers how it felt when he touched me.
Remembers the pleasure that overwhelmed everything else—fear, shame, the Sanctuary's teachings, everything.
Remembers wanting more with an intensity that scared me almost as much as he does.
And no matter how much I tell myself it's wrong, that I shouldn't want it, that wanting him makes me weak and broken and exactly what he's trying to make me—
My body doesn't care about should or shouldn't.
It just wants.
And that's the most terrifying thing of all.
When I finally get out of the bath—when the water has gone from hot to warm to cool and I can't justify staying in any longer—there's a robe hanging on the back of the door.
Soft. White. Thick, expensive cotton.
His, probably. Way too big for me.
I put it on because I don't have any other options.
I tie it tightly around myself like armor even though we both know it's not.
Step back into the bedroom on feet that feel steadier now, warmer, more solid.
Vaughn is sitting in a chair by the window.
Still fully clothed in the same clothes from when he found me in the woods.
Watching me with that intensity that makes my skin feel too tight.
"Better?" he asks.
"I'm warm."
"Good. Come here."
I don't move.
My feet stay rooted to the spot just inside the bathroom door.
"Eden. Don't make me ask twice."
I cross to him slowly.
Every instinct screaming at me to run even though there's nowhere to run to.
Even though running is what got me into this situation in the first place.
When I'm close enough, he reaches out and takes my hand.
Pulls me closer with gentle insistence.
"You ran from me," he says quietly.
It's not a question.
"Yes."
"You risked your life to get away. Ran into the woods with no supplies, no plan, no resources. Could have died from exposure if I hadn't found you when I did."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I found the invitation. Because I know what you're training me for. Because I won't—I won't perform for those men like some trained animal. I won't let you parade me in front of the Consortium to prove you've successfully broken me."
"And if I told you the showcase is negotiable? That we could find another way?"
Hope flares in my chest, bright and desperate. "Really?"
"No."
The hope dies as quickly as it came.
"The showcase is happening, Eden. In three weeks. And you will be there with me. The only question is whether you participate willingly or whether I have to force your compliance. Whether you choose to submit or whether I break you until you have no choice."
"I'll never be willing. Never."
"We'll see."
That fucking phrase.
I hate that phrase more than anything.
"Right now," he continues, his voice still calm, still controlled, "we're going to address your punishment for running."
My heart starts racing, slamming against my ribs. "What are you going to do?"
"Show you what happens when you try to leave me. Show you why running is pointless. Show you that your body belongs to me whether you want to admit it or not."
He pulls me onto his lap before I can react.
I try to resist but he's so much stronger, moving me like I weigh nothing.
I end up straddling him, the robe falling open, my bare skin against his clothed body.
His jeans are rough against my inner thighs.
His shirt is soft against my breasts.
The intimacy of the position makes my breath catch.
"Vaughn—"
"Shh. You had your chance to talk. Had your chance to run. Now you listen. Now you learn."
His hands settle on my waist, warm through the cotton of the robe.
Large enough to span almost completely around me.
"You ran because you were scared," he says, his voice low and intense. "Scared of the showcase, yes. But also scared of this. Scared of how much you want me. How much your body responds to me. How much you need what I can give you."
"I don't want you."
"Liar."
His hand slides up, slow and deliberate.