10. LION
10
LION
Lion woke before sunrise, feeling like he hadn’t rested at all. His body was heavy with fatigue, and the dull ache in his shoulder and chest had bothered him all night. He sat up slowly, careful not to make any noise.
In the dim light, he eyed the girl warily. She was curled up in the corner, fast asleep, with her back against the wall. At some point during the night, she had gotten cold and put on Lion’s tunic; the fabric draping over her slender frame. The tunic was baggy enough to let her tuck her knees in under. Her arms hugged her legs, and her face was buried on her knees. A turmoil of red hair hid her features.
He quietly slipped out of bed, his muscles protesting with every movement. He moved towards the small basin in the corner and splashed cold water on his face, the shock of it helping to chase away the remnants of sleep. The chill of the water stung his branded chest, but he welcomed the sensation, needing something to ground him in the present.
He dressed quickly, pulling on his pants and shoes. Then he stood and watched the girl. She was still asleep, her breathing steady and soft. He needed his tunic, and he had to find a way to pull it off her without making her scream. He could hear the Master of the Beasts' snoring through the thin wall between his room and Badimar's. At one point last night, Badimar had returned to his room, so Lion had to keep the girl quiet.
He approached softly and clamped his hand over her mouth. Her eyes snapped open, and just as he had expected, she tried to scream. But he kept her head pinned against the wall, his palm covering half her face and muffling her protests. He made that gesture again, with his finger against his lips. Her eyebrows dipped when she saw it. She made an angry noise and tried pushing his hand away. Lion, his eyes fixed on the wall, waited until she was reliably quiet before removing his hand.
She glared at him, her lips pressed tight. Lion abruptly pulled the tunic off her, grabbed his blanket, and tossed it at her before bolting out of the room.
He only relaxed when he closed the door behind him. Bloody freeborn savage almost got him into trouble! He pulled the tunic over his head as he walked down the hallway. The fabric was still warm, and it smelled like the girl. He could still feel the softness of her mouth on his palm. An abrupt groan rose from his throat, but he swallowed it back down. He pressed his finger against the burn on his chest. Once again, the pain brought him back to himself.
He went straight to the main training yard in the outer court. He took his tunic off and started stretching his muscles while waiting for Doha.
Slaves and servants were the first ones to rise in Castle Brinescar. House slaves were pulling water from the well for the kitchens and for the baths. Kitchen hands were bringing food from the pantry. The lower kitchen of the castle was getting ready to feed the King’s more than a hundred slaves. Lion could see the smoke rising from the eastern kitchen and the keep kitchen as well, where they served the castle guards, servants and the nobility. Guards with tousled hair and sleepy eyes were heading to replace the night watch on the walls, watch towers and the gates. Nobody shot another glance at Lion.
His shoulder was stiff, but it relaxed when Lion flexed it gently. The cool morning breeze soothed his burnt skin. Soon, when the sun rose high enough to warm the air and when salty sweat started running down his body, the brand would start scorching again.
Doha arrived at the training yard a few minutes late, his appearance dishevelled and his eyes bloodshot. He was holding his head as he grimaced. “Start running,” he grunted, waving his hand dismissively. He leaned against the fence surrounding the training yard and closed his eyes against the harsh morning light.
Lion began to run laps around the yard. The rhythmic pounding of his feet against the dirt was soothing. He never understood the appeal of alcohol. He had tasted it once — Caesh, too drunk one night celebrating the Black Stallion tournament, had offered him a sip — and found that it tasted too acrid and bitter. The experience was like swallowing liquid fire, the sting lingering on his throat. He didn’t understand why free men and women drunk that foul tasting beverage, knowing they would be rewarded with a hangover the next day.
Halfway through his laps, he heard the unmistakable sound of retching. Doha was heaving on the ground. The young trainer straightened up, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and stumbled towards the water trough to wash himself. Lion pretended not to notice. He had discovered a while ago that free men and women did not appreciate slaves observing their misery.
When Doha returned a few minutes later, he seemed slightly more composed. He called Lion over and directed him to switch to core exercises, with careful instructions to avoid anything that would strain his injured shoulder. When the sun was up and the mouth-watering smells of breakfast wafted from the lower kitchen, Doha instructed him to cool down. Holding a hand over his head to cover his eyes from the sun, he headed back inside without waiting for him.
Lion went to the lower kitchen on his own. Caesh was already there, supervising one of the cooks who prepared Lion’s meal. Badimar was ever cautious about what went in Lion’s body. One of the trainers always supervised his meals, not just to make sure Lion got all the nutrition his muscles needed, but also to guarantee nothing else was added in the food. Beasts getting poisoned before tournaments was not unheard of, considering the amount of money bet on those fights.
Lion ate his breakfast — half a chicken, bread and roasted potatoes — while Caesh kept himself busy groping one of the kitchen servants. When he grabbed the woman’s butt, she shrieked then giggled. Caesh pulled the woman to his lap, ignoring her half-hearted protests. Lion kept his head down and oddly found himself thinking about the girl he had left in his room. He hoped she would be gone by the time he returned tonight.
When he was nearly finished, Caesh told him that Badimar wanted to see him at the Feline Yard after breakfast. Lion stuffed the last piece of the bread in his mouth and hurried to the Feline Yard near the western walls of the castle.
A group of beasts were doing speed and agility drills under Joharin’s instructions. Badimar was standing at the side, watching them. He was shading his eyes from the sun and he had the same sour expression on his face as Doha.
Lion stood beside Badimar, his hands clasped in front of him. Badimar didn’t look, nor did he acknowledge his presence for several minutes. He rubbed his head and studied the drill with an impatient grimace on his face. He was not in a good mood this morning, though he was not in a good mood most mornings, anyway.
“You’ll go to Vanalten after lunch and get your shoulder checked,” he grunted finally.
“Yes, Master.”
“I assume you’ve met Lord Hosten’s female?”
The memory of the girl’s naked body pressing against his skin made Lion’s blood rush. “Yes, Master,” he said flatly.
Badimar gritted his teeth, looking furious, though not at Lion. “I don’t know what Lord Hosten offered King Leonis that the King didn’t already have, but he bought himself your seed.”
Lion’s heart fell into the pit of his stomach. Luckily, Badimar’s words were neither a question nor an order, so he wasn’t expected to speak. He wasn’t sure if he could find his voice. He dreaded where this conversation was going.
“Vanalten checked to make sure the girl is virgin and fertile…” His lips curled into a sneer. “And doesn’t carry any diseases. Kiejain forbid! I still believe this is some clever plot to sabotage you out of the Serpent’s Grip.”
Still not a question, and not an order, so Lion kept quiet. His heart pounded against his chest.
“Bed her. Work on her every night until she kindles with your seed.”
Work on her , he repeated in his mind, as he replied, “Yes, Master.”
Badimar spat. “Wait until the other nobles get a whiff of this. They’ll keep sending their whores… Go sit down and wait.”
“Yes, Master.”
Lion sat down with his back against the fence. He tried to distract himself by watching the drill, but his mind was like a bee’s nest.
Work on her…
She was an untrained freeborn, clearly hadn’t adjusted to her new life. The way she reacted to Lion last night was a strong indication that she wasn’t willing to comply with her Owner’s wishes for her to breed with him. She was going to resist.
Lion swallowed hard as he realised the implications. His Owner wanted him to breed with the girl, and if she wouldn’t comply… he would have to force himself onto her. The thought made him sick to his stomach, though he couldn’t understand why. He rarely felt anything about any of his orders. He was exempt from the moral values that bounded and restricted the actions of free men. He was merely a tool.
Still, he felt like throwing up.
He forced himself to sit straight and take steady breaths. I live to serve, I breathe to please , he repeated his discipline in his head. It didn’t help much.
He watched the other beasts exercise with glassy eyes. Caesh and Doha had joined Joharin. They divided the nine beasts into three groups and trained them separately.
Seven of the beasts were purebreds like Lion. The other two had been free warriors once. Lion often caught them staring at him, their eyes narrowed. He understood those sidelong glances were a display of jealousy, though he couldn’t fathom why. Jealousy was a pointless emotion, a distraction from discipline and focus. Freeborns wasted a lot of energy on useless emotions and ideas when they could just be following their training and obeying their orders.
And now, Lion was filled with a useless feeling too. He didn’t have a word for the emotion, but thinking about what he would have to do to the girl tonight made him sick to his stomach.
I live to serve; I breathe to please. I live to serve; I breathe to please. I live to serve…
Badimar supervised the three groups, dished out criticisms, and gave instructions to the trainers, then started setting up Lion’s exercise drill. He placed three upturned cups on the ground in a row, spaced a short distance apart, and positioned a fourth one a bit farther back. Instead of using the usual harness, Badimar opted for a weighted belt around Lion’s waist with a sturdy rope attached to the back to focus on leg strength and agility without straining the shoulder.
Lion took position behind the fourth cup while Badimar held the other end of the rope. At his command, Lion dashed to one of the first three cups, then retreated as quickly as possible. Badimar called out the cups in a random order, and Lion lunged at each one with lightning speed, leaving no room for hesitation. Every time Lion ran, Badimar pulled back on the rope, offering enough force to challenge Lion but being careful not to worsen his shoulder injury. Lion had to listen intently, make split-second decisions, run fast, and drag Badimar’s weight behind him.
After fifteen gruelling minutes, they were both out of breath. Badimar wore thick, leather gloves to protect his hands from rope burns, but his knees and elbows were grazed from tripping and falling repeatedly. Despite being dragged across the ground, he never got mad at Lion; he only yelled when Lion couldn't pull hard or quick enough.
Lion couldn’t help but respect him. Badimar was a great trainer; he was dedicated, and he pushed Lion hard. Even with an ugly hangover, he gave his best to the drill. Lion feared and admired him at the same time.
Lion took the weighted belt off and got a drink while Badimar set up the next exercise. It was a balance drill. Lion climbed onto a meter-high pole, the narrow top barely providing enough space for him to balance on one foot. Once he was steady, Badimar handed him a small, round shield. Without warning, the Master of the Beasts began hurling rocks at Lion, who had to either dodge or parry them with the shield while maintaining his balance.
They ran two more drills — agility and footwork — then finished up for lunch.
All of Badimar’s drills required Lion’s full concentration. He had no room to think about the girl. However, as soon as he was heading to the kitchen for his lunch, Lion’s mind went back to what was waiting for him in his room.
Work on her…
That disturbing feeling he couldn’t name had returned, along with the nausea. He struggled to swallow his food and to keep it down.
After lunch, Lion went to Vanalten as he was told to. The old physician examined his shoulder, grunted at the unkempt state of the bandage. He replaced it with a sturdy, stretchy fabric that allowed him to move his arm more freely, though still kept it snug. He put an ointment on the burn mark on his chest, which intensified the pain. Lion let the pain distract him from the girl as he went back to the main training yard, setting his jaw and flinching every time his tunic touched the burn.
Afternoons were reserved for weapons training and sparring between beasts, but Lion was excused from these today because of his shoulder. Badimar instructed him to sit and observe the fights instead. He asked him questions about them; what they did wrong, what could have been done differently, what techniques could counter that move or disarm the opponent from that position.
He never praised when Lion gave the correct answer, but he punished him with his Pain Word when Lion’s answer didn’t satisfy him. It inspired Lion to pay more attention; to be a better beast. He was a damn good trainer, Badimar was. By the end, Lion had only heard his Pain Word twice, and he had developed so much insight from the other beasts’ errors.
Once the beasts switched to weight training, Lion was sent to the servants’ bathhouse to clean up. He was the only slave who had permission to use this bathhouse. Other beasts washed with cold water in the slave barracks near the stables. He slipped into the steaming pool, keeping his chest above water, and scrubbed the day’s filth off his skin. After dressing up, he went to the kitchen for supper.
He had to wait for Doha to come and supervise his meal preparation. He didn’t complain; he would do anything to delay going back to his room. He ate his dinner — roasted beef, potatoes, and green vegetables — slow enough to make Doha question his appetite. He had to speed up to convince the trainer that he wasn’t unwell, though he felt like he could throw up at any moment.
On his way to his room, Lion’s feet felt like stones. He had to drag them across the floor, each step heavier than the previous one. When he reached his door, he paused with his hand on the doorknob. Closing his eyes, he worked himself up for what he had to do. He desperately resorted to his training.
I live to serve; I breathe to please.
His only purpose was to obey. He had no choice.
It’s not my body, it’s their property.
He didn’t have any control over this. He had no choice.
The girl had no choice either. Her Owner wanted her to carry the Lion of Zarall’s offspring. It didn’t matter how she felt about this. It didn’t matter how any of them felt about this.
Lion pushed the door open. His face was as hard as Badimar’s fists.
The girl jumped off the bed where she had been sitting. She wasn’t naked anymore. Raydon must have brought her meals and clothes. She wore a plain, dirt coloured dress and her hair cascaded down her shoulders. Something she saw in Lion’s demeanour alarmed her. She took a small step back, her face paling as her eyes widened.
Lion closed the door behind him. He was tired, in pain, and he wanted to get this over with, so he could close his eyes and numb himself to sleep. He pulled his tunic off, then kicked off his shoes.
“No!” the girl said firmly. Out loud. Commanding. “I don’t want this.”
Lion’s hands halted on the straps of his pants. She had done it again; she had talked out loud, like a free woman. Anger sparked inside Lion’s chest as his lips curled into a menacing snarl. Despite knowing Badimar probably hadn’t returned to his room yet, Lion couldn’t help but glance at the wall. The last thing he needed today was Badimar walking in and yelling his Pain Word at him.
He stood frozen, his head down, his body taut with a silent fury. Stupid freeborn thought she could want or not want things? Like she had a choice? She had no choice. He had no choice either. What they had was their orders.
The girl shifted, as if sensing the dark storm brewing inside Lion’s chest, radiating out of his coiled muscles. His jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides. The girl shook her head and took another step back. “No! Stay away from—”
Her words ended in a shriek when Lion snatched her wrist and swung her to the bed. He climbed on her, pinning her between his thighs, and muffled her mouth with his palm. As if expecting this, the girl bit his hand and stole a surprised groan from him.
“Get off me!” she screamed, slapping and kicking.
Lion growled softly. Blood trickled down his hand. He stared at the mark the girl’s teeth left at the base of his palm. She drew his blood! He rarely let this happen in a fight against a beast, and this little wild thing managed to bleed him?
He tossed his head back in time to dodge a wayward punch. Grabbing her wrists with one hand, he pinned them against the bed.
She was still screaming, “No! Let me go! Get off me!” Her legs were kicking wildly, some landing at the wall between Lion’s room and Badimar’s.
Worry twisted Lion’s stomach, which fuelled his rage. He desperately reminded himself that Badimar probably wasn’t in his room. It was too early. He often preferred eating at the castle and then heading down into the city for drinks with his trainers and some of the guards. He wouldn’t hear this. Yet, Lion flinched every time the girl yelled at the top of her lungs and smacked her feet against the wall. He needed to restrain her and keep her quiet.
He shifted his weight to pin her legs. She somehow managed to twist one of her arms free and raked her nails across Lion’s face. He hissed in surprise as the sharp nails left deep scratches across his cheek. Blood trickled and filled his sight.
Twice. She drew his blood twice!
With a snarl, he caught her arms again and pressed them down on the bed. He wrestled her legs between his thighs. She was still screaming like a wild cat. Lion ran his free hand over his face, trying to locate the source of the blood. She had scratched along the side of his face and had barely missed his left eye. Horror filled his chest when he noticed just how close she had come to blinding him. If he sustained an injury that compromised his ability to fight… A chill ran down his spine.
The door was kicked open, the sound of it rebounding against the stone wall left Lion frozen in dread.
“What the fuck is this ruckus?”
Lion was wrong; Badimar hadn’t gone to the city tonight.
The Master of the Beasts barged into the room, half-dressed in a nightshirt, his hair tousled like he had just jumped out of the bed.
Lion sprung off the bed and stood ready, his head down and his hands clasped together. His chest heaved. The woman scrambled to her feet too and stood ready with her head down. The savage at least had enough training to remember how to behave in the presence of free men.
Badimar’s granite eyes scanned the room and stopped on Lion’s face. Blood from the scratch dripped onto the floor. Badimar’s eyes widened.
“What the…”
He grabbed Lion’s beard and tilted his head up, examining the scratch. He wiped the blood off Lion’s face, trying to understand how bad it was. “Are you fucking injured?”
“I am well, Master.”
“Are you injured ?”
“I am well, Master.”
Lost in panic, Badimar didn’t seem to hear him clearly, as he kept asking and ignoring Lion’s calm and prompt replies. He kept wiping the blood, smearing it all over Lion’s face, as he tried to assess the damage.
“Did she blind you?”
“No, Master.”
“Did she fucking blind you?”
“No, Master.”
“Can you still see?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Lion!” Badimar pulled him by the beard, bringing his face close. He covered Lion’s right eye with his palm. Clenching his jaw and visibly trying to compose himself, he asked: “Can you still see?”
“I can see, Master,” Lion replied, clearly and calmly.
Badimar finally let his beard go and straightened. He nodded, inhaling deeply. He turned to face the girl, who stared at him like an idiot. Her eyes widened, and she shrunk.
“You stupid bitch!”
Badimar knocked the girl down to the floor with a backhanded slap. She yelled out in pain. When she raised her arms up to defend herself, Badimar kicked her in the guts. Grabbing her by the hair, he slammed her face against the wall. He kicked and punched her repeatedly, while swearing and yelling.
“Are you trying to blind him, you fucking whore? I fucking knew this was a plot! You’re trying to sabotage him! Why else would they send an untamed savage?!”
Lion fixed his eyes on the floor while Badimar beat some discipline into the girl. He told himself she deserved this. She had it coming. She was untrained, unruly, disobedient… She needed to know her place. A good beating always inspired freeborn slaves to learn quicker. This wasn’t the first time he witnessed another slave receiving a beating. Yet, he hardly stopped himself from flinching every time he heard Badimar’s fists land on the girl’s flesh and he almost felt the pain of the blows in his gut. His jaw ached from clenching.
He subtly wiped the blood that seeped from his right hand against his pants. He curled his fingers into a fist to hide the bite marks in his palm. Seeing more blood on Lion’s sword hand would just anger Badimar even more.
When the girl started begging him to stop, Lion barely kept himself from grimacing. She had to stop speaking without permission if she wanted this to end quicker.
The girl’s pleas intensified Badimar’s rage. Last time Lion had seen him this angry was when one of the cooks had used bad meat in slaves’ food and all his beasts had been sick in bed, vomiting and writhing with violent stomach cramps, just before a lesser tournament. Badimar had beaten the cook bloody, almost killing him.
He eventually stopped, maybe realising she belonged to someone else. He grabbed her hair and yanked her bloody face up. “Are you going to behave, slut?”
“Yes, Owner,” she sobbed, tears flowing down her face.
Badimar slapped her again. “I’m not your Owner , stupid freeborn. It’s Master to you.”
“Yes, Master.”
When he released her, she curled up next to the bed, hugging herself, trembling and whimpering quietly.
“And you…” Badimar turned to Lion.
Lion didn’t flinch, neither did he change his expression. He kept his eyes on the ground, face perfectly neutral, just like he was trained to do.
Badimar yanked his beard again and took another look at the scratch, making sure it wasn’t serious enough to warrant an emergency visit to Vanalten. His face darkened when he saw how close her nails had been to the corner of Lion’s eye. He glared at the girl, his body tensing, as if hardly restraining himself from hitting her again. Lion’s heart beat faster. The girl wouldn’t survive another round of beating. Fortunately for her, Badimar shook his head like she wasn’t worth the effort.
Badimar pressed a bloody finger against Lion’s chest. “I am giving you permission to beat her unconscious if she so much as lifts a finger,” he said loudly, making sure the girl had heard him too. “If she resists again, break her arms and legs.”
It was a clear order.
“Yes, Master,” Lion said compliantly.
“Can I trust the King’s champion beast to fuck a girl without getting his ass kicked?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Get it done, Lion,” he growled. “I don’t care how you do it. And keep her quiet.”
“Yes, Master.”
Badimar stormed off, slamming the door behind him. Moments later, the door to the adjacent room banged open and shut, followed by the sound of him stomping around, yanking drawers open, and cursing under his breath. Shortly after, the door opened and closed once more.
Lion held his breath, half-expecting him to come back and beat the girl again. However, Badimar’s fast-paced steps faded away .
Lion let out a breath. His heart was still pounding. His stomach churned when he eyed the girl’s bloody frame. She was facing the wall, cradling herself, sobbing and crying uncontrollably. There was blood on her hair and dress, which was torn at the back, revealing her bruised skin.
He had his orders.
Get it done.
Break her arms and legs if she resists.
He couldn’t disobey.
Get it done.
The girl’s hunched shoulders trembled with broken sobs. She tried and failed to suppress them as they kept coming.
Lion couldn’t take his eyes off her. His muscles were frozen, refusing to move. He had to get it done. He had his orders…
What if she resists?
He imagined his fists pounding against her petite body. He had never felt any reluctance about hurting another slave. He was raised to hurt, to kill. He was bred for it. Yet, this felt different. The idea of breaking the girl’s bones left him paralysed. Sick. He closed his eyes, tensed and flexed his fingers.
He couldn’t hurt her.
He couldn’t disobey his orders, either.
His stomach cramped painfully. He didn’t have a name for this emotion. It was like drowning, sinking under a thick liquid, his muscles too heavy to move.
What if she resists?
He couldn’t move. If he took a step toward the girl, she would start screaming and fighting him again. And he would have to break her legs and arms. His head spun.
Can’t disobey.
I can’t disobey.
Her sobs were tearing a chunk out of his heart. He didn’t want to…
His eyes snapped open. He didn’t have the luxury of wanting or not wanting . He wasn’t some untamed freeborn. He was a purebred. He lived to serve and breathed to please. He inhaled a deep breath and released it slowly, fixing his eyes on the floor.
It’s not my body, it’s their property.
He summoned that numbness, sending his mind to that dark place, so he could be the thing Badimar ordered him to be. He blocked out the girl’s sobs. His heartbeat slowed down. He was nearly there, on the edge of that place , where he could tuck his mind away safely and detach from his body, when he heard the girl stand with a groan.
He held his breath, still lingering between here and that place . Without taking his eyes off the floor, he watched the girl with all his senses. She was still sobbing quietly, though she seemed more controlled now. Lion held his breath as he waited for what she was going to do next. Would she attack him? Would she try to run?
She walked past him, holding her head down, and went to the sink. She filled the basin with water and started washing the blood off her face with trembling hands. She had a busted lip and a bleeding nose. Bruises were forming at the side of her face. She gasped softly and shuddered when the cold water touched her skin. The water in the basin turned pink with her blood.
Lion still stood frozen. He hadn’t moved since Badimar left. His muscles were taut, ready to snap into violence. He turned his head ever so slightly to keep the girl in his peripheral.
She straightened, dried her face with Lion’s towel, leaving red stains on the fabric. Then she unbuttoned her dress and slipped out of it. Her milky white skin was tarnished by ugly bruises and several weeks old lashes. Still keeping her head down, she went to the bed and crawled under the blanket.
Lion exhaled a shaky breath, feeling the tension drain from his body. She wasn’t going to resist! The sudden relief left him almost lightheaded, though he still felt like he was about to throw up. He took deep breaths, trying to ease those knots in his stomach. When he noticed the girl staring at the ceiling with vacant eyes, he had to look away.
What was happening to him? He needed to snap out of this. He recognised the expression on the girl’s face. She was trying to send herself to that place . Why did that bother him? That place was safe; that numbness, that void was better than the alternative.
He took another deep breath and willed himself to move. He tugged his pants down and climbed into the bed. She twitched when Lion touched her. He was wrong. She hadn’t fully escaped into that place just yet. She hadn’t dissociated. When he moved to spread her legs apart, she tensed and clenched them together.
A suffocating feeling sat on Lion’s chest. She was resisting. She covered her face with her hands, sobbing and trembling violently.
Can’t disobey.
Lion closed his eyes, preparing for what he had to do. He opened them back, a new idea blossoming in his mind. Badimar had also told him he didn’t care how he would do it, as long as he ‘got it done’.
He didn’t have to hurt her. He just had to make sure she wouldn’t resist.
So, he waited.
He didn’t touch her, he didn’t move a muscle. He fixed his gaze on the wall and waited patiently. He would wait as long as he had to. He couldn’t disobey his orders, but if the girl didn’t resist, at least he wouldn’t have to hurt her. He could make this easier for her. So, he waited. And it worked. The girl took deep breaths, and she recollected herself. Her muscles relaxed.
When Lion put his hand on her thigh again, she cupped her hand over his. Lion paused. She didn’t try to push it away. She simply kept her hand on Lion’s, staring at him intently. Why was she looking at him like that? He couldn’t interpret her expression. Was that fear? He supposed it was. He probably looked big and menacing. There wasn’t much he could do to appear less intimidating, especially considering he still had blood on his face.
Her pale skin gleamed in the dim light, with dark blotches forming on her ribs, just beneath those perfectly round breasts. He could almost hear how loud and fast her heart was beating. Slowly and gently, Lion pushed her legs apart. She didn’t resist, her delicate hand still resting lightly on Lion’s. When he positioned himself between her legs, she tensed and Lion froze again.
He waited. He studied the wild patterns her red hair formed on the pillow. They reminded him of untamed flames. Every part of his body that touched her soft skin was on fire, while he still felt cold and sick inside. The contrast left him dizzy.
She was still staring at him, shivering under him, her chest heaving rapidly. She wiped her cheeks with a palm, her other hand still on Lion’s. Slowly, she slid her hand up Lion’s forearm, then his bicep, and rested on his right shoulder. She relaxed and gave him the most subtle nod. It was so obscure; it could have been nothing more than a suppressed shiver. Whatever it was, it eased some of the knots in Lion’s stomach. He continued, carefully avoiding the sore bruises all over her body, and monitoring her reactions.
He stopped every time she squeezed his shoulder and moved again when she gave him that little nod. They were communicating, without speaking. Without breaking any rules.
When he was done, he lay next to her. The bed was so small, their bodies were moulded together. Spent from the tension and the release, and that odd sickness in his guts, Lion closed his eyes, eager to drift into sleep and leave this day behind.
The girl spoke softly. “Saradra,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “My real name is Saradra.”
No, it’s not, Lion refuted silently in his mind. She was ‘the girl’. ‘The female slave’, or whichever name her Owner chose for her. She didn’t possess her previous name anymore.
Without opening his eyes, he pressed a finger against her soft lips. She didn’t speak again. She turned to face the wall, her back nestled against his chest. Her hair tickled and irritated his brands, but he wasn’t bothered. He fell asleep, breathing the smell of her hair.