14. LION
14
LION
“Let’s do it again,” the girl said, her voice cutting through the sound of Lion’s heartbeat thrumming in his ears. “Look at me.”
Lion trembled on his hands and knees, gagging and retching. Every muscle in his body locked up in anticipation of his Pain Word. Cold sweat broke out on his forehead and his vision blurred around the edges.
He was going to kill this girl. Tonight.
“Look at me,” she repeated. She kneeled beside him, bringing her face close. She put a gentle hand on his arm. “When you’re ready.”
Lion shook her touch off. Squeezing his eyes shut, he forced himself to take a deep, shuddering breath. He clenched his stomach and braced for the agony.
Oddly, he saw no trace of malice in the girl’s soft blue eyes. She wasn’t doing this for her own amusement. This wasn’t a twisted display of power. If anything, her eyes reflected a genuine concern as she offered him an encouraging smile.
He doubled over, an overwhelming surge of fear and pain coursing through him. The muscles in his neck and shoulders bunched painfully as he fought to regain control.
“It’s going to get better,” the girl whispered. “It has to.”
She waited and watched as Lion pushed himself up to sit with his back against the wall. He was out of breath, weak and trembling.
The girl sat next to him, close enough that their legs nearly touched. She had tied the torn pieces of her dress together and somehow succeeded at looking decent in it. If anything, the tattered dress seemed more elegant than any of Queen Arasanara’s jewel-clad, multi-coloured dresses. Her red hair spilled over one shoulder. She was silent for a while. It gave Lion time to shake the last of the lingering dread.
“Tell me something about yourself,” she whispered.
Lion glanced at the door, then at the wall that divided his room from Badimar’s.
“He’s not back yet,” she sneered. “I’ve been listening. Besides, we’re barely even whispering. His hearing cannot be that good.”
Lion rested his head on the wall, working himself up to push the exhaustion away. Earlier today, after the day’s training, Lion had been resolute — he was going to kill the girl. The decision was final, and he had no other choice. But the moment he had stepped inside, and saw what she had done with the dress — and how breathtaking she looked in those rags — his resolve had wavered. The memory of tearing the fabric from her bare shoulders the previous night had surged back, making his blood rush. Next thing he knew, he was letting her torture him with those eyes.
“Tell me something about yourself,” she whispered again. When Lion didn’t answer, she added, “Remember, we made a deal. You’ll look at me and you’ll say something about yourself to me every night.”
“I’m a purebred beast,” Lion muttered, quieter than a whisper.
The girl shook her head. “Something your Owners and Masters don’t know about you.”
Lion crossed his arms. He couldn’t help glancing at the door, hating how his stomach twisted with fear as he spoke. “They know everything.” It was true. They probably knew more about Lion than he did.
“They don’t know about that.” The girl pointed at the bed, a sly smirk tugging at her lips.
Cold sweat ran down Lion’s spine as he looked at the shadows under the bed. He swallowed. He would rather his Owners and Masters never knew about the map. White Tower. He would be sent straight to White Tower, no questions asked.
“Come on, tell me something about yourself. I’ll even be more specific.” She brought a lock of her hair to her mouth and started chewing thoughtfully. “Tell me your favourite food.”
Lion rubbed his eyes. What kind of question was that? He shrugged. His thoughts were drawn to the bed again, but this time not to the shadows beneath it. He studied the bed and the pillow, memories of the previous night flooding his mind. His heartbeat quickened, but not from fear or the anticipation of violence. This time, it was something else entirely.
“Your favourite food?” the girl insisted. “What is it?”
Lion sighed and muttered under his breath, “I ate rye bread, roasted chicken and vegetables for supper.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Lion scratched his head and let out a quiet, frustrated growl. What did she want to hear? And more importantly, how was he ever going to sleep on that bed again without being haunted by the sensation of her soft body pressing, grinding, pounding against his? He pinched his arm and deliberately looked away to banish the images from his head.
“What’s your favourite—”
“I don’t have one,” he grunted.
“Everyone has a favourite food.”
“I eat what I’m given.”
The girl sat up and scooted away from the wall, positioning herself so she had a better view of Lion’s face. She crossed her legs underneath her, and Lion caught a brief glimpse of her skin before she adjusted her skirt over her knees. Propping one elbow on her thigh, she rested her chin on her palm, her eyes locked on his face with an expression of deep contemplation.
“What is the most delicious food you’ve ever tasted? The one that was so delicious, it felt like an explosion of taste in your mouth. Every bite is a bliss, and you are torn between devouring it as quickly as possible, and savouring each mouthful.”
Lion felt heat rising to his neck. Was she still talking about food? He licked his lips and diverted his gaze from the bed. “There is no food that—” He stopped abruptly.
“What?” the girl perked up. She grinned. “You just thought of a food, didn’t you? What is it?”
Lion shook his head.
“Come on, tell me. Tell me. What food is it?”
“Seafruit cake,” Lion whispered. He wiped his mouth as if trying to get rid of the taste she had made him remember.
“Seafruit cake?” She arched an eyebrow. “So, your favourite food is Seafruit cake and your Masters don’t know this about you.”
Lion fidgeted restlessly. An odd guilt, mixed with fear, settled on his chest. If somehow Badimar knew that he had a favourite food, there would be punishment. Slaves were not meant to have preferred foods. It was a stupid notion. What was the point? He would eat whatever he was given.
The cake was nice, though. The fruit was common, and just the right mixture of sour and sweet.
He wiped his mouth again. He was done with this conversation. He sat up straight, ready to drag her to the bed and...
She put a hand on his chest and pushed him back down. She tilted her chin in a commanding manner and demanded, “Call me Saradra.”
Lion blinked.
“Saradra,” the girl said. “That’s my name. Call me Saradra.”
Lion scowled at the determined set of her lips. Her demeanour suddenly shifted, becoming serious and somehow desperate. He crossed his arms, his jaw clenching. He shook his head.
She scooted closer, her eyes narrowing with a mix of annoyance and something that resembled hunger. Lion could feel the heat of her presence, her closeness making his pulse quicken.
“Why not? That’s my name,” she insisted.
“No. You don’t have a name. You’re a slave.”
Anger flickered across her features. Lion sensed this was important to her, though he didn’t understand why. A stubbornness set into him. The tension between them thickened, her eyes pleading while Lion’s were fixed on the wall across the room. Her frustration grew, making the air around them feel heavy.
“My name is Saradra,” she said harshly. “Call me Saradra.”
Lion stood, grabbing her arms and pulling her up with him. “Your name is what your Owner chooses to call you,” he whispered and savoured that look of hatred and hurt. He dragged her towards the bed.
“My name is Saradra,” she protested, a subtle quiver in her voice.
“You’re a slave.”
“You’re a pig.” She yanked her arm free and slapped him.
Lion touched his cheek, marvelling at the burning sensation her palm had left behind. Why was she so mad about his words? He wasn’t even insulting her, or swearing at her. He was simply stating the truth.
He reached to pull her dress off, but she danced out of his grasp. She undid the tied pieces of the dress and shrugged out of it in a hurry, as if worried Lion would tear it again. She let him scoop her onto the bed and climb on top of her.
He froze before he went further than that.
Footsteps. He heard footsteps outside the room. From the way the girl’s eyes widened, she had heard them too. They both recognised Badimar’s heavy tread.
The girl’s fragile body, still carrying the bruises left by Badimar’s fists, seemed to shrink under him, burrowed between his arms. He saw a reflection of his own thoughts on her face; was he coming here? Had he heard them talk? Did he somehow find out?
Badimar’s footsteps moved past the door, pausing for a moment before continuing into the room next door. Lion listened intently as the sounds of Badimar’s routine filled the silence. First, the rustle of clothes being discarded, then the water jug being poured, followed by the faint splash of water. Each sound was louder than usual, magnified by Lion’s heightened alertness.
He reminded himself that Badimar could not possibly know what the girl was making him do, because if he did, Lion would have already been punished. Still, he didn’t relax until he heard the soft thud of boots hitting the floor and Badimar’s bed creaking under his weight as he settled in for the night.
The girl let out a breath. The paleness of her face made Lion hesitate. She seemed shaken. Lion was torn between climbing out of the bed and giving her some time, or going ahead with what he was about to do. Frustrated and disappointed at himself, he moved to withdraw.
She wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him back. Holding onto his shoulders, she lifted herself up, brought her mouth to his ear, and whispered, “Please, I need this.”
Her request melted the knots in Lion’s stomach. He didn’t make her ask twice. He pressed his finger over her lips, warning her to be quiet as he slipped inside her. The bed was old, forcing them to move with deliberate care to avoid its telltale creaks. It infuriated Lion that he couldn’t ravage her like he did the previous night. He had to restrain himself, move slow and tender, and be much more gentle than she deserved. It drove him insane.
The girl moved with him, her hands exploring him with an urgency that made Lion’s blood rush faster. Lion felt out of breath, his muscles sore from the tension of holding himself back. A feral growl threatened to escape his lips. He buried his face in her neck to stifle that sound and he bit her shoulder, not hard enough to break her skin, but enough to leave a bruise. He clamped his palm over her mouth to muffle the delicious noise she made. He held her like that, pinned by his hand and his teeth, as she went over the edge. He savoured the violent shudders that rocked her body, thrusting himself deep and slow to draw out her pleasure. She clung to him, hungry and desperate, as he released himself.
They lay beside each other, spent and out of breath, their legs entangled. Lion stared at the mark he had left on her skin, glistening wet and slightly bruised. He imagined himself leaving marks like that on all over her body. He rested his eyes, relieved to hear the uninterrupted sound of Badimar’s distant snoring.
Before he drifted into sleep, he came up with an excuse for not killing the girl tonight as well. Something about Badimar being next door, and not wanting to make any noise. Despite knowing it wasn’t a great excuse, he still convinced himself. When he noticed the girl had fallen asleep between his arms, snuggled against his chest, he decided against turning her towards the wall like he did before. He let her sleep there, telling himself it was to avoid any unnecessary noise. He ignored the unexpected sense of peace her closeness brought him.