I wasn’t free. She was lying.
Talia sat back in surprise and abruptly, I moved. I could see the hurt etched in her face, but she was lying. …
“Zaal—” she spoke, and reached for my arm. I pulled it back with a snarl, giving her my back.
Anger ran through my veins, fire building in my stomach. Master was punishing me, I knew this. Giving me this female, getting her to make me believe I was free. I was being punished. He was punishing me for something. I just didn’t know what I’d done wrong.
Getting to my feet, I walked back to my chains. The water with which Talia had cleansed me was still pooled on the dark hard surface.
I sat beside my chains, on the cold wet floor, my back against the wall. I kept my head down. Master would soon be here to punish me.
“Zaal?” Talia’s voice questioned. She had quieted, her voice barely above a whisper.
My chest tightened as she called me that name. Zaal. A white-hot pain burst into my head on hearing the name Zaal. It took my breath away, causing me to rock back and forth. I pushed my hands against my eyes to stop the pain.
A hand pressed to my cheek and stayed there until the pain passed. I opened my eyes. Talia sat before me. She was looking at me with sadness in her eyes. A lump crawled up my throat and I rasped, “Why … why are … you … doing this … to me…?”
Her face scrunched in anguish and she sat back, her lips trembling. “Doing what?” she whispered. Her voice was shaky.
“This…” I told her, my hand over my aching chest. “You hurt … this.…” I tapped my finger over my heart. It felt bruised, cracked at her deception.
I’d trusted her.
She paused, her pretty face frozen until she glanced away, her lips pursing. “How?” she asked quietly. “How do I hurt your heart?”
“You … lie,” I replied. I watched her snap back to face me, seemingly in confusion. I picked up a chain, lifted it beside my arm and showed her the marks on my wrist. “I am not free.”
I didn’t know how long I’d been in here, in this new cell, but I’d been chained. My wrists and ankles bled. Food had been thrown in a bag at my feet twice a day. I pissed in a bucket in the corner. Just like I did with Master.
“No,” Talia said. Her voice crackled. “You are free. Your captor isn’t here.”More pain pierced my chest as she continued to lie. “Chains,” I said. “I am not free. I am kept in chains, in darkness. I am not free…”
The dark cell went silent. Talia didn’t say anything for a long time. Then she stood. I didn’t look up. I knew she was leaving. But her feet didn’t move.
“Zaal?” she called. “Take my hand.”
I shook my head. Still she didn’t walk away. I felt her watching me. When I lifted my gaze, she was staring at me. Her hand had remained outstretched.
“Why?” I asked. “Why take your hand?”
A single tear ran down her cheek. “Freedom,” she replied. “I want to show you freedom.”
Chapter Eleven
Talia
You are … for me?
Even now as I held out my hand for him to take to get him out of this fucked-up torture cell of a basement, I couldn’t shake those words from my mind. I couldn’t remove the image of his face, looking up at me with such hope, such relief that I was his.
You are … for me?
In that moment I was every hope he’d had. I could see it; see it in those sea green eyes. He moved me. Completely moved something inside of me with those simple, earnest words.
He hadn’t moved; he stared at my hand like it was a forbidden fruit he so badly wanted to savor. He was shattering my heart as, internally, he warred with himself. His conflicted eyes flitted from side to side; he wanted to believe me. He wanted to believe in me so badly, it shone like a desperate beacon in his green eyes.
I edged forward and pushed my hand closer to his. “Take my hand, Zaal. Let me show you the truth. Trust me, always trust me. I won’t ever lie to you. I promise.”
He glanced down at the heavy chains spooled at his side, then back up to my face. He was frowning. An accepting expression passed across his face, which made me believe he was going to trust me. His hand lifted, but stopped in midair. His jaw and fist clenched simultaneously. Then he made my heart swell; he took a leap of faith and wrapped his big hand in mine.
We stayed there¸ suspended in our relative sitting and standing positions hands joined. After rolling to his feet, Zaal’s huge frame towered over me. His hand still held mine, and by the tight grip, I knew he wouldn’t let go. He was so fierce and untamed in his looks and demeanor. But his tight grip on my hand told me how fearful he was about the concept of his freedom … about putting his trust in me … when, in his tortured mind, I might lead him to nothing but more punishment and more pain.