A hand crawled into the space, wrapping around my wrist. I tried to tug out of the hold, but it yanked me forward with unbelievable strength.
“She said stop!” Kek’s voice drove through the mob, pulling me beside her, eyes black as night. “Do as she says or deal with me.”
Growls and snarls echoed through the group, but begrudgingly they listened to the demon, huffing away with glares and promises of later.
I sucked in a deep breath, my barriers still wobbly and fragile since being in this very room the previous night with Warwick.
“Jesus, little lamb.” Kek stepped in front of me, crossing her arms. “You have them clamoring for you, even without brushing your teeth.” She winked. I stared. “Your performance last night? I have to say, I’m impressed, awed, slightly frightened, and totally turned on.”
My lips pressed together, not responding. Speaking cost far more energy than I had to give this morning. The surge of adrenaline was already plummeting to the ground. I slept very little, and only because my mind and body gave in to the fatigue. Besides the mystery of Warwick’s visit, my mind looped with Aron’s declaration, Rodriguez’s cryptic words, and Mio’s eyes. They haunted me, their cries of death echoing through my mind, bolting me up during the night with a gasp.
On top of it, I hated to admit the absence of Opie and Bitzy this morning stung. Many days they weren’t there, and I never really thought about it. But this morning I wanted to see them. I had grown used to their visits, adding a bit of reprieve to the horrific days. Even Bitzy was growing on me. I couldn’t help wondering if they stayed away because they learned who I was. General Markos was known to be very anti-fae, killing sub-fae as if they were rodents. Did they think I was the same?
“Seriously, lamb, you gave Tad and me a heart attack.”
I moved to my locker, grabbing my pouch of toiletries, and ambled for a free sink.
“You didn’t hope for my death?” I questioned dryly, pulling out my toothbrush.
“Hope for your death?” Kek leaned on the counter, lifting a blue eyebrow. “Seriously?”
“I’m Brexley Kovacs, General Markos’s ward, daughter of the renowned Captain Benet. As far as I can tell, most here consider those two associations as bad as the worst crime you could commit. I’m worse than a murderer.”
“Well, since you’ve done that too…”
I shot a glare through the metal mirror.
“Too soon?” She met my gaze in the reflection.
“What do you want, Kek?”
“Nothing.”
“I don’t believe you. Everyone wants something.” From the moment Warwick stalked away, my mood had turned foul.
Confused.
The anguish crept back in, taking over my mind.
Though the darkness didn’t consume my soul as I thought it would, something about him beside me had made me feel balanced. Then the moment he left, I was… What was I? Unbalanced? Tangled? I couldn’t explain the odd mix of feelings fluttering in my stomach. All night my mind had twisted the memory of him so much I wasn’t even sure it happened. It could have been just a bizarre dream.
“I want mind-blowing sex, a very strong cocktail, a rare steak, and a great massage, but not sure you can provide any of those.” She followed me over to a vacant toilet.
I tugged down my pants and sat down, ignoring the guy next to me muttering under his breath in disgust at my presence.
Funny, I no longer had any concern about how many had used the toilet before me. Germs covered everything we touched and ate here. How quickly priorities and hang-ups changed when survival was your only goal.
“I have no doubt you’d be excellent at the first, but I don’t think I’d be your first choice. Plus, I think you need me more now.” She motioned to the room. I glanced around, the space full of glaring looks and sneers. “What are you looking at, asshole?” she snapped at a man in a yellow uniform on the toilet next to me.
His eyes widened.
“Move,” she ordered.
“Bu-but…I’m not done.”
Blackness rolled over her irises again, her lip snarling, her skin bleaching out. “Move.”
With a yip, the man grabbed for his pants around his ankles and ran off.
A smile curved over Kek’s face, her eyes returning to normal. She grinned, clearly delighted with herself, taking the empty toilet to do her business.
“I can take care of myself,” I grumbled, pulling up my pants and heading to the sink, washing my hands.
“I know you can. Anyone watching you last night would realize that. You were unbelievable. Sometimes I swear I didn’t even see you move. But they won’t come at you one on one.” She stuck her hands under the same faucet I was using, scrubbing hers before we headed out, matching my slow steps taking us to the mess hall. “Doesn’t hurt to have a demon on your side.”
In one sentence, I realized how much my life had changed.
A demon on my side.
At HDF, that would be heresy. And just a few months ago, I would have shunned anyone suggesting I would work with not only fae, but a demon.
So much had changed.
How much of the girl who walked into this place was left in me now?
Chapter 23
“Do you like it?” Opie twirled around, showing off his new outfit. “I found some food coloring in the kitchen.”
“It’s…colorful.” I leaned against the wall, rubbing the slumber from my eyes after getting a few solid hours of sleep. Hmmm, I wonder why, a voice taunted in my head. I rubbed my eyebrows, trying to push away the memory of the night before, pretending it was a dream.
“Just colorful?” Opie circled his arms in the air and down his figure. A smile wobbled my mouth, my eyes burning at the brightness of his new creation. His shorts and tank, which looked the same as a onesie, were cut from cheesecloth and stained a bright tie-dyed rainbow. He added a pink loofah as a hat.
“I like it.”
Chirp!
“Shush. She said she liked it.” Opie huffed, glancing at the huge-eared creature clinging to his back. “Why would she lie about that?”
“I wouldn’t.” I shot Bitzy a glare. “I love it.”
Bitzy flipped me off.
I flipped her off back.
A strange warmth filled my chest. A burst of laughter gripped my chest at the amusement Opie’s crazy costumes and Bitzy’s middle finger brought me. Waking up to Bitzy shoving her finger in my nose gave me a feeling I probably should seek help for.
Pulling my knees up to my chest and placing my chin on them, I watched Opie strut around like he was on a runway, displaying his new creation. They were my one real joy in this hell, and I was so happy when they showed up again. Nothing changed in their eyes.
It had been two hellish weeks since I killed in my last Games. Every day the threats grew more severe. Bolder. From both inmates and guards. I had fresh bruises and scratch marks on my skin from those seizing a private moment to strike. Besides Tad and Kek, no one was on my side, and Kek wasn’t around to help me except in the mornings in the washroom, and Tad couldn’t physically do anything.
I was alone—an island by myself.
The fae and half-breeds I understood, but humans despising me was a shock. I mean, I expected a little bitterness from the Savage Lands dwellers because of my station. But it seemed like a deep-seated hatred causing them to choose fae over their own leader, which stirred an uneasiness in me. I didn’t understand how they could go against Markos, who was trying to fight for them. He was a formidable person and a tough general, but not malicious.
My ideas of him had changed since being here. What I used to think of as cruel behavior was the way he showed his love. He fed me, raised me, and made sure I received the best education. I had been lucky and so spoiled I didn’t even realize it. I would take his tough love in a heartbeat now and gobble it up like it was dessert.
I had no doubt if he knew I was alive, he would do anything in his power to get me out. He had
never laid a finger on me and always talked about wanting better for the human civilization. Peace and fairness among species, improving things for everyone. They just couldn’t see it through their resentments and misery.
The fae and human tormenters weren’t what bothered me. Even the threats and physical violence against me were manageable.
Being ignored pissed me off the most.
Warwick kept his distance from me since the night in the shower, giving me a wide berth, hardly showing up for meals. When his gaze did find mine, it was brief and full of abhorrence so thick it clung to me the rest of the day like a death threat.
This morning his aura clung to me in a different way—one I despised more than his hatred.
Last night three beautiful women dressed in expensive clothes were escorted through the prison. Two blondes and one redhead, all tan, curvy, huge-breasted, groomed, and manicured. Clean and shiny, and they probably smelled of flowers. I had no doubt where they were going and who they were here for.
“Guess we know his type,” I muttered to myself.
The complete opposite of me. Not that I cared.
But I couldn’t stop myself from peering down at my baggy uniform and stringy hair. Stripping off my shirt to my sports bra, my hands roamed over the protruding bones and rough scars now carving my skin. He would be touching their flawless plump skin, his mouth exploring their full, healthy figures.
I had always been thin with no boobs, but now I was sickly and gaunt; even my muscles had dissolved. Sweaty and dirty, I wore a week-old uniform, which had butter, sweat, and bloodstains all over it.
The girl who wore party dresses, with shiny hair and a perfect manicure, eating lobster imported from Japan and Scotch from Scotland... The girl who was secretly kissed in dark corners by handsome leaders and princes... She no longer existed.
Even the memories of my old life felt as if someone else lived them.
Lying down on my blankets and closing my eyes, I couldn’t stop myself from imagining my body being touched. Kissed. Wanted. It had been so long. Happiness was so foreign here that you craved it like a painkiller. To ease the agony for a while. To feel good for a moment. Breathe easily another moment.
When the cries came, echoing through the prison, it was not grief from fellow inmates. It was uninhibited bliss. Wild, loud, and fierce, all three women screamed like they had no control, the pleasure too much for them to handle.
My body reacted, nipples hardening, my pussy wet and pulsing. Wanting. Desire formed like thick webs along my nerve endings, tugging and vibrating as though it caught its prey. My skin tingled, demanding to be touched. Slowly, my hand moved down my ribs, pushing under my pants, moving below my underwear, my fingers dragging through my wet folds. Oh, my gods. My back arched. The need was overwhelming. I was starving.
I attempted to ignore the voices coming from inside the prison, the name they were moaning with ferocity. I tried to imagine Caden, visualizing how things could have been up on the roof of HDF if he chose to kiss me instead. This time he’d forgo everything that had stopped him and choose me. For one moment, I let myself believe we had come together rather than farther apart. The city lights sparkled below our entangled bodies, the train we were going to rob rolling by as he made love to me instead.
My fingers went deeper inside me, and I bit down as electricity flamed through me. The scene I set evaporated like smoke, Caden’s image weak and distant, my mind struggling to hold on to it as another moved in.
“No.” I ground my teeth in a snarl. I wanted Caden. Wanted to believe this version of our story had happened.
But the women only shrieked louder, making grunts and bangs that rallied the convicts with hoots and hollers. Warwick controlled our moods and actions as he always did, turning us feral and vicious. Energy sparked the air with animalistic lust. Groans from other cages joined the women, inmates pleasuring themselves under Warwick’s influence and power.
“Fuck you,” I whispered to him, despising how he invaded everything in this place—even my sexual fantasies.
Squeezing my eyes, I focused on Caden, my legs opening wider. As if claws shredded through my best friend’s likeness, another physique surged through the remains, crawling between my legs. “Fuck you back.” A feral smirk hitched his lips. Dominant. Brutal. Warwick’s image took over with sharp clarity, his fingers tracing down my form, a tongue flicking my nipples.
I gasped, a groan curving my back higher.
The weight of his build, the wetness of his mouth, his hair tickling my bare stomach. It felt so real. My imagination craved relief so intently I could really feel hands caressing my skin, fingers shoving my underwear over, pushing inside me, curling.
“Gods,” I hissed, squeezing my eyes tighter. Letting myself fall into the fantasy, I no longer cared it was Warwick who completely dominated my thoughts. I didn’t focus on his face, but I could feel his presence, the muscular arms and hands, knowing exactly where the tattoos covered his skin. His insanely huge physique pressed into me like he was really there. As if his lips were grazing my skin, his teeth nipping, his fingers pumping faster. My hands no longer were in my control, knowing better than me how to seek my pleasure. Pulsing and squeezing, a moan emerged between my stunted breaths, his name rolling softy from me. My imagination was so good, I could almost feel him open me wider, his hand taking me to the extreme until I cried out, the desire almost turning painful with sheer bliss.
I heard the women bellow in the distance, their pitches bleeding together, tearing through me as I hit my peak, as if all of them were one voice. Mine.
My mouth parted, an explosion rocked me, and I no longer felt I was in my body but soaring through the prison, slipping through the bars of his cell to him, like he was calling for me. I could feel myself skating over his body, licking and biting, my tongue wrapping around him, taking him into my mouth.
A deep voice boomed, rattling the bars on all the cages. The sound of him roaring his pleasure sent more desire through me, tensing my muscles and holding me captive for several moments before I plummeted back to Earth.
Gasping for air, I blinked up at my own ceiling.
Holy. Shit.
This certainly was not my first or even hundredth time pleasuring myself, usually thinking about Caden, but it had never felt like this. Not even close. Maybe the deprivation of joy or sexual connection here heightened it, and the fact that the entire place was getting off together multiplied the energy.
I would take any explanation except the one nibbling at the back of my head.
Warwick.
It wasn’t merely because I imagined him…but because he had been here with me.
“You okay?” Tad shuffled behind me in the breakfast line, his lids narrowed on me curiously, drawing me out of my reprieve. My cheeks burned with what I had been just thinking about.
“Yeah, why?” I grabbed two trays, handing one back to Tad, clearing my throat.
“Something’s different.”
“More dirt, maybe?” I shrugged one shoulder.
“No.” He tilted his head, his gaze zeroing in on me like he was trying to peel back my soul. “It’s strange, but it’s as though I can almost see an aura. I can definitely feel it right now. Like it’s buzzing and glowing.” His bushy brows strung into one long caterpillar. “It’s the most bizarre thing I’ve ever experienced before. Reminds me of auras after sex.”
Oh.
Shit.
I twisted around, shoving my tray at the fae serving the watery oatmeal. Twice this week I had been denied food, so Tad shared his toast with me. But tonight was my next fight so I hoped they would allow me to eat.
Maybe it would be my last meal.
Survival was a strange thing. You learned the one way to keep going, to endure, was to compartmentalize. The memory of Aron was tucked away in a box in my mind, where I filed all the torture and torment too. I took every moment as it came, not thinking about anything except the present moment.
Even though
my life was on the chopping block again, I behaved normally. I got up, peed, washed my face, and now was going to have breakfast.
Or was trying to.
The fae woman serving the food flicked up her nose, her head wagging.
“We don’t serve your kind here,” she spat.
“And what kind is that?” Fury sparked up my spine, and my patience flipped at the thought of another day eating crusts of bread. “I didn’t realize there was a ceiling on who you served in a place full of murderers, thieves, criminals, and rapists.”
“And they’re all better than the entitled daughter of General Markos,” she sneered, already motioning me to move. People bumped against me to move out of the way. She scooped up the diminishing food, putting it on their plates.
Fury ignited, my belly lined with bile, burning up my throat.
“No!” I slammed my tray down on the metal counter, my eyes watering.
Everyone stilled as I shoved the tray at her.
“Fill my bowl!” I seethed, leaning over the counter.
“No,” she insisted, her voice strained. She looked like a peacock, all sharp features, her beady black eyes staring down her long beak at me.
“I. Said. Fill. It.” Fury rattled through each word. I whipped out a hand and grabbed her by the throat. Her eyes widened with shock and fear, not seeing or expecting my move. “Now.”
She picked up her ladle, her hand trembling, and shoveled a scoop onto my dish.
“More.” I tightened my fingers, hearing the guards yelling at me, moving toward me. “For the Druid too.”
She filled his dish before I released her.
“Thank you,” I replied tartly, turning toward our table. I felt proud I’d stood up for myself.
It lasted for one pure blissful moment.
Slam!
My tray flipped, smashing into my face, oatmeal pouring down my front, burning my skin as everything tumbled to the ground with a loud crash.
“You think you can get away with that here, HDF bitch?” A huge man moved in on me, his friends stepping into my periphery. Tattoos covered his neck, face, and arms, a ring through his nose, and his hair brown and wavy resembled buffalo fur. His wide chest and shoulders and smaller legs told me he was probably exactly that.
Savage Lands (Savage Lands #1) Page 21
