by Dylan Steel
She felt her body being lifted into the air, but by now, her limbs felt leaden, almost paralyzed. She was too sluggish to stop whatever was happening, and her vision hadn’t returned.
“It’ll be ok,” a different man’s voice whispered gently. This voice didn’t make her every hair stand on end in terror.
She felt a hand gingerly brushing wisps of hair back from her face. “You’re safe now.”
A cool breeze slid against her skin as she was lifted higher and then set back down, bent in half over something she couldn’t see. Her cheek rested against something rough, warm.
The surface beneath her rumbled and jerked. A loud, wet snort came from somewhere in front of her, and she finally realized she was lying on top of a horse.
She lifted her head an inch or so and moaned. Or tried to. Barely a squeak came out of her bruised throat. She gritted her teeth reflexively.
“Don’t try to talk just yet.” The horse stamped its feet, stepping a little to the side as the man mounted it behind her. “There’ll be plenty of time for that later.”
Sage wanted to ask him what he meant and where he was taking her, but she couldn’t manage a word. And she couldn’t so much as lift an arm to free herself from this man. Running away was out of the question. At least he seemed to want to help, and something about his voice sent a soothing calm over her whole body.
Of course, she didn’t really know anything about him—other than the fact that he was probably the reason that monster was now dead. For that, she could trust him for at least as long as it took her limbs to recover.
After that, all bets were off. He’d answer her questions, or she’d be on her way—maybe both.
But for now, he was taking her somewhere, and she was helpless to stop him.
Her mind raced, going over every detail of what had just happened, but soon the replays were stretching out longer and longer. Eventually, she was focusing solely on what had happened after she’d lost the fight—what had happened when the second man showed up.
He was sitting right behind her, steadying her with every step the horse took, and she still hadn’t seen his face. She couldn’t. The smooth black coat in front of her nose told her that her vision was finally coming back, but her strength was taking longer to return. She didn’t have the strength to sit up or turn around.
She fought against it for as long as she could, but the rhythmic thudding of hooves and the swaying motion beneath her lulled her into an unexpected, dreamless sleep.
27. MARTHA
The painful throbbing in her arms was what woke Sage. Or maybe it was the overwhelming achiness pulsing deep in her bones.
She tried to swallow, but it felt like dozens of tiny knives were stabbing her. Her hand flew to her throat automatically, and she winced.
As she opened her eyes, she blinked a few times, trying to clear the blurry edges of her vision. When she finally realized where she was, she froze.
In truth, she had no idea where she was. She was lying in the biggest bed she’d ever seen, surrounded by decorations and colors that were more vivid than her imagination could contain on its best days. Across the room, light poured in through the folds of the curtains, but they were drawn closed. But something told her she wasn’t in the hospital.
Had she only been attacked last night? Or had more time passed? She had no idea, but something told her she needed to get out of here fast.
First order of business? Looking out the window to figure out where she actually was.
Gripping the edge of the covers until her knuckles turned white, Sage struggled to sit up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. She grimaced in pain. Every motion was worse than the last.
Planting her feet on the floor, she pushed herself off the bed—and then promptly staggered back down onto it again. Her jaw clenched. No matter how sore she was, no matter how much pain she had to endure, she needed to leave.
She looked down at herself and cringed when she saw the bruises and scrapes on her legs. Another realization struck her suddenly as she stared at her bare legs, and the blood drained from her face. She was wearing different clothes than she’d had on last night. Someone other than her had changed them.
The sound of approaching footsteps drew her attention to the door. Sage’s eyes darted around the room in desperation as she looked too late for some sort of escape, then snapped to the door as it opened. A woman at least twice her age and decked out in sweeping florals backed into the room, pulling some sort of cart with her. Her generous rear end bumped right into Sage, knocking her back.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, turning around. “Well, good, you’re up.”
The woman pulled the cart the rest of the way in the room and shut the door behind her.
“Now, I’ve brought you some things…” the woman trailed off as she started lifting things off the cart to show them to Sage. “Clothes, food—nothing too rough for your throat now, just liquids—fresh bandages—”
“Cl-othes,” Sage choked out. “W-who—”
“Oh, now, sweetheart, try not to talk,” the woman scolded kindly. “Don’t you worry about that. I cleaned you up a bit and put you in that when you arrived last night.” She nodded to the oversized shirt Sage was wearing. “I’m Martha, by the way.”
Sage swallowed hard, opening her mouth to respond, but Martha held up a hand, giving her a disapproving look.
“You really should try not to talk. And I already know who you are, Sage.”
Martha had probably meant that to be calming, but that just made Sage all the more nervous. She licked her lips, glancing around the room.
“Oh, no, no, sweetheart, you can’t leave.” Martha shook her head vigorously, guessing what she was thinking.
“Why… not?” Sage croaked. She winced, putting a hand to her throat.
“Apart from your obvious need to recover?” She clucked her tongue, a sad smile playing at the corner of her lips. “The benefactor’s already made arrangements.” Martha tilted her head, a look of genuine concern on her face as she studied Sage. “You’re a member of his estate now.”
Sage’s eyes widened in fear. In her attempt to escape, she’d just traded one prison for another. She drew her lips together tightly, forming the next question out of pain and a desperate need to know her fate. “Who?” she rasped.
Martha frowned. “Why, Mr. Bennick, of course.”
***
The story continues in The Benefactor: Sacrisvita Book XII.
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-Dylan
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THE BENEFACTOR: Sacrisvita Book XII - Excerpt
1. HOSPITALITY
Sage stood at the window, taking in the view of the tops of the surrounding buildings and the street below her. Her jaw tightened. The room she was stuck in was several stories up—higher than most of Eprah’s buildings and way too high to survive a jump.
Her fingers closed around her mother’s necklace, and she unconsciously slid the gem pendant back and forth along the chain as she went over the last twenty-four hours in her mind. Somehow—miraculously—the jewelry had come through the previous night unscathed. Better than her, that was for sure.
Slumping against the wall, she dropped the curtain back in place.
Before she’d left, Martha had told her that she’d been claimed by Mr. Bennick. But she’d seen the Bennick estate, and it looked nothing like what she could see from the window. She was still inside the city. Technically, she could still try to run—except n
ow, she didn’t know where her bag was, which meant she didn’t have the tech she needed to remove her bracelet. And she had no way of knowing if she’d already been tethered.
Martha hadn’t said she’d been paired to the benefactor, but the rules surrounding them weren’t well known. Even if she wasn’t paired to him, he still might be allowed to tether her.
If she’d been tethered, running would be an immediate death sentence.
Her shoulders sagged. As long as the bracelet was still around her wrist, she was trapped.
Despite the soreness in her limbs, Sage hobbled around the room in an attempt to pace. It wasn’t any use trying the door again. She’d checked it as soon as Martha had left her alone even though she was pretty sure she’d heard the lock engage. And like she’d expected, it hadn’t budged.
Looking out the window hadn't been terribly useful either. The nearest buildings she could make out weren’t ones that she recognized, but she could tell she was still somewhere inside the city. The only thing she really knew was that she wasn’t at the Bennick estate yet.
That realization was something of a relief—not only would she have to deal with a benefactor, but there was a good chance she’d see Sam once she was at the estate, and she wasn’t exactly looking forward to a reunion with her former jailer.
She couldn’t help wondering if Martha had been telling the truth. Unfortunately, she couldn’t think of a single reason why the woman would lie about it. And if it was really true, the risks were too high to try escaping Eprah again without a solid plan in place. Not that the first attempt had worked out that well.
Sage looked up sharply as the door swung open again without warning. A man stood in the doorway. She sucked in a breath at his commanding presence. Blue eyes stared at her cautiously, assessing. Her heart pounded in her chest under the weight of his gaze. She took a step back as he moved inside the room and closed the door.
He hesitated, leaving a generous space between them.
"How are you feeling?" His deep voice slid over her skin and rumbled through her bones, making her pulse beat faster. She couldn’t decide whether she loved it or hated it.
She stared back at him silently, swallowing hard and trying not to wince at the pain. Was this the benefactor? His brown hair was too wild, almost messy—but in an attractive way—and he looked too young to be in charge of the most powerful estate in Eprah. Mid-twenties, maybe? Plus, there was something decidedly familiar about him, like she’d seen him before but just couldn’t remember where—and she’d never met the Bennicks’ son.
Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. If he wasn’t the benefactor, who was he? And why was he here?
It didn’t matter. He’d gotten in unescorted, which meant he could get out—and that meant she could get out. Maybe her bag was still in the alley—or maybe she could find another way to get her bracelet off. But she had to get out of the room first.
The man’s eyebrows dipped slightly as he noticed her clenched fists. Her eyes never left his.
“Right. I’m sure it hurts to talk. Maybe we should start with something simpler.” He motioned for her to sit, but she didn’t move. She didn’t know him—didn’t trust him—and sitting made her more vulnerable. After last night, she wasn’t about to let her guard down around a total stranger.
“If I wanted to hurt you, I could. Easily.” He lifted his hand, wiggling his bracelet as a reminder. Sage’s eyes widened. Her hand flew to her wrist instinctively as she stole a glance at the door. “But I don’t,” he added hurriedly. “Sorry, that wasn’t—I didn’t mean that as a threat. Please,” he gestured again, “sit.”
Sage looked back at him stonily, unmoving.
Rubbing a hand across his forehead, he sighed and sank into a chair in the corner of the room. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
Confusion flashed over her face, but she quickly forced her expression back to neutral. She shook her head slowly.
“Do I at least look a little familiar?”
Her nose crinkled. “Yeah,” she managed hoarsely. His eyes brightened. “But…” she trailed off, frustrated that she couldn’t remember him.
“It’s ok. It’s been a few years, and I doubt I made much of an impression. We met at the hospital while I was training.” The corner of his mouth ticked up in a half-smile that sent warmth spilling through her body. “As I recall, you didn’t much care for the coolers.”
Sage’s mouth fell open as the memory came crashing back. He was the doctor. The one who’d helped her after she’d seen the dead body in the hospital basement and puked all over the floor.
Wonderful.
A blush crept over her cheeks in embarrassment at the memory.
“It’s Weston,” he said, leaning forward slightly.
“S—”
“I know. Sage.” He waved his hand. “The less you talk right now, the better. You sustained some pretty bad injuries.”
She chewed the inside of her lip, giving a cautious nod as she finally made her way to the end of her bed and sat. He’d been nice enough so far. And a doctor probably didn’t have bad intentions. She hoped.
“Would it be alright with you if I took a look at you?”
She stiffened.
“At your injuries,” he clarified. “I just want to make sure I didn’t miss anything before. And see if any of your swelling has gone down.”
“Be-fore?” she asked, watching him warily as he stood.
“I did a brief exam last night. But it would help if you could answer a few questions.”
He moved toward her, stopping just out of reach. “May I?”
She nodded hesitantly.
Weston took her head between his hands. Her heart pounded in her chest as he bent closer, gently moving his fingers down both sides of her neck as he examined her injuries. As he leaned in to get a better look at a bruise on her shoulder, his dark, messy hair brushed her cheek. She inhaled sharply, practically tasting his subtle aroma as something like cloves and maple filled her senses.
He froze. His eyes met hers, filled with concern. “Does that hurt?”
“A little,” she mumbled, angry at herself for the unexpected flutter in her stomach as she tore her gaze away from him.
“I’ll try to be more careful.”
She nodded absently, picking a point on the wall and forcing herself to focus on it. It was just wrong. She’d just lost Everett and his baby. Her hormones had to be doing all sorts of crazy things at the moment—they were obviously to blame. It was the only possible explanation.
Gritting her teeth, she sat up straighter as the doctor continued checking over her bruised arms. The clothes Martha had given her were almost perfect for the examination. She was wearing a sleeveless shirt and loose pants, which Weston rolled to just above her knee when he needed to see how her deep scrapes were responding to the healing salves.
“It doesn’t appear that your injuries are too severe.” Weston dropped his hands to his sides and stepped back, eyeing her uncertainly. “Unless there’s anything else you’re concerned about? Anything I haven’t checked?”
Anything under my clothes? “No,” she said quickly.
A sudden flash of anger flared behind his eyes. “The man who attacked you. Did he—”
She shook her head, stopping the question in its tracks. A lot had happened. But not that.
“Good,” he said a little gruffly, “then that’s all for the exam. I assume you can handle applying the ointments yourself?”
Sage nodded, rolling her pant legs back down.
“Twice a day for at least a week, maybe two,” he instructed seriously, handing her a small vial. “Even if the cuts seem to be healing well, it’ll help minimize scarring.”
She stared at the vial in her hand, fighting back the tears that had started stinging the corners of her eyes. Everything was different now. What did she care about a few more scars? Even if they weren’t all visible, she already had enough of them to last several lifetimes.
Whe
n she finally lifted her gaze, Weston’s eyes met hers immediately. It was like he’d never stopped watching her—like he was waiting for her to fall apart in front of him.
That wasn’t going to happen.
Sage tipped her chin higher.
“Where am I?” she asked, ignoring the burning in her throat.
He frowned. “Didn’t Martha tell you?”
She raised her eyebrows incredulously.
“Obviously not,” he said, half to himself. Then, a little louder, “You’re at the hospitality suite. She did tell you that you’re part of the Bennick estate now, right?”
“Yeah.” Her stomach dropped a little at the confirmation—Martha had been telling the truth. Pushing through the pain, she continued, “But I’ve never met Mr. Bennick.” And I’d really like to get out of here before I do, she thought. But even as helpful as the doctor had been, she couldn’t afford to ask for his help. Her best hope of getting out of here was ensuring the door didn’t latch behind him when he left.
Weston gave her a curious look. “You don’t remember much about last night, do you?”
She shook her head.
“Did you know the man who attacked you was an on-duty officer of the Peace?”
Sage’s eyes narrowed as she tilted her head in acknowledgment.
“Are you also aware that benefactors are some of the only citizens who can strip Chances from an on-duty officer?”
Now, that was something she definitely hadn’t known.
She shook her head again slowly as understanding crashed over her. The officer had been killed, but not by brute force—no one else had been anywhere near them. He must have died from having his Chances stripped. But in the aftermath of her injuries and waking up in a strange new room, she hadn’t put the pieces together that such a thing shouldn’t have been possible.
The benefactor had saved her.
But why?
“Oh! I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was interrupting.”
A female voice jarred her from her own thoughts.
Sage’s eyes flicked to the girl who’d just barged into the room. She blinked in surprise. “Aura?”
