“You’re ready,” Hana announced, stepping back to admire the way the expensive fabric draped across the floor.
Kavin steeled her nerves and lifted her chin. Though her stomach churned with fury and fear, she wasn’t going to break in front of this girl again. She knew her earlier show of emotion was exactly what Zayd was waiting for, that he enjoyed her suffering. At this point she couldn’t stop what was about to happen, but she had enough self respect left not to give him the emotional breakdown he desperately wanted.
Hana opened the door and motioned Kavin through. On shaky legs that were thankfully hidden behind the skirt of her gown, Kavin stepped from her room into the sitting area of the harem.
Several other jarriah were draped over the opulent, gem-colored furnishings, their gowns as expensive and regal as the one Kavin wore, their slave-band markings an in-your-face reminder of what Kavin had to look forward to when she completed her test.
Three jarriah lounging in the room looked her up and down with smug expressions, then resumed their conversation as if Kavin had never entered. But the fourth, a brunette on the far settee, wearing a gold gown and dangling gold earrings, smiled sadly. And in her eyes there was pity.
Kavin looked quickly away and drew a deep breath for courage. Three guards and a male dressed in commoner’s garb, his chest covered by a leather breastplate and a whip tied at his hip, waited on the far side of the room.
It was all Kavin could do to walk across the marble floor without collapsing into a puddle. When she reached the males, she recognized the commoner from the arena. He’d stood near the gates, watching the fight with a keen eye. He stepped forward and took her hand.
His skin was shades darker than hers and warm. And his eyes were gentle. “My name is Malik, and I am to escort you to your test.”
Rape. Kavin wished they’d all just call it what it really was, but she knew better than to say so.
She nodded once—the best she could do—and moved away from Hana, letting the male in the breastplate lead her out into the corridor.
The female chatter from the salon slowly receded as their steps echoed down the opulent hallway with its arched ceiling and towering columns. Two guards walked ahead, one at her back. Malik held her hand, never once letting her pull away as they made their way out of Zayd’s garish compound and stepped into the sunshine.
The glare blinded her, and she held up a hand to block the sun’s rays. Warmth beat against her skin, reflected from the dust beneath her feet, but she barely felt the heat of midday as she was loaded into a carriage. Thoughts spun out of control as Malik climbed in after her, and her pulse raced when the door snapped closed. Then the carriage jolted forward, winding its way through the bustling streets of Jahannam.
Free djinn could teleport through open air, but not slaves. So everyone they passed knew what she was. From the garishness of Zayd’s carriage, most of them knew where she was going and why.
Her stomach rolled. Every turn of the wheels brought her that much closer to her fate, sent her heart rate skyrocketing. Sweat broke out on her skin, ran down the line of her spine, and gathered at the small of her back.
Once, she’d thought the stately buildings and old-world architecture of this city were charming. Now all she could focus on were the guards stationed on the roofs they passed, the wall that surrounded the city and kept its inhabitants locked inside, and the stark difference between the commoners on the streets and the highborns like Zayd who occupied the garish towers around her and commanded others to do whatever the hell they wanted.
“…remember that and you’ll be fine.”
Malik’s voice cut through her frantic thoughts. Unable to steady her rapid breaths, Kavin turned his way. “Wh-what did you say?”
Malik squeezed her hand. His hair was short and dark, his body lean and muscled. This close, she could see that he wasn’t wearing a shirt under his breastplate, and along the edge of the leather that covered his left shoulder and upper arm, the distinct black flames of the slave marking peeked beneath his armor.
He wasn’t a commoner after all. Her gaze shot to his face once more. He was a slave, like her, being ordered to do someone else’s will. And though his eyes were kind, they also hinted of secrets she didn’t want to know. “I said, the Marid looks imposing in the arena, but in the cell, he’ll seem even more so. Weakness is your greatest enemy. Remain strong, and you’ll be fine.”
Fine. Yeah, right. She was so far from fine it wasn’t funny.
Kavin focused on the seat ahead as the carriage rolled down the cobblestone streets and finally slowed to a stop.
The door pulled open. Her stomach flipped like a fish out of water as Malik tugged on her arm, pulling her to her feet. She stepped out into the fading sunlight once more and squinted. The stone-and-wood walls of the arena rose to the sky, but unlike in the busy streets behind them, there were no commoners milling here. No shopkeepers trying to hock their wares. No vendors selling steamy food as there were no fights scheduled for so late in the day. Just more guards, more armor, and more weapons reminding her she was as much a prisoner as the sahad who waited for her.
She couldn’t focus on any one thing as she was ushered through the main door and drawn down a long hallway. They pushed her onto a lift, pulled her into a dank hallway, dragged her along the same stone floor she’d traveled earlier with Zayd. But this time, the moans in the cells around her, the dripping water, the scent of rotting flesh drove the anxiety higher up her throat until it was all she could do not to scream.
Finally, they pulled her to a stop in front of a steel door protected by two males. The guards who’d escorted her stepped back, their spears clicking against the ground. Her heart pounded against her ribs so forcefully she was amazed they didn’t crack. At her side, Malik turned her to face him. “Remember, do not show weakness.”
Do not show weakness. Right. Like she could do that.
She swallowed hard. Her pulse was a whir in her veins as the guard turned the key in the lock. As she faced the door once more. A click resounded through the dingy corridor, then the heavy door swung inward, the darkness inside looming like a menacing shadow, beckoning her forward to meet her fate.
Her legs shook. Her breaths grew shallow and uneven. Perspiration dotted her forehead and slid down her spine.
This is not my life. Hysteria built in her chest. This is not my life!
“I’ll come for you when it’s over.” With a gentle hand, Malik pushed her forward.
Kavin stumbled, caught herself from hitting the ground face-first. At her back, the cell door snapped closed with an ominous boom, blocking out all light, all freedom, all hope.
A sob caught in her throat as she gripped the cold stone wall and turned to look into the darkness. Fear shook her whole body. Her frantic gaze darted from side to side, searching for the monster, but she couldn’t see even a foot in front of her. Nothing but silence echoed in the musty space, sending her heart rate into the out-of-this-world range.
Long moments passed. She tried not to move. Tried not to breathe. Prayed he couldn’t see her as she couldn’t see him. Prayed he wasn’t really in this pit and that someone, somewhere had made a mistake.
This is not my life!
And then she heard it.
The draw of air.
The rasp of breath.
The shuffle of cloth as something big moved directly in front of her.
Chapter Three
The female was back.
Sitting in his corner, Nasir had seen her clear as day when the door had pushed open. Curly, auburn hair that hung to her shoulders, pale skin, a light blue gown that screamed of her status, and the stark look of fear in her eyes before darkness had fallen once more.
Fury built inside him, morphed to a rage he couldn’t control. Because he was imprisoned here. Because they were fucking with him now. Because he’d been trapped by that bitch of a sorceress in the first place. Because Ghuls—her violent, depraved, repulsive people—had destro
yed everything he’d once loved.
Thankful that this time they hadn’t chained him, he lurched to his feet and stalked across the barren cell. Then he grasped the female’s neck in a move she couldn’t track in the dark.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” he growled.
“Pl-please!” she rasped, clawing at his hand.
“This is not a game. I am not some puppet.” He squeezed, the red rage of retribution controlling him. “You and your mate chose the wrong fucking cell, female.”
She choked. Sputtered. Coughed as his fingers pressed harder against her neck. Her fingernails dug into his forearm, but he barely felt the pain. Her pulse beat beneath his skin, started to slow. What little air was getting through rasped out of her lungs. Something warm and wet dripped onto his hand.
“This is not who you are.”
The voice—Talah’s voice—echoed through the room. Nasir’s head jerked up; he glanced around the darkness of his cell, searching for her. But just as in the arena, she wasn’t there.
The female pawed at his arm, this time with less force, a fraction of the fight she’d shown earlier. “Ple-please,” she rasped one more time. “He’s not my mate.”
“This is not who you are, Nasir.”
His attention swung back to the female he held pinned against the wall. Then his gaze dropped to his hand, wrapped tight around her throat, ready to squeeze out what was left of her life.
His skin grew hot, and the air tightened in his lungs. What the hell was he doing? This wasn’t him. This was the killer the highborns had created in the arena. This was…the way a Ghul would react.
He released her. Moved back quickly, feeling as if he’d just been sucker-punched. His head spun. The room tilted. Riding a wave of nausea, he stumbled until his spine hit the far wall, then sank down to the ground, dropping his forehead in his hands.
Talah’s voice echoed in his mind, dimmer this time but still there, and he tried to conjure her face but couldn’t. His memory of her was slowly fading. And though he fought to keep her close, he was afraid he was waging a losing battle. Feared, more than anything, that once she was gone for good, he’d lose the fight for his sanity and truly become the monster the Ghuls were grooming him to be.
Fabric rustled, and rapid breaths crossed the space, echoed near his ears. “Please,” the female rasped again. “Please don’t hurt me.”
Stomach still swirling, he lifted his gaze, peered across the cell. He could see well in the dark, had spent months getting used to it. But she probably couldn’t see more than a foot in front of her.
She’d dropped to the floor, was sitting against the far wall, her knees pulled up to her chest, her shaking arms wrapped tight around her skirt, her hair a wild tangle framing her face. And her eyes… He couldn’t miss them. Wide, the whites clearly visible, reflecting a terror he knew she wasn’t faking this time.
He didn’t know who she was or why the hell she was here, but he didn’t care. She was Ghul, and for him, that was all that mattered.
He pushed to his feet, then receded back into his shadowy corner. “If you stay exactly where you are, Ghul, and don’t move, then perhaps I’ll let you live out the night.”
* * *
A loud metallic clank startled Kavin out of a restless sleep.
She jolted from the floor, scrambled to her feet. Held up a hand to block the glare from the corridor spilling into the musty cell.
Freedom. She blinked into the light. Oh, Allah, at last. They’d come to rescue her from this hellhole.
She didn’t care who was out there. She lurched through the open door and the promise of fresh air. Of safety. A sob echoed in her throat as light blinded her eyes. Strong arms closed around her. Followed by a gentle voice echoing from above. One she recognized from yesterday.
“There, there, jarriah. All is well.”
Malik. He’d brought her to this pit, but she didn’t even care. He was strong. He was warm. He was comforting against her cheek in a way she didn’t expect and didn’t want to analyze.
She closed her eyes as the sting of hot tears burned her eyelids. The cell door clanked closed behind her, echoing like a cannon through the space. Her heart raced with relief. With joy. With the fact she’d survived. Elation carried her so swiftly she didn’t even worry about the guards watching her or that her mental undoing would eventually reach Zayd’s ears.
All she cared about was that she was alive.
Hands braced against her upper arms, Malik pushed her back, stared down at her. Realizing how foolish she must look, Kavin dropped her head into her hands, tried to get in control of her emotions. Not only had she survived a night in the pits, the monster hadn’t touched her after that first instance. In fact, she hadn’t seen or heard from him since. She didn’t know why he hadn’t raped her, but she was so very thankful for his disinterest now.
Feeling stronger, she swiped at her eyes, tried to smile for Malik’s benefit. But when she lifted her gaze to his, she didn’t see concern or curiosity in his dark eyes. She saw fury.
His jaw clenched so hard it was a slice of stone beneath his skin. His mouth cut a tight line across his tanned face. With two fingers, he tilted her chin up, studied her neck. Realizing there must be marks, Kavin gently touched a fingertip to the cool skin, only to cringe when pain shot through her body.
“I thought he had more restraint than a common animal.” Before she could tell Malik she was okay and that nothing else had happened, his head snapped up, and he looked toward the guards behind him, the ones who had also escorted her to the pits the day before. “Take her back to the harem at once.”
One guard grasped her arm, pulled her away. But Kavin heard the venom in his voice. And the promise of retribution. “Wait. Malik—”
“It’s all right, jarriah,” he said as the guard dragged her down the hall away from the cell, his voice softer but still teeming with disgust. “I’ll make sure he’s properly rewarded for his behavior.”
Kavin tried to look behind her, but one guard tugged her forward while another blocked her view. At her back, she heard the Marid’s cell door clang forward, followed by Malik’s voice, shouting, “Get up, maggot. Your mu’allim’s here to teach you a thing or two about respect.”
Kavin’s pulse raced as the guards hauled her from the dungeon of the arena, out into the early morning sunlight, then shoved her into a waiting carriage. Malik had used the word mu’allim. He was the sahad’s trainer, not just any common slave. As the cart rocked across the street and the city sped by her window, she remembered seeing him near the gates of the arena, watching the Marid’s match with… What had she seen on his face that day? Not just interest but…pride.
If he’d trained the Marid, of course he’d have a vested interest in the sahad’s wins, but mu’allims trained more than one sahad. And pride… That was something else altogether different.
Her mind spun as the carriage came to a stop, as the guards opened the door and tugged her from inside. Light blinded her as she stepped onto the street. She felt the questioning stares of vendors and commoners as she moved, knew she had to look a mess and that most had probably already figured out what she was and where she’d been, but she barely cared. There were too many questions running through her head. Too many unexplained oddities she wanted to understand.
Oddities? You just survived being raped, and you’re worried now about the beast who nearly killed you?
She gave her head a swift shake and stepped into the opulent building that belonged to Zayd. But while the lift jostled her and the guards upward, she thought about the Marid. About why he hadn’t killed her. Why he hadn’t raped her. And though she knew it was useless, she couldn’t stop wondering who he had once been and how he’d been captured in the first place.
The guard to her right set the crank and locked it, bringing the lift to a stop. Then he muscled the gate open and stepped back. Hana was right there to greet them. She took Kavin’s hand and pulled her into the harem. “Come. Qu
ickly. He’s waiting.”
Kavin stumbled forward. She’d lost a shoe somewhere, and her bare foot landed hard on the polished marble floor, sending a jolt through her body. The brush of cool air told her the soft blue gown was ripped near her shoulder. Belatedly, she was aware of dozens of eyes in the room—other jarriah—but this time, she didn’t see pity on their faces. She saw concern.
Her mind a thick soup of haze, she was pulled down a hall and into her suite of rooms. Relief washed through her when she eyed the plush furnishings, including the soft bed she’d slept in the last few weeks. But it quickly turned to unease when Zayd rose from the wingback chair near the fireplace and turned to face her.
Approval flashed in his eyes as he looked her over from head to foot. Then his gaze fixed on her neck—on the bruises she knew he could see—and a smug grin creased his face. To Hana, he said, “Remove that soiled gown.”
Shock rippled through Kavin. In the two weeks she’d been in Zayd’s home, he hadn’t once touched her anywhere but on her arm and face. And she’d never been naked in front of him.
Before she could protest, Hana ripped the gown from her body, the tearing fabric echoing in the vast bedroom suite. Kavin gasped. Cool air rushed over her skin, tightening her nipples, sending a shiver through her entire body. But she didn’t cover herself. She knew better.
Eyes hot and predatory, Zayd stepped close. His hot breath washed over her skin while he looked down at her bare breasts, as he slid his gaze to her belly, then finally all the way to her sex. His jaw clenched, and her stomach tightened at what he was seeing. Fear flitted through her veins over what he was thinking.
Then she saw it. Disapproval—stark and violent—flashed in his eyes. He’d expected the rest of her body to be bruised like her neck. Had wanted it.
Slave To Passion (Firebrand Series) Page 3
