Slave To Passion (Firebrand Series)

by Elisabeth Naughton

  She had to be stupid, brainwashed, or simply fucked in the head.

  It’s not my game.

  An odd sensation rolled through his belly, stopping his train of thought. Had she come by choice? Or had she been forced? His mind spiraled back to that first day, when the Ghul had pushed her forward. The amusement the male had exuded; the fear radiating from her. Was she as much a chess piece in all of this as he was?

  Except…that didn’t make sense. She was Ghul. Not only that, she was a highborn Ghul.

  Not all Ghuls are evil.

  His own words washed over him like a wave cresting the shore, sending foreboding trickling down his spine. As the female’s shallow breaths across the room gave way to longer, deeper ones, his memories drifted back to those last few moments he’d spent with Talah. Standing on the cliffs behind her house, overlooking the sea. The salty air blowing her long, dark hair back from her face.

  “You worry too much, Nasir.”

  “This is my father’s war, not mine. If it were up to me—”

  “If it were up to you, there’d be a treaty. But your father is right. The Ghuls don’t want peace. War is the only solution.”

  “Not all Ghuls are evil, Talah. Like us, like humans even, some are good and some are bad. War is not the way to solve our differences.”

  Her expression said she didn’t agree. But she smiled up at him in that placating way he’d come to dread and lifted her fingers to his cheek. “Forever the pacifist. You have a gentle spirit, Nasir. If anyone can see the good at the heart of a person, it’s you.”

  He wasn’t sure of that. But he closed his eyes, leaned into her touch, wanting to be comforted by her words. He’d preached about tolerance and acceptance, and now he was doing the very thing he’d argued against. He still believed peace was possible, even if his father disagreed, but because he was second in line to the throne and a general in the king’s army, he had no choice. That didn’t mean he was naïve enough to think that there wouldn’t be consequences, though, or that he’d escape unscathed.

  His eyes popped open. “Come with me to the castle. Until I can convince the king to stop this asinine war, you’ll be safer there.”

  “Nasir—”

  He ground his teeth together. “Don’t feed me arguments about not wanting to live with me before we wed or your work at the infirmary, Talah. Just humor me in this.”

  She sighed, stared at his breastplate marked with the golden flame of the Marid tribe. Bit her lip as she debated what he hoped was a losing argument. Just this once, he needed her to acquiesce and not be so damn stubborn.

  Finally, she sighed. “You’re impossible, Marid.”

  “You’re not the first to tell me that.”

  “All right,” she said, looking up. “But not today. I have to let the others know I’m leaving so they have time to find a replacement at the infirmary. At least, temporarily.” Her gray eyes sparked. “This doesn’t mean we’ve agreed to anything, though, or that I’ve decided.”

  Relief washed through him as he dragged her into his arms. He could live with that. So long as she was safe, he’d have time to find a way to convince her she couldn’t live without him. “I’ll send castle guards to escort you tomorrow.”

  He kissed her, slowly, gently, with every bit of passion he had in him, and when he eased back, he saw the doubt in her eyes. Doubt he planned to alleviate the moment he returned from this useless battle his father was sending him to.

  He skimmed a finger down her soft cheek. “I’ll always keep you safe.”

  Her brow furrowed. “I know you think you will, Nasir, but you can’t. And I don’t need anyone to keep me safe. Death comes to us all at one point. You can’t stop it any more than I can. And I wouldn’t want you to.”

  Regret burned hot behind Nasir’s closed eyelids, but he fought back the emotions struggling to shatter the shell he’d built around himself. So many times he’d thought about dropping his sword in the arena, of giving up and letting the Ghuls win so he could join Talah in the afterlife, but something always held him back. Though it went against everything he’d once been, he wouldn’t rest until every last Ghul was destroyed. And not until he found a way to kill the sorceress who’d commanded the Ghuls to pillage Talah’s village in the first place.

  The female on his bed sighed. Opening his eyes, Nasir looked her way, fighting back the resentment at her presence. Thankfully, she was still asleep. He watched a wayward curl brushed her cheek and fall over her mouth, her slow breaths fluttering the lock of hair against her lips, reminding him of Talah’s hair blowing in the breeze that last day.

  What would Talah have done if she were in this female’s place? If she’d been thrown in here with him, would she have stood her ground or backed down? He’d been drawn to Talah’s gentle spirit, her willingness to help those less fortunate, but she’d never been a fighter. In fact, the biggest regret he had was that he’d never taught her how to protect herself so she would’ve known what to do when those Ghuls attacked.

  The female shivered, and Nasir looked down at the blanket he was sitting on with a frown. He already wasn’t getting any love from Malik. If the highborn died from exposure in this freezing cell, not only would his mu’allim be after him, the Ghuls would flat-out execute him, no questions asked. And while death didn’t scare him in the least, it wouldn’t help him achieve his goal of revenge.

  Pushing to his feet, he gripped the blanket and stood upright. His head spun, and the room tilted. Bracing a hand against the wall to steady himself, he told himself it was lack of food. He eyed the tray across the room, the metal picking up the light from under the door, and thought about eating. Then his stomach rolled, stopping that thought dead in its tracks.

  Sleep was a better idea. He shuffled across the floor, tossed the blanket over the highborn, and swiftly tugged it up to her shoulders. But before he could get a step away, she sighed, snuggled deeper into the cotton, and licked her plump, pink, perfect lips.

  His gaze drifted over her features. So different from Talah’s. Freckles across the bridge of her nose, a mole near the corner of her right eye, high cheekbones, and just the slightest dimple in her chin. With her pale skin and those startling eyes, there was no denying that she was…exotic.

  The word revolved in his mind the longer he stared at her, unable to look away. He’d seen hundreds of Ghuls since he’d been here, but none of the females, slaves or free, had been as enticing as her.

  She sighed again, the sound jolting him out of his trance. Enticing? Shit. He smacked the palm of his hand against his forehead and turned back for his corner.

  “Not exotic,” he mumbled. “Stupid.” It was more than possible the highborns were setting some kind of trap for him with her, and he was even more determined now not to fall into it.

  He lowered himself back to the cold floor, shifted against the stones, and cringed at the sharp shot of pain in his side. Glancing down, he realized the bandage he’d wrapped around his torso was soaked with blood.

  Fucking fabulous. Just what he needed. But there was nothing he could do about it now except wait until morning. Closing his eyes, he tried to rest.

  Sleep came fitfully. His side burned, his legs ached, and he felt as if he’d been through a meat grinder, thanks to Malik’s workout. He shivered, wrapped his arms around himself, shifted deeper into the corner and tried to find warmth as the hours ticked by. But even as he drifted between sleep and consciousness, images wafted behind his eyes. Talah’s dark hair blowing in the breeze, her olive skin, her gentle smile. Images that slowly morphed until her eyes were no longer gray but sharp, green gems, her hair a drape of wavy red, her lips not curved in sweet compassion but plump, erotic…tempting.

  Lips that moved, speaking to him in a voice not from the past but from the present.

  * * *

  Crouching in the corner of the cell with the lone candle she’d lit flickering light over the stone walls, Kavin cringed. Sound asleep, the sahad was like dead weight, and
just lifting his elbow made her muscles strain.

  His eyes were still closed, his head resting against the wall, but his skin was burning hot to the touch. She’d tried to ignore his murmurs, hoping he was simply dreaming, but the longer they’d gone on, making zero sense, the less she could. Especially when she realized he must have given her his blanket sometime in the night.

  She didn’t owe him anything. He’d made it perfectly clear he didn’t want her around. But she couldn’t ignore him either. So she’d lit a candle, climbed out of bed, and crossed the floor. And now her stomach was tossing on a sea of unease at the bright red blood staining the bandage against his ribs.

  “You’re impossible to fight with, Marid,” she whispered.

  His eyes popped open. His body jerked. Then his hand closed over hers against his elbow.

  Kavin gasped, tried to pull away. His grip was strong, locking her in place, reminding her of the night he’d held her against the wall. Fear threatened to push in as he stared hard into her eyes, his gaze clouded and unwavering. But instead of being filled with venom—as before—this time, his eyes looked haunted, not those of a killer per se, but of a man who’d seen too much, lived through too much, and was fighting to cope with the fallout.

  Silence stretched between them. Her heart raced beneath her breast. He wasn’t a man, and she was foolish to think him anything but the monster she’d come to know. But…as his fingers seared her skin, as his gaze bore into hers, tension and something Kavin hadn’t felt before—some electric and overpowering current—charged the air.

  Her pulse picked up speed as she stared into his hard, dark eyes. Her adrenaline soared. Before she could figure out what the odd sensation was, he let go and dropped his head back against the wall with a groan.

  Relief spiraled through her—or was that regret? Her head was so jumbled she suddenly didn’t know. Rubbing her hand over the spot he’d just held, she tried to make sense of what had just happened. Couldn’t.

  “Allah,” she muttered, noticing the sweat beaded his brow, the pale and clammy skin. He wasn’t just injured, he was sick. “You need help.”

  “Don’t want help,” he whispered, eyes closed. “’Specially not yours. Just want to be left alone. Alone is…safe.”

  Emptiness rippled through Kavin’s chest. An emptiness she’d been fighting since the moment her parents had sold her to Zayd. One that had grown and multiplied exponentially with every second she’d been locked in this cell, wondering—dreading—what would happen next. “Being left alone isn’t safe,” she whispered. “It’s the greatest form of torture there is.”

  He didn’t answer. Didn’t even move. And suddenly, fear for her own safety mingled with urgency for his. If he died from infection now, she was all but dead. Jarriah did not get second chances in the test, no matter the circumstances.

  She pushed to her feet, bent and slid her arms under his, careful not to touch the wound on his side. “Come on, get up.”

  His big hands landed against her shoulders. He rolled his head against the stones. The groan that echoed from his chest told her he still didn’t want her help, but he shifted his feet under himself, regardless.

  “Come on, Marid,” she ground out, pulling as hard as she could. “I can’t do this on my own.”

  Somehow she got him up, braced his back against the wall, and leaned against him to keep them both upright. He had to weigh twice what she did, and he was burning up with fever. She grunted, pulled, and eventually maneuvered him toward the bed. With a groan, he dropped onto the mattress, flopped over onto his back. Blood trickled down his skin from beneath the thin, red-soaked bandage.

  Her stomach rolled again, but she ignored it, instead propped his tree-trunk-like legs up onto the mattress, pulled the blanket out from under him, then draped it across his body. Peeling back the cover near his wound, she dropped to her knees, steeled her courage, then slowly untied the bandage from his torso to get a good look.

  His hand snaked out again and wrapped around her wrist with stunning force. And just as it had before, electricity arced in the air between them, sent a thousand vibrations all along her skin, and pulled a gasp from her lips.

  Her gaze darted to his and held. To eyes that should chill her to the bone but suddenly didn’t. Because this close, she saw something else lurking in their depths. Something she’d missed before when she’d been too scared to think. The same emptiness that consumed her. A hint of vulnerability she hadn’t known was there.

  Her breath quickened. Her skin tingled as if it were coming to life. So many times he could have truly hurt her but hadn’t. Even that first night, he’d let her go. And though he held her tightly and could easily snap her wrist with barely a flick of his hand, she somehow knew he wouldn’t.

  Words formed in her mind. Words she didn’t even know if he could hear in his current state, let alone understand. Words she suddenly needed to say. “I-I’m not here to hurt you, sahad. I only want to help.”

  “You can’t help me,” he muttered. “No one can. Not anymore.”

  His gaze never left hers, and energy vibrated through her entire body under his blinding stare. Energy she felt all the way to her core. In the silence that followed, his ominous words settled in the air around them, reminding her what Hana had told her in the baths.

  “Marid mate for a lifetime.” Followed by the news that the death of a warrior’s mate was the only thing that could turn him into a monster.

  Was that what he was doing? Battling to avenge his dead mate? Questions she hadn’t thought to ask before circled in her mind. Then mixed and swirled with the image of him, dangerous and magnificent, fighting to the death in the arena.

  Her skin grew hot. A low ache gathered in her chest. Though she fought it, compassion spread through her veins, trickled to her belly. Suddenly, he wasn’t the beast the highborns made him out to be. He was nothing more than a slave fighting to stay alive, just like her. Fighting to defy those who wanted to see him dead.

  That was what she needed to do, she realized. Purpose rippled through her as their gazes held. A purpose that gave her strength, one she’d been lacking since being brought to Jahannam. Zayd could take her body; he could even take her freedom, but she wouldn’t let him break her spirit. No one could take that from her. Not unless she let them.

  “Let me try,” she whispered, wanting—no, needing—to help him for reasons even she couldn’t totally understand.

  His eyes searched hers. For truth or lies, she wasn’t sure. But something shifted in the air between them in that moment. Something she felt all the way to her toes.

  He slowly released his grip, turned his head away, and closed his eyes. And as her chest thrummed with the weight of what had just passed between them, Kavin swallowed hard and reached for the bandage again.

  The cut was deep, the edges puckered and swollen. She didn’t see any signs of pus—which was a good thing—so she recovered it. But her hands were shaking when she pushed to her feet, then pressed the back of her hand against his forehead.

  “Allah…” Urgency shifted to panic. She crossed for the door and pounded her fist against the cold steel.

  “I know you’re out there,” she hollered at the guards. “If you want the sahad to die on your watch, continue to ignore me.”

  Metal scraped metal as the slot in the door was pulled open, and the guard’s grim face filled the hole. “We don’t answer to jarriah.”

  “You’ll answer to this one,” Kavin snapped. Fuck the guards. Fuck what Zayd would think when he heard what she’d done. Fuck them all. “The sahad is sick with fever and infection. I need bandages and medical supplies.”

  “Why should we care?” the other guard sneered, stepping up to the opening in the door. “One less Marid to worry about.”

  “You’ll care because he’s the champion of the arena. And if the highborns find out he died because of your neglect,” she lied, “you’ll be executed. Or better yet, tossed in the arena yourselves.”

  Fe
ar flashed in both their eyes, followed by the brutal rush of resentment. But Kavin barely cared. So long as they bought in to her bluff and were motivated to get what she needed, that was all that mattered.

  The opening in the door snapped closed, and muffled voices echoed from the corridor, followed by the sharp clomp of footsteps quickly moving away. Drawing a deep breath, Kavin turned back for the bed.

  The sahad shivered, so she pulled the blanket up to his chin, tucked it around his shoulders. His eyes were closed, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths. In the dim candlelight, she stared down at his face, which suddenly looked childlike and innocent as he tried to sleep, not harsh and cold as it had before. Her gaze drifted over the dark lashes feathering the soft skin beneath his eyes, to the chiseled cheekbones, the weathered skin, the stubble along his square, strong jaw, then finally to the full, masculine line of his lips.

  Lips, she could now imagine, that had once been used for kissing, not doling out harsh words and threats.

  He stirred, tried to roll to his side, winced in pain but still didn’t open his eyes. To ease him while they waited, she sat on the side of the bed and brushed damp locks back from his heated skin. “Shh…just rest.”

  The muscles around his eyes relaxed as she began humming a song she remembered her mother singing to her when she was little, and he seemed to drift back to sleep. Relief spread through her again as she continued to stroke his hair, then her gaze drifted down his neck to the fire opal at the base of his throat.