Leave the fortress. Leave Gilly and her dark, too knowledgeable eyes. Leave her staggering hope for something he couldn’t, wouldn’t, give her. Leave her probing questions, her gentle touch. Some 1 taking UR place here at fort? he typed. Much as he wanted to escape, he wouldn’t leave her helpless.
K & C are gonna come back. Last chance. In or out?
This time he didn’t hesitate. In. Stridey-Man: Knew U couldn’t resist me. B ready in 5.
Right on. Make it 10. I want 2 style my hair for U. U know, just how U like it.
Stridey-Man: ASSHOLE.
He snickered, having more fun teasing Strider than he’d had in a long, long time.?? U up for a lil stop before we play??
Stridey-Man: Where?
Locale deets later. Alls U need 2 know is I plan 2 murder Gilly’s fam.
He’d wanted the deed taken care of long before now, but his little jaunt into hell had altered his plans. The demons down there had nearly eaten through his arm, and the stupid limb had only recently healed. Plus, Amun had promised to go with him and tell William about the mom and stepfather’s deepest secrets and fears so that William could make the road to dead frightening and painful.
Only, Amun was still whacked out of his mind and William was tired of waiting.
Stridey-Man: Rock on. But now U only have 8 minutes 2 do UR hair.
Trust the cocky Strider to agree to a brutal massacre without asking dumb questions like «why» and «how.»
William untucked the covers and stood, making a mental list of everything he’d need for the coming trip. A few blades, serrated and nonserrated. A vial of acid. A bone saw. A spiked paddle. A cat-o’-nine-tails. And a bag of Gummy Bears.
Gods, but this was going to be fun.
Chapter Eleven
Haidee luxuriated in the now-familiar warmth enveloping her, branding her all over again, as the hazy dream took shape in her mind. Moonlight surrounded her, illuminating the veranda she stood upon, as well as the pond she studied in the courtyard. Fireflies hovered over the clear, dappled water like fallen stars that had finally found a new perch. A cool breeze ruffled the wild tumble of her hair, and her lavender robe — her
She could hardly believe this day had arrived.
Solon had actually married her. After a rocky start and courtship, he’d vowed to love and cherish her in front of his friends and family. Even though he was a powerful noble, she was not, and he could have kept her as a slave. But that arrangement was unacceptable, he’d said. As his wife, no one would ever hurt her again. Even after he died.
For that alone, she would have fallen in love with him. Except, she’d already loved him. He was older than she by sixteen years but strongly built nonetheless. He had only ever regarded her with kindness, had never raised a hand to her in anger, even though his first reaction to her had been one of tension, and had never allowed his visitors to abuse her.
He’d begun to cosset her soon after buying her at the slave market, some eleven years before. She’d been a child then, still devastated by the loss of her family, terrified by the new fate that awaited her and confused by the numbing cold that had never left her. A cold that had saved her from being raped, time and time again. Most men couldn’t stand to touch her.
And perhaps that was why Solon had never demanded sexual favors in return for his kindness. At least, that’s what she had assumed. Until six weeks ago, when he had asked for her hand in marriage.
«Are you nervous, my sweet?» a familiar voice asked from behind her.
She turned, heart accelerating with dizzying speed. Leora, friend and equal until this very day, was now supposed to be her servant. Gray hair frizzed around her aged features, and she wore the same coarse sack Haidee was used to wearing.
If Leora was here, that meant the time had come. That meant her husband had summoned her, was ready for her. Her
«No. But that soon changed, did it not?»
Yes. Just like with Solon. «It did. And yes, yes. I’m nervous, but excited, too.»
Finally, she would be allowed to show Solon the depths of her gratitude for him.
Leora arched a too-thin brow. «And you know what a man does to his new wife on their wedding night?»
«Yes.» At least she thought so.
She had squeezed her eyes tightly closed when the guards at the market had raped the other slaves. The screams, though… Haidee shuddered, momentarily lost in the pain and humiliation she had been helpless to stop, no matter how much she had struggled against her chains, no matter how much she had prayed and cried and hated.
Deep down, she knew bedding Solon wouldn’t be like that. He would be tender, patient. He was kind and sensitive, and he would ease any fears she harbored.
«Then I will not keep you a moment longer,» Leora said with a soft smile. «Your man awaits.»
The old woman turned, her bones creaking, and ushered dream Haidee inside a torch-lit hallway, toward the gynaeceum. The master’s bedchamber. Alabaster columns stretched on each side of them, the arching doorway — their final destination — looming closer…closer still…
Real-life Haidee cried out, reaching for the innocent girl she’d been, trying to grab her, halt her. «No. Don’t go in there.» She had never remembered what had led to this point of her memories, but she suddenly knew what waited beyond that entrance. «Stop! Please, stop!»
Neither female paid her any heed. Closer…
Haidee fought the voice, just as she fought the dream. «No!» Her arms flailed, her legs kicked. If she could prevent herself from going inside that bedroom, she could save herself thousands of years of guilt and pain. «Don’t go in there!
Closer…
As Leora slowed her steps, she glanced over her shoulder and offered Haidee another sweet smile. They had finally reached the door. Leora stepped aside. A trembling, unsuspecting Haidee reached out—
—was somehow floating, suspended—
—was tightening her fingers around the edges of the curtain—
—was being straightened out, placed on her feet—
Before she could enter the room, cold water hit her full-force, soaking her from head to toe and shocking her into reality. Haidee sputtered, blowing droplets out of her mouth. Her eyelids fluttered open.
Out of habit, she immediately took stock of her surroundings. She stood inside a shower stall. Unfamiliar. Spacious, tiled, the faucet speckled with gold filigree. She glanced down at herself. She still wore the new T-shirt, jeans and underclothes Strider had given her before chaining her. Her feet were still bare. Dark arms ripped with muscle were wrapped around her waist, holding her upright.
She stiffened, began to struggle. Panic gave her weakened body strength, her heart pumping blood through her veins at an astonishing rate. Yet, no matter what she did, she couldn’t budge those meaty arms.
Amun’s voice, steady though concerned, uncompromising though tender. He was the one holding her, she realized. Instantly the fight abandoned her, and she sagged against him, resting her head in the hollow of his neck.
If he was standing, that meant he had recovered. She was so relieved she could have sobbed. She’d spent
