Slave to Passion (5 page)

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.

“Zayd—”

His fingers were against her sex before she realized what he was doing. Before she could stop him. She sucked in a frantic breath, threw her hands out to push against his arm. Screamed, “No! Stop!”

But as quickly as he’d touched her, he withdrew, and when he eased back, she didn’t just see disapproval in his eyes, she saw disgust and bitter rage.

To Hana, he growled, “Hold her arms.”

He knew she was still a virgin. Panic welled in Kavin’s chest as Hana stepped behind her, gripped both of her arms, and wrenched them behind her back. “Zayd, wait—”

“Don’t fight,” Hana whispered near her ear, just as Zayd’s open palm connected with her cheek.

Pain spiraled through her face, the force of the slap spinning her head to the side. She gasped at the blow, gave her head a shake, tried to think clearly. “Zayd—”

Another hit. This one across her abdomen. With something thin, made of leather. A blinding burn erupted across her flesh, exploded through her belly. She nearly went down, but Hana’s strength kept her from hitting the floor.

“You failed,
jarriah
. Failure is not tolerated. You will be punished.”

He hit her with the leather again and again, across her breasts, her stomach, her thighs. She grunted through the pain, through the red welts forming across her skin. Her stomach hurt so bad, she absently wondered if he’d broken something inside her, then knew if he had, he wouldn’t care.

“Release her,” he barked

She hit the floor at his feet, tried to move back but needed to catch her breath first. A white towel landed near her hands. Limbs shaking, she reached for it.

Zayd’s boot covered the towel before she could get her fingers around the cotton, then he knelt in front of her face. Those eyes, the ones she’d at first thought were handsome, focused on hers with a menacing glare that sent a tremor down her spine. “If even a
sahad
in the pits of Jahannam won’t fuck you, you’re of no use to my harem. Do whatever you must to get the monster to use you, or I’ll leave you in the pits to rot right along with him.”

Fear and disbelief rushed through Kavin. He was sending her back?
No, no, no
…

He ran a finger down her still-stinging cheek, something he’d done several times since he’d bought her, as if he were admiring a sculpture or favorite possession. And though she fought it, Kavin trembled all over again.

“So beautiful…” Carefully, he tilted her face up to meet his gaze. Only this time, when she looked, she didn’t see fury in his features any longer. She saw truth. A bitter truth that chilled her to the bone.

He leaned in close to her ear. “And if, on the fifth day,
jarriah
, you’ve still failed? I’ll have you beheaded in the city square for all to witness. After I’ve sufficiently punished you myself.”

Chapter Four

Nasir ducked out from beneath Malik’s attack, swiveled, and nearly missed being skewered. Unlike the wooden training sword he used, his
mu’allim
wielded a steel blade, one that could inflict serious injury. And seeing how his trainer’s deeply tanned features were currently twisted in a fit of rage, that possibility didn’t look far off the mark.

Breathing heavily, Nasir swung out, his fake sword clanking against Malik’s real one with a deafening clap. Dust blew up from the training circle, flew into his eyes. He blinked twice, dropped to the ground, and rolled away from another near-fatal blow.

“Get up!” Malik roared.

Nasir scrambled to his feet, his sandals skidding on the loose sand of the training arena, and tried to catch his breath. Crouched, ready to deflect whatever Malik threw his way, he swiped at the blood and sweat that dripped into his eyes and blurred his vision. But his trainer came at him again and again, never giving him time to orient himself, never giving any explanation for the intensity of the exercise. And as he fought simply not to be fileted, Nasir knew this was more than a simple lesson. This was retribution for what had happened in his cell last night.

Malik swung out again, and Nasir dodged another shot to the ribs. But before he could strike, Malik held out his left hand, and a surge of energy shot from his fingertips, slamming into Nasir’s chest, sending him flying back ten feet through the air to land flat on his back with a crack on the hard ground.

Stars fired off in Nasir’s line of sight. The training sword fell from his hand. He shook his head to clear his vision, then stilled when the tip of Malik’s blade pressed against his throat.

“That,
sahad
,” Malik said, glaring down at him, “was a warning. My magic is not completely bound here, like yours. Where I come from there are penalties for what you did to that female.”

Malik withdrew the blade, stepped over Nasir before he could answer, and headed for the arched doorway on the far side of the ring. To the guard standing at the door, he barked, “Get him cleaned up and dump him back in his cell. And only half rations for him tonight.”

Slowly, Nasir sat up, rubbed at his still-swimming head. Dust and sand flicked from his hair, rained down his shoulders. Every inch of his body hurt from the workout, but thankfully, no one besides his guards had seen his
mu’allim
kick his ass. Because he was the champion of Jahannam, he trained alone. He lived alone; he ate alone; when it came time, he’d die alone. Remembering what he’d done to that female last night without so much as a second thought, he knew being alone was best for everyone.

He pushed up on his knee, cringed at the pain in his side. One look told him it wasn’t a pulled muscle as he’d thought. Blood dripped down his hip and onto his leg. Shaking off the sand, he picked up his training sword and hobbled toward the guards.

“
This is not who you are, Nasir
.”

“It is fucking now,” he growled under his breath, not even slowing this time at the sound of Talah’s voice ringing in his ears. It was time he stopped fighting who he’d become. The sooner he let go of Talah and a life he’d never return to, the more Ghuls he could kill. And before the sorceress who’d sent him to this hell called him back, he planned to take out as many Ghuls as he could.

His side pinched as he bathed. While they allowed him to clean himself this time, no one offered to stitch the wound. Another punishment, he realized. If he caught some deadly infection in his filthy cell, no one would care. After covering the gash as best he could with a clean piece of cloth, which he tied around his torso, he dressed in a new pair of black pants, then headed for the door. The guards parted. In the dank corridor, the smell of food being delivered to different cells pulled a growl from his stomach.

More tired than hungry, all he wanted was to fall onto his uncomfortable mattress and go dead to the world. Between the female trembling in his cell and Talah’s voice haunting him half the night, he’d been bleary-eyed and on edge by morning. But oh so thankful when he’d finally found himself alone. Until, that was, Malik got hold of him.

He stopped in front of his cell, took the tray the guard handed him with its measly rations. As the guard pulled the cell door open and smirked, Nasir wondered what—besides his latest beating—the fucker could possibly find amusing.

The cell door clanged shut behind him. The soft scent of roses filled the air.

And then he knew.

A single candle burned on the table beside his bed, sending flickering orange light cascading over the stone walls. Red hair spilled across his pillow; bare feet rested near the foot of his bed. But it was the slim female curled up on his dingy mattress, wearing nothing but a black gown bunched around her thighs, her hands tucked up near her face, her eyes closed as her chest rose and fell with her steady, sleep-filled breaths, that drew his steps to an abrupt halt.

* * *

Kavin’s eyes flew wide at the loud clap somewhere close.

She jerked upright. Disoriented from sleep, she blinked several times and tried to figure out where she was. Cold stone walls, one flickering candle, an uncomfortable mattress beneath her, and…
oh, shit
…an enraged
sahad
glaring from above.

“What the fuck are you doing here again?”

Kavin’s pulse shot up, and she swallowed hard, scrambled back. But the bed was pushed up against the wall, leaving her trapped.

“I…”
Don’t show fear
. Malik’s words from yesterday flitted through her mind, searched for footing, finally latched on tight when terror wanted to drag her under. “I…I was sent to you.”

His dark eyes narrowed. “By whom?”

He didn’t know? Her foggy mind spun, and she remembered Hana telling her that Marid didn’t keep
jarriah
. That the
jarriah
test was Ghul alone. “I…I’m your reward,” she stammered. “For your recent victory.”

He stared at her so long her heartbeat sped up until it was a blur echoing in her ears. Shit! Had she really just said that? Her hands shook, and she balled them into fists against the dingy mattress, hoping he wouldn’t see.

“You’re a reward?” he asked skeptically. “From whom?”

“From…” What should she say? She looked around, frantically searching for an answer, and caught sight of the metal tray of food at his feet. The tray he’d dropped against the unforgiving stones to wake her.

Malik was right—she’d realized his logic after Zayd had hit her, but this cemented it. The only way she was going to survive this new life was to never show fear—in front of Zayd, in front of whomever he sent her to, in front of this
sahad
. It was a long shot—thinking he might treat her differently if he believed she was here by choice rather than as a punishment—but at the moment, it was the only option she had left.

She lifted her chin and prayed it was too dark for him to see it shaking. “From the highborns.”

“The highborns don’t care about my victories. They’d just as soon see me dead.”

That was true, but she grasped on to another truth. One he likely didn’t know. “The females… They root for you. For the
sahad
who wears the fire opal.”

His cold stare burned into her from across the space. So unfriendly, so calculating, she was afraid he was debating whether to kill her now or let her live a few more measly minutes. She balled her hands together in her lap. Tried to keep them from trembling. Tried like hell to be strong, as Malik had told her to be.

“I don’t believe you,” he finally said, his low voice cutting through the silence, sending a shiver down her spine. “You don’t have the slave marking.”

She didn’t. And he obviously didn’t realize she just hadn’t been branded yet. Which meant she was right. He didn’t know what she was.

A tiny flicker of hope burst to life in her chest as her gaze lifted from those massive hands at his sides, up his bare arms and shoulders, and finally to his chiseled face, illuminated by the flickering candlelight. If he didn’t know she was a slave and instead thought she was a highborn who’d volunteered to be his reward, he’d likely be gentler with her. Maybe he’d even let her live.

That hope spread like wildfire all through her body. It wasn’t the best solution, but it was better than being brutally raped. She’d survived Zayd’s temper tantrum. Yeah, her skin still burned from the beating, but she now knew she could survive anything this Marid did to her, so long as he didn’t kill her. Because she wanted to live. Now more than ever. It might be years—even eons—before she found a path to freedom, but she was determined to do just that. Screw her parents who’d sold her into slavery and already forgotten her. She was the only person who cared about her. And it was far past time she stopped worrying and started strategizing.

Slowly, she pushed up from the stained mattress and stood in front of him on legs she hoped he couldn’t see trembling. This close, every flexing muscle beneath his skin, every ounce of waiting power was visible. And she could smell him. Not disgusting and revolting as he’d been before, but clean, male, strangely…enticing.

She gave herself a mental slap. Yeah, at first she’d been mesmerized by his show in the arena and, like other females who’d watched his fights, couldn’t deny he was the perfect male specimen, all sculpted lean muscles and brawny sinew. But she wasn’t attracted to him. He was simply the first hurdle on her path to freedom.

“I’m not a slave,” she lied, praying he’d never learn the truth. “And I volunteered to be your…prize.”

His eyes narrowed once more, but she didn’t let it deter her. This was the only card she had to play, and she’d bluff all the way to her grave if she had to. “I thought I made it perfectly clear yesterday that I don’t want you.”

Fear flashed through her when she remembered his hand around her throat. Fear she hoped didn’t show in her eyes. Thankfully, the bruises were small and, in this light, probably not even visible. Steeling her nerves, she moved a small step closer, even as the heat of his body encircled her and that intoxicatingly fresh scent she now knew was all him left her light-headed.

“Your wants are of no concern,” she said. “And you’re lucky the highborns didn’t kill you for the way you treated me last night. They’re giving you a second chance. It goes without saying that a gift like this can’t—and won’t—be refused…slave.”

She didn’t miss the sharp burst of anger that rippled through his eyes at her use of the word “slave.” But she also saw the bitter bite of truth when he realized she was right.

Fear and hope swirled together in her stomach. The trap was laid. Now she just had to go in for the kill.

Could she do this?

Her nerves jangled. Her stomach tightened with indecision.

For life? For freedom…?

Yes. Reality settled like a granite stone in the bottom of her stomach as she stared into his dark, unreadable eyes, giving her a courage she’d lacked before. A courage she’d need if she wanted to win this game. She could do this. To stay alive, she
would
do this.