I’d begged for death for so long. I’d screamed and howled for years. I’d begged and pleaded for someone, anyone, to end me.
Before they sent women in to toy with me, I’d hunted this entire estate for something that could kill me quickly—before my heart rate spiked and they administered the knock-out drug.
But there was nothing weapon-like in this place.
And each time I tried to hang myself with a curtain tie-back or suffer a tragic fall down the stairs, my racing heart and adrenaline betrayed me, and they knocked me out before I could succeed.
With no knives in the kitchen, no swords in the armoury, and no tools in the workshop, I didn’t stand a chance. Even the rooftop had platforms beneath it—terraces of stone that would catch me too quick to kill me.
My only option was to let them do it.
To close my eyes when they came sneaking and stay still as they tried to slaughter me. That would solve one problem. Unfortunately, I had too many others that wouldn’t be solved so easily.
And because of that...I had to stay breathing. Stay fighting. Stay ready.
Because revenge was the only thing keeping me clinging to life and one day I will have my vengeance.
Balling my hands, I forced myself to stop thinking about dreams that might never happen. I focused on the current nightmare instead, my thoughts tumbling to her.
I sucked in a breath as my heart rate spiked just thinking about her.
The beeping came again, and I closed my eyes, doing my best to lower my pulse so they didn’t inject whatever anaesthesia kept me pliant.
What made her so different that the burning in my body seemed to pause around her?
Was she their spy? Had they tampered with her biological make-up like they’d tampered with mine? Ensuring she acted like the antidote I needed, making me lower my guard, only to break me that much quicker?
I might’ve fallen for their games in the past, but this time, no fucking way would I let them find another to make my life a living hell. I knew they were ultimately trying to break my spirit—to make me pliant instead of clinging to my revenge. But I’d stayed this sane for this long, purely so I could make every single one of them pay.
Footfalls sounded, heavy and stealthy.
My shoulders rounded in heavy gratitude. “You’re finally back, you traitorous cat.”
The panther—that’d been my one and only friend ever since Marcus gave him to me on my fifteenth birthday—prowled through my room, leapt onto the bed, and sat directly beside me. His muscular bulk was as big as me sitting upright, and I did what I’d always done when the pain got this bad.
Wrapping my arms around the giant beast, I buried my face into its scruff and—
“Why do I smell honeyed meat?”
That was the thing about captivity.
It heightened your senses to almost supernatural degrees. In the backdrop of endless boredom and eternal sameness, even the barest difference blared so loudly, so vibrantly, it was an assault on my ears, eyes, and nose.
Anything different was a threat. Anything new was the enemy. Being constantly on edge had honed my survival instincts to the point I almost had a sixth sense. In a way, I’d turned into a spider, hulking in the middle of my web, feeling the vibrations of everyone trapped within it.
The panther licked his lips, looking away with a guilty wince.
Not for the first time, I wondered if he was genetically different like me. He seemed to understand everything I said to him, but then again, he was my only form of company—given to me mainly because I was going certifiably insane in isolation. Some psychologist in some textbook would say I’d projected my humanness onto him which made me believe he was different to all the rest.
But then again, they didn’t know the scientific breakthroughs Brimstone Industries had performed. I had no doubt my only companion had been caught to be tested on or was perhaps an unlucky kitten, born into a cage just like me.
At least his fate of being incarcerated with me was better than the other animals being used to synthesise my DNA. When Marcus used to visit me—before I’d tried to kill him too many times—he’d quite gleefully told me how hard the scientists were working to not only copy my blood but to create something that would manufacture it. Either machine or living, they wouldn’t stop until I became obsolete and they no longer needed me.
“She fed you, didn’t she?” I asked, sweat rolling down my back from the sickly heat in my veins. “Are you stupid? What have I told you about staying away from them? They’ll hurt you.”
Pulling away, denying myself the comfort of his closeness, I bared my teeth. “She’s worse than all of them combined.”
He looked at me with his golden eyes. He arched an eyebrow, almost as if reminding me that I’d given her one of my very precious Cryolyt pills that I’d been hoarding. I only had eleven—each pill a yearly salary for eleven years of my obedience. Rewards for good behaviour Marcus had called it. I called it a bribe. A bribe to stop me maiming the traitorous bastards who came into my home to harvest my blood every three days.
After nine years of their visits. After nine awful years of being held down and stabbed with needles, I’d had enough and agreed to do it for them. I’d agreed to farm myself, so I didn’t have to see the men who’d hurt me so badly.
Each Cryolyt pill could apparently take my pain away for twelve hours.
I’d planned on using them when I escaped. To be pain-free long enough to slaughter every single one of them before their pain chains took me down.
And I’d stupidly, for some inexplicable reason, given one to the girl who’d passed out from sheer fright the day we met in the ballroom.
“Don’t give me that look.” I shuddered, hugging myself as the pain continued to burn. “She’s a better actress, better liar than all of them. I made a mistake thinking she was different, so don’t follow my example. Keep your distance.”
With a huff, Whisper shook out his bulk and lay down.
And I lay down beside him, quaking with pain and wondering how much longer I’d have to suffer before fate finally granted my wish for all of this to be over...
Chapter Fifteen
THREE MORE DAYS PASSED AND THEY weren’t...good.
By night, I sat on the outskirts of the flaming torches, braziers, and lanterns. I didn’t dare venture into hell or wander the gravel pathways. I didn’t want to give Lucien a reason to kill me or watch another murder in action.
But keeping my distance didn’t mean I was safe from hearing the screams. The quick shouts of surprise. The screeches of the female assassins who thought they could exterminate a man with a panther as his bodyguard.
I’d return to my bed and huddle beneath the blankets, begging for sleep to carry me away only to turn into an insomniac with panic. My only reprieve was Whisper. The black beast appeared after his master had finished killing, and I no longer questioned my sanity as I scooted back in bed, opened my arms, and almost burst into grateful tears as the giant feline collapsed beside me.
I’d learned ‘it’ was actually a boy. And he didn’t grumble as I bear-hugged him. He didn’t bite me as I buried my face in his soft scruff. He didn’t grant me the gift of sleep, but at least his company stopped me from completely losing my mind.
The nights were scary, but the days were worse.
With the light, I’d go for a walk around the estate, doing my best to get some exercise so I could become tired enough to sleep and forget. I tried to focus on the lake or gardens, pagodas and mazes, yet each morning, black-suited men drove in through the gates they’d shoved us through and parked in front of the black stone palace.
