A heart of gold, tarnished and dinged but still priceless, was inside that scarred chest of his. Perhaps, I would never figure out how to earn it. Maybe, this was an utter waste of time, and I should just run away now while I had the chance.

So why, as my eyes traced over his wild, long hair, his scruffy beard, and prematurely lined eyes, did my heart skip a stupid beat and yearn for him.

I didn’t even know him.

Not really.

I only knew his nightmares and not the man left behind.

So how could I explain the painful bond I felt toward him?

How could I admit that, for all his savageness, I found him undeniably handsome and struggled with hot desire whenever we were close?

Was I just like those guests who’d abused him? Was I that horrendous that I’d stayed because I was physically turned on by him, despite his tragic past?

If I was a good person, wouldn’t I shut down all feelings of hunger? Wouldn’t I treat him as my brother? Someone who deserved a hug without my heart pounding for more?

God...is he right?

Did I take advantage of him that night? The night when he was a sweet teenager who’d blushed and asked me out. Who’d kissed me so softly yet the arrow of it had somehow pierced the very fabric of who I was?

Yet, when we’d first met, he was the one who forced me to my knees. He’d commanded I satisfy him. He’d demanded I grant him sexual pleasure, proving he was willing to do to me what had been done to him.

His pain had made him a beast. An unfathomable, unsavable beast.

My chest hurt.

“What are you doing to me, Kassen Sands?”

His slave name fell from my lips; a mantra I’d repeated on the many nights I’d lain in the library, trying to keep him alive. I’d stolen a copy and read the book of fables more times than I’d admit. I felt as if I knew his family from reading the fables they’d chosen and the names they’d invoked to survive this place.

How sad that Kas had chosen the Fable of Happiness, yet all I seemed to give him was grief.

“How am I supposed to help you, huh?”

He didn’t reply. Didn’t toss. Didn’t mumble. He just kept sleeping. His secrets were quiet, but his face couldn’t hide his pain. Decades worth. Far too much for a lone bumbling girl to fix.

“I’m not lonely while you’re here. That’s why you can’t go. Why you can never go. You’re mine.”

Stop thinking about that.

He didn’t mean it.

He was slurring with a concussion as he’d said it. And even if he did, didn’t he see that my very presence was what destroyed him?

For all my promises of granting him happiness. Of my assurances that I was the genie he dreamed of, the kindest thing I could do was leave.

Leave and never come back.

He was strong enough to live with the symptoms of a concussion until they passed. His arm would heal if he let the broken bone have time to knit. His other cuts and scrapes were superficial.

I could send someone.

I could go home, ensure a medical team knew how to find him, and step out of his life as firmly as I’d stepped into it.

That would be the kindest thing. It would give him back his independence, his hard-won peace and refuge.

He’d bound me because he was terrified of being alone again. And I’d done that to him. I’d invaded his territory, reminded him of companionship, then ran from him the moment I spied an opportunity. I’d taken whatever peace he’d found here and torn it into pieces.

He was better off alone.

I only seem to make things worse.

I’d eaten his vegetables without understanding the painstaking process of growing them. I’d investigated the bedrooms upstairs and borrowed clothing from women who’d raped him.

The longer I stayed here, the more I would hurt him. It was inevitable because we came from different worlds. I came from chaos and noise and life. He came from calm and silence and death.

His request for me to stay was uttered from a desperate man who’d had his entire existence upheaved by an unthinking, brazen girl who’d done her best to repair what she’d broken but was now painfully aware that she couldn’t.

Not this way at least.

I’ve hurt him enough.

Leaving now seemed cruel. It went against everything I believed in. But really, it would be a blessing. The nicest gift I could give him.

It was obvious he wouldn’t cope in society. And it was also obvious I couldn’t stay here for the rest of my life.

Our meeting had been wrong, and our separation would fix that wrong.

I nodded, crossing my arms against the pain of saying goodbye. The idea solidified quickly, warning me to choose this path now before my mind overthought it.

I couldn’t be responsible for this man’s happiness or his sadness. He’d heal quicker if I wasn’t there to hurt him.

“I’m sorry, Kas. For everything.” Hugging myself, I looked at his wild beauty one last time. I imprinted the only man who’d crowbarred his way into my heart with violence and sexual domination, and then I turned and strode from the library.

He would be out for hours, judging by his previous episodes.

I had time to clean up the kitchen—I’d seen his lip curl at the mess I’d caused—and ensure I left what I’d used in tidy condition, just like he would. I would make a plan, confirm this was the right thing for him and for me, and then, I would figure out a way to remove the cuff, throw away the leash, and walk out the door forever.

* * * * *

Come on. Come on.

Dammit!

I fumbled for the nineteenth time with the cuff. I sat on the kitchen floor with the smallest fillet knife I could find. My back hurt from curling over my leg, and the marble tiles beneath me had flattened my ass to a pancake.

And I still hadn’t left.

The now sparkling kitchen didn’t own any key or tool to free me. No scissors were sharp enough to hack through the hardened leather. No oil—even if there had been any in the cupboards—could help me wriggle my way out of the tight binding.

The padlock was the only chance I had at getting free, and so far, it refused to relinquish me. The frustrating thing was intricate. A hard nugget of metal with just a tiny pinhole instead of a key slot—and no matter how hard I pulled, poked, or twisted, the metal stayed put.

I’d tried stabbing it, jiggling it, even went as far as placing the blade against my leg and trying to saw the thick, impenetrable leather with the knife.

However, unless he gave me the strange key or I somehow managed to use the wood ax from the shed to get free (without hacking off my own leg), it was a dead end.

Fine.

I’ll just have to climb with a heavy chain tucked into my waistband.

Not the safest, but beggars couldn’t be choosers—wasn’t that the saying? Not a very nice one if you asked me.

Standing, I placed the knife on the clean countertop and readjusted the four packets of instant pasta I’d left as a peace offering for eating his vegetables. Beside those packets were a mountain of chocolate bars, fruit roll-ups, muesli bars, and the rest of the painkillers, along with the empty second backpack that he’d taken from my Jeep.

I hadn’t left myself a lot of supplies to climb and hike home, but my guilt wouldn’t let me leave without trying to apologize.

Okay...this is it. Are you sure you want to do this?

I had no answer, but I believed this was the best thing...for both of us. He’d get his asylum back; I’d go home to my house. We would both move on and forget.

Inhaling hard, ignoring the prickle behind my eyes, I turned and headed toward my already packed backpack waiting by the door.

“I’m not lonely while you’re here. That’s why you can’t go. Why you can never go. You’re mine.”

Argh, what if I was making a mistake?