Elisabeth Naughton - Slave to Passion

Sitting in his corner, Nasir had seen her clear as day when the door had pushed open. Curly, auburn hair that hung to her shoulders, pale skin, a light blue gown that screamed of her status, and the stark look of fear in her eyes before darkness had fallen once more.

Fury built inside him, morphed to a rage he couldn’t control. Because he was imprisoned here. Because they were fucking with him now. Because he’d been trapped by that bitch of a sorceress in the first place. Because Ghuls—her violent, depraved, repulsive people—had destroyed everything he’d once loved.

Thankful that this time they hadn’t chained him, he lurched to his feet and stalked across the barren cell. Then he grasped the female’s neck in a move she couldn’t track in the dark.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he growled.

“Pl-please!” she rasped, clawing at his hand.

“This is not a game. I am not some puppet.” He squeezed, the red rage of retribution controlling him. “You and your mate chose the wrong fucking cell, female.”

She choked. Sputtered. Coughed as his fingers pressed harder against her neck. Her fingernails dug into his forearm, but he barely felt the pain. Her pulse beat beneath his skin, started to slow. What little air was getting through rasped out of her lungs. Something warm and wet dripped onto his hand.

“ This is not who you are .”

The voice—Talah’s voice—echoed through the room. Nasir’s head jerked up; he glanced around the darkness of his cell, searching for her. But just as in the arena, she wasn’t there.

The female pawed at his arm, this time with less force, a fraction of the fight she’d shown earlier. “Ple-please,” she rasped one more time. “He’s not my mate.”

“ This is not who you are, Nasir .”

His attention swung back to the female he held pinned against the wall. Then his gaze dropped to his hand, wrapped tight around her throat, ready to squeeze out what was left of her life.

His skin grew hot, and the air tightened in his lungs. What the hell was he doing? This wasn’t him. This was the killer the highborns had created in the arena. This was…the way a Ghul would react.

He released her. Moved back quickly, feeling as if he’d just been sucker-punched. His head spun. The room tilted. Riding a wave of nausea, he stumbled until his spine hit the far wall, then sank down to the ground, dropping his forehead in his hands.

Talah’s voice echoed in his mind, dimmer this time but still there, and he tried to conjure her face but couldn’t. His memory of her was slowly fading. And though he fought to keep her close, he was afraid he was waging a losing battle. Feared, more than anything, that once she was gone for good, he’d lose the fight for his sanity and truly become the monster the Ghuls were grooming him to be.

Fabric rustled, and rapid breaths crossed the space, echoed near his ears. “Please,” the female rasped again. “Please don’t hurt me.”

Stomach still swirling, he lifted his gaze, peered across the cell. He could see well in the dark, had spent months getting used to it. But she probably couldn’t see more than a foot in front of her.

She’d dropped to the floor, was sitting against the far wall, her knees pulled up to her chest, her shaking arms wrapped tight around her skirt, her hair a wild tangle framing her face. And her eyes… He couldn’t miss them. Wide, the whites clearly visible, reflecting a terror he knew she wasn’t faking this time.

He didn’t know who she was or why the hell she was here, but he didn’t care. She was Ghul, and for him, that was all that mattered.

He pushed to his feet, then receded back into his shadowy corner. “If you stay exactly where you are, Ghul, and don’t move, then perhaps I’ll let you live out the night.”

* * *

A loud metallic clank startled Kavin out of a restless sleep.

She jolted from the floor, scrambled to her feet. Held up a hand to block the glare from the corridor spilling into the musty cell.

Freedom. She blinked into the light. Oh, Allah, at last . They’d come to rescue her from this hellhole.

She didn’t care who was out there. She lurched through the open door and the promise of fresh air. Of safety. A sob echoed in her throat as light blinded her eyes. Strong arms closed around her. Followed by a gentle voice echoing from above. One she recognized from yesterday.

“There, there, jarriah . All is well.”

Malik. He’d brought her to this pit, but she didn’t even care. He was strong. He was warm. He was comforting against her cheek in a way she didn’t expect and didn’t want to analyze.

She closed her eyes as the sting of hot tears burned her eyelids. The cell door clanked closed behind her, echoing like a cannon through the space. Her heart raced with relief. With joy. With the fact she’d survived. Elation carried her so swiftly she didn’t even worry about the guards watching her or that her mental undoing would eventually reach Zayd’s ears.

All she cared about was that she was alive .

Hands braced against her upper arms, Malik pushed her back, stared down at her. Realizing how foolish she must look, Kavin dropped her head into her hands, tried to get in control of her emotions. Not only had she survived a night in the pits, the monster hadn’t touched her after that first instance. In fact, she hadn’t seen or heard from him since. She didn’t know why he hadn’t raped her, but she was so very thankful for his disinterest now.

Feeling stronger, she swiped at her eyes, tried to smile for Malik’s benefit. But when she lifted her gaze to his, she didn’t see concern or curiosity in his dark eyes. She saw fury.

His jaw clenched so hard it was a slice of stone beneath his skin. His mouth cut a tight line across his tanned face. With two fingers, he tilted her chin up, studied her neck. Realizing there must be marks, Kavin gently touched a fingertip to the cool skin, only to cringe when pain shot through her body.

“I thought he had more restraint than a common animal.” Before she could tell Malik she was okay and that nothing else had happened, his head snapped up, and he looked toward the guards behind him, the ones who had also escorted her to the pits the day before. “Take her back to the harem at once.”

One guard grasped her arm, pulled her away. But Kavin heard the venom in his voice. And the promise of retribution. “Wait. Malik—”

“It’s all right, jarriah ,” he said as the guard dragged her down the hall away from the cell, his voice softer but still teeming with disgust. “I’ll make sure he’s properly rewarded for his behavior.”

Kavin tried to look behind her, but one guard tugged her forward while another blocked her view. At her back, she heard the Marid’s cell door clang forward, followed by Malik’s voice, shouting, “Get up, maggot. Your mu’allim ’s here to teach you a thing or two about respect.”

Kavin’s pulse raced as the guards hauled her from the dungeon of the arena, out into the early morning sunlight, then shoved her into a waiting carriage. Malik had used the word mu’allim . He was the sahad ’s trainer, not just any common slave. As the cart rocked across the street and the city sped by her window, she remembered seeing him near the gates of the arena, watching the Marid’s match with… What had she seen on his face that day? Not just interest but…pride.

If he’d trained the Marid, of course he’d have a vested interest in the sahad ’s wins, but mu’allim s trained more than one sahad . And pride… That was something else altogether different.

Her mind spun as the carriage came to a stop, as the guards opened the door and tugged her from inside. Light blinded her as she stepped onto the street. She felt the questioning stares of vendors and commoners as she moved, knew she had to look a mess and that most had probably already figured out what she was and where she’d been, but she barely cared. There were too many questions running through her head. Too many unexplained oddities she wanted to understand.