Elisabeth Naughton - Slave to Passion

Oddities ? You just survived being raped, and you’re worried now about the beast who nearly killed you ?

She gave her head a swift shake and stepped into the opulent building that belonged to Zayd. But while the lift jostled her and the guards upward, she thought about the Marid. About why he hadn’t killed her. Why he hadn’t raped her. And though she knew it was useless, she couldn’t stop wondering who he had once been and how he’d been captured in the first place.

The guard to her right set the crank and locked it, bringing the lift to a stop. Then he muscled the gate open and stepped back. Hana was right there to greet them. She took Kavin’s hand and pulled her into the harem. “Come. Quickly. He’s waiting.”

Kavin stumbled forward. She’d lost a shoe somewhere, and her bare foot landed hard on the polished marble floor, sending a jolt through her body. The brush of cool air told her the soft blue gown was ripped near her shoulder. Belatedly, she was aware of dozens of eyes in the room—other jarriah —but this time, she didn’t see pity on their faces. She saw concern.

Her mind a thick soup of haze, she was pulled down a hall and into her suite of rooms. Relief washed through her when she eyed the plush furnishings, including the soft bed she’d slept in the last few weeks. But it quickly turned to unease when Zayd rose from the wingback chair near the fireplace and turned to face her.

Approval flashed in his eyes as he looked her over from head to foot. Then his gaze fixed on her neck—on the bruises she knew he could see—and a smug grin creased his face. To Hana, he said, “Remove that soiled gown.”

Shock rippled through Kavin. In the two weeks she’d been in Zayd’s home, he hadn’t once touched her anywhere but on her arm and face. And she’d never been naked in front of him.

Before she could protest, Hana ripped the gown from her body, the tearing fabric echoing in the vast bedroom suite. Kavin gasped. Cool air rushed over her skin, tightening her nipples, sending a shiver through her entire body. But she didn’t cover herself. She knew better.

Eyes hot and predatory, Zayd stepped close. His hot breath washed over her skin while he looked down at her bare breasts, as he slid his gaze to her belly, then finally all the way to her sex. His jaw clenched, and her stomach tightened at what he was seeing. Fear flitted through her veins over what he was thinking.

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.”

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.