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I stared at her. “The others . . .”
“One night. The past few years, I’ve cleared away the bones of at least two dozen young women . . . the Master created this retreat some time back, before . . .” Hanna glanced around, then lowered her voice to a whisper. “Before his wife forced him out of the Reaches. I have been captive here for five years. In that time, all of the women brought here have died.”
My stomach lurched again. So he’d had this chamber while still married to Smoky’s mother. I wondered if she knew about it. And if so, what did she think? I couldn’t imagine her being pleased. From what Iris had told me, silver dragons—like Smoky’s mother—were at the top of the dragon food chain, and it would be an embarrassment to have a white dragon husband prone to behavior like this.>I quickly used the rough outhouse and, shaking, washed my hands in the basin of cold water next to it.
Hoping against hope that a miracle would break through and save me, I stumbled behind Hanna as she led me through a maze of tunnels. It must have taken only minutes, but it felt like hours. Then, without warning, we were at the entrance to a gigantic chamber. A huge platform sat in the back of the room, and a smaller throne, sculpted from the very rock, sat in front of the dais. Instinctively, I knew that the platform was for Hyto when he was in dragon form.
As we stood in the entrance, a faint noise emanated from behind the platform. There, in the light of a fire that burned brightly to one side, stood Hyto in his flowing robes. His gaze caught mine from across the room and, never once looking away, he crossed the floor and settled on the throne. With a single motion, he gestured for me to move forward.
Hanna caught her breath and I heard a catch in her throat as she stroked my hair and whispered. “I’m sorry, Camille. I’m sorry. I hope . . . I’ll be here when you . . . if you . . .”
“If I survive,” I said slowly. And then, because there was nothing left for me to do, I moved forward, into the dragon’s lair.
A low drumbeat seemed to follow my footsteps—perhaps it was the beating of my heart—as I slowly approached Hyto. I was shaking so hard my teeth chattered. I wanted to cover my breasts, to cover my body, to slink away, but I knew that he wanted me to feel that way. He wanted to humiliate me, to break me, so I forced my shoulders back and did not look away.
As I approached him, his gaze fastened on my body, and his hair wove around him, waving like the arms of some wild creature, sinuous and terrifying—totally unlike how Smoky’s hair moved on its own.
“Ah, here she comes, with rosy cheeks and breasts so bare . . .” Hyto’s voice was thick with sarcasm as he leaned forward. “If you were a dragon, you’d be an ugly duckling. As it is, for a mortal, you are attractive enough.” He paused, and then suddenly one loop of hair shot forward and punched me in the stomach hard enough to knock me off my feet.
With a startled cry, I went stumbling against the rocks, feeling the backs of my thighs scrape on a sharp ledge. Hyto laughed.
“Stand up, girl. Now.”
I scrambled to my feet, trying to ignore the sting from his lash.
“Rule number one: When I address you, you will reply, ‘Yes, Master.’ Do you understand?” There was no room for negotiation in the command, and I knew better than to piss him off. Much better to pick and choose my battles, and this one wasn’t worth fighting.
“Yes, Master.” I forced my quaking voice to form words.
“You learn quickly. Second rule: Whenever you enter my presence, you kneel until I command you to stand.”
“Yes, Master.”
The same strand of hair that had knocked me off my feet landed on my shoulder. I didn’t wait for his prompting. I went down on my knees and this time avoided getting hit.
Hyto stood and moved forward. I could feel the shift in his mood.
Trained to keep my eyes on my opponents, it took everything I had to force my gaze to the floor. I’d met men like Hyto before—men who thrived on total power, total ownership. It was like staring a mad dog in the face—they’d kill for such affronts. I’d play the game, buy myself some time.
As little hope as I had for getting out of this in one piece, the more someone tried to humiliate me, the more I wanted revenge. And if Hyto took me out, I planned on doing as much damage as I could to him before the end. But I’d have to bite my tongue . . . wait for the right moment.
As his boots—white fur beneath the robe he wore—appeared in my line of sight, I struggled to keep myself calm. Or at least as calm as I could manage.
Tendrils of hair reached beneath my arms and lifted me off my feet so that they were holding me in front of him.
“Look at me, girl. Properly.” The command was slow, sinuous.
“Yes, Master.” I forced myself to meet his gaze without challenging him. I didn’t want to see what I knew was there.
Desire. Lust. The will to hurt, to punish. The hunger for my pain. Oh yes, he was a sadist, just waiting to unleash himself on me.
“First, the collar.”
And while his hair held me, he reached out and fastened a snow-white collar around my neck, with a silver loop in the front. When he snapped the buckle shut, I shuddered and realized that the collar had magic in it—what sort, I could not tell, but the energy flowed around my body and made me feel like I had an itch I couldn’t scratch.
“Who am I, girl?”
“You are my Master.” The words turned in my stomach, but there was nothing to do now but obey.
