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“Iwon’tbeg.”
“You really are very certain of yourself, aren’t you?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say.
No, I think.
He can’t know I’m struggling to remain strong, to keep my mask in place. What he said earlier, about myghost eyes… For a moment I’d stopped breathing. It was as though he’d looked right inside my soul and saw who Itrulywas. No one has ever, not once, looked at me that way and for the briefest of moments I’d felt not fear, but interest… Inhim. I don’t want to look at him and see anything other than what he is. Heisn’tinteresting. He isn’t attractive.
He’s a villain. A fiend. A monster.
He locked me up in a cell, for crying out loud.
He’s myenemy.
I finish the last of the water and place it back on the sink behind me, refusing to turn back around. Nothing shows more strength or courage than turning your back on a predator. So I remain facing away from him, using the mirror before me to watch what he does next. His eyes undress me as his gaze wanders over my back, arse and legs. Despite being fully dressed, I feel utterly naked under his slow perusal.
“I wonder, Zero, how much courage will you have when I’m flogging your backside raw, hmm? Will you be as stubborn then?”
My heart ratchets up a notch at the threat and the lazy way he swirls the water. The dark hair on his forearm slicks against his olive skin and I wonder for the first time since waking up who the man is beneath the mask. I suspect he has a beautiful face. The most dangerous people usually do. Those thoughts dance in my head as he straightens up and steps around the bath towards me. My skin prickles as he approaches but I still refuse to turn around and face him.
“Answer me, Zero. Will you refuse to beg for mercy when I’m pushing you to your breaking point?” he insists, stepping up behind me. He’s so tall that I feel dwarfed by him but I don’t let my fear show. “Well?”
“I guess there’s only one way to find out,” I retort, gasping as he presses his chest against my back and grasps the sink on either side of my body, his thick fingers curling over the white porcelain. A waft of his scent washes over me, he smells of leather and metal, spice and musk.
“Oh, believe me. I’m going to enjoy every second of finding out what will make you crack,” he replies, rocking his hips against my back, making certain I know just how turned on he is.
I whimper again, and I hear his soft chuckle. He thinks my reaction is through fear. It’s not. Right now the skin on my back screams with phantom pain, nerve endings that shouldn’t exist are brought to life by the sudden pressure and heat seeping from him into me. I grit my jaw and force myself to focus on my reflection in the mirror, to ground myself like I always do.
“So you keep saying,” I bite out, refusing to give him even the tiniest insight into what I’m trying to hide. Instead, I focus on my appearance before me, the mirror reflecting my position trapped within his arms. For some reason, looking at myself as a reflection allows me to detach from the moment, from what’s happening, from the pain. It’s easier to control how I feel when the person staring back at me isn’t who I truly am. My hair is messy, tangled, my eyes haunted, but it’s my skin that tells the biggest lie. Despite streaks of black mascara covering my cheeks, my foundation is still relatively intact, my birthmark hidden. The slight blush of my cheek could be interpreted as a reaction to Konrad being close to me rather than the truth.
Thank God.
“You really are beautiful,” Konrad says, his voice lowering to a rumble that I feel reverberating down my spine. “It was quite the surprise, honestly.”
For the briefest of moments I wonder about smashing the glass and using a shard to stab him with, then discard the thought. I’m not stupid, I’d be no match at the best of times, let alone weakened by hunger, thirst, and muscle-numbing fatigue.
“Beauty isn’t everything,” I say, my voice tight, disgusted that he’s so enraptured by the lie.
“Says the beautiful woman…” His voice trails off as he steps back, and the breath I was holding releases in a puff. Not wanting to feel him against me again, I turn back around to face him.
“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” I say firmly, steeling myself, finding comfort in my mother’s words when normally all they do is irritate me.
He scoffs. “Bathe. I will lay out clothes for you on the bed in the room next door,” he says, pointing to the door on the opposite side of the bathroom. “Put them on and wait for us there.”
“Us?” I question, knowing full well who he’s talking about.
“I’ve kept you to myself long enough. It’s time.”
“You’re leaving me alone? Aren’t you worried I’ll try to escape?”
“There is no escape. Even if you were to find your way out of these rooms, through the castle, over the moat, and the forest beyond without being caught, we’re miles away from any form of civilisation. Overnight you’d die of hypothermia before you even stumble across our nearest neighbour. The highlands are not a place for a woman such as yourself. This is your home, for however long we choose to keep you here. Get that through your pretty, little head.”
My mouth opens and closes, uncertain how to take that last statement or even how to respond. What does he mean by sayinghowever long we choose to keep you here? Do they intend on setting me free one day, or is he implying that I’llneverbe free, only in death?
“Besides,” he continues, “Now that you’ve seen my face. You’ll never be allowed to leave.”
“But I haven’t seen—”
