I’d be scared of me too.
Doesn’t matter how soft I speak or what I bring her to eat. I helped put her in here. I’m a monster in her eyes. And maybe in my own eyes too.
Stepping in, I close the door quietly behind me and move as carefully as I can towards her.
Still, she scrambles to curl herself into the same protective position, only now with a blanket wrapped tightly around her shoulders as if it’s the only shield she’s got.
I’ve seen that look before. Same posture. Same terror. Back in that dumpster-fire of a camp I survived all those years ago.
In the light, she looks even more beautiful—even with the dirt smeared on her pale skin and caked in her pretty hair. Way better condition than the girls in the cages of my old camp.
That gives me a sliver of hope for her. But a beast rages inme, screaming about how beautiful she’d look pinned under me.
Shutting that thought down, I choke it out.That part of me doesn’t get a say anymore.
“You hungry, little—” I cut myself off before I use that predatory nickname for her. I hate that it nearly slipped out. As if she’s mine to name.
I’ve seen what happens when men start believing that. I swore I’d never be one of them.
She doesn't respond, but I didn't expect her to. She just watches me slowly approach, moving nothing but her eyes. Her gorgeous, deep blue eyes. Like pools of emotion that whisper everything she refuses to say.
I won’t force her to speak if she doesn’t want to. Right now, her silence is hers. One last thing she can hold on to.
Crouching slowly by the bars, I set the items down.No sudden movements. After pushing them through the gap, I back up a bit to give her some space.
Myles will kill me if I leave any kind of weapon for her.
So I sit myself on the floor and wait. Knees bent up, just far enough away that she knows I won’t lunge for her.
I could lie and say it’s for her comfort, that it’s not more than that. But the truth is… I don’t trust myself to get closer. Not with all the shit I’ve done. I’m not here to redeem myself or pretend there aren’t dark instincts clawing at my insides right now.
I just want to ease her pain a little.
She doesn’t move toward them, but her eyes flicker between them and me like she’s weighing up the risk.
“I don't want anything from you,” I say, trying to reassure her. “Just... eat, if you want. Wash. Or don't. It's your choice.”
Myles might have kidnapped and imprisoned her, but I don't want her to feel trapped. I don't want her to look atme withrealfear in her eyes. I want her to feel safe with me.
But trust doesn’t come cheap. Especially not these days. And not when you look like the enemy.
She needs proof that not everyone who looks at her sees a possession and plans to use her like one.
Making a point of not looking in her direction, I stare off to the side, arms resting loosely on my knees.
It takes a few beats of silence until I finally hear the faintest shuffle. Then the creak of the cot bed as she shifts toward the things I brought her. Then the gentle tink of a biscuit being taken from the plate.
Fighting a smile, I do my best to show no reaction. But warmth and pride bloom in my chest as she accepts my offerings.
After a while of listening to the faint sounds of her eating, drinking, and washing the mud and dirt from her pale skin, I hear the creak of the cot bed once more.
Sneaking a sideways glance in her direction I see she’s returned to her position on the bed.
“Ivy,” she whispers.
Chills roll over my body at the sound of her voice and admission of her name. She didn't have to give me anything, but she chose to give me the greatest thing I could ever ask for.
A sliver of her identity.
