“I do not know. This is my first night.”
“Right.” Forgot about that. I rip open the packet and clumsily drop the contents on Vexar’s abdomen. Without a thought, I grab the little spool and watch his entire body tense. “Shit, sorry.”
“Do not be,” he says. “This is new to me, and I am still … adjusting.”
“What’s new? Getting stitches?” I ask as I lower myself back to my knees, grateful for the soft pillow.
“No,” he says lightly, “having physical contact with a female who is not a member of my immediate family.”
I glance up, confused. “What do you mean?”
“I have never touched or been touched by a female before. Besides my mother and sisters—in a platonic way of course,” he adds.
A memory of Solta saying something about Vexar not touching people of the opposite sex comes rushing back. But Vexar didn’t say anything about it, and neither did the guards; they just said we didn’t have sedatives… That sinking feeling in my spine returns before it’s overruled by a darker realization.That’s why he wanted to stitch himself up.Oh my god, I fucking violated him.
“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have— You were bleeding. And you couldn’t give consent. Not that that’s a— But then I pressured you to?—”
He cups my chin with his massive hand, interrupting my incoherent apology. My skin burns with a fiery anticipation. Stomach tightens and flutters. His lips part, and suddenly I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing there’s no way to keep myself from falling off.
I’m completely fucked.
“Please,” he says, his voice deep and calm. “You have done nothing wrong. I have already told you that.”
He releases my chin, and it takes a moment before I can think straight. The spot where he touched me pulses with heat.
“I should have…” I whisper, trailing off as I realize I don’t know what to say.
“Should have what? Let me die?” He shakes his head as if the idea is absurd. “I amgladyou saved my life. And you did not pressure me into anything. I needed your help, and you gave it. You did everything right.” He takes a breath. “I am perfectly capable of determining my own boundaries and ensuring they are not crossed.”
“But you were unconscious.”
“And I am still grateful.” His soft gaze seems to crack something open in me, and suddenly I don’t want to leave this cell at all. I don’t want to die just to kill a tyrant. I want to stay right here, safe and comfortable.
I tense and drop my head. Fuck me, this is bad. This is so fucking bad. I can’t lose my nerve. I’ve already made it past the point of no return, and if I lose my nerve now, this will all have been for nothing. At some point, I’m going to be dragged out of here, and when that happens, I need to be ready.
Trying to calm myself back down, I ask, “Did you, uh, not touch women out of choice? Or …?”
“It is a vow I had to take.”
“And that’s why you opted out of medical care?”
“Yes.”
I nod. “So it’s a serious vow…” I whisper, almost to myself. “Are you going to be in trouble because of”—I motion between us—“this?”
“I do not think so,” he says gently. “Not now.”
“That’s good.” I glance down, uncertain of what else to say. The cell is getting steadily darker, and with that darkness comes the inescapable knowledge that either I have a few minutes left in here, or a whole night. Chewing on the inside of my cheek, Iask, “Do you think they’re going to leave me in here all night? Or do you think they’ll come for me soon?” I don’t know why I’m asking him, there’s no way he knows more about the routines of this place than I do.
His jaw tightens. “Come for you?”
“The guards, I mean. Do you know when the guards will come?”
He grunts, and his eyes flash black before returning to their normal green. “I will not let them take you. Whatever happens, I—” His chest vibrates with that strange sound that I feel more than hear before he turns his gaze to the ceiling. “You saved my life. I will ensure you do not face repercussions for your actions.”
The desire to believe him is overwhelming, but it’s just another fantasy. He’s making promises without having any idea of what he’s actually promising. I’m acriminal. Criminals don’t survive this place. And even if Vexar is who he claims to be, he’s still locked in a cell, just like me.
I’ve been trying to avoid thinking too hard about the strangeness of his situation, but I don’t think I can keep ignoring it anymore. His injury is unlike any I’ve seen come out of the arena; he doesn’t seem to know that this place is run by slave labor; he’s obviously more empathetic than he’s supposed to be; and … fuck. I just get the feeling that he isn’t supposed to leave here alive. It’s a weird, instinctual feeling—more than a gut feeling—and it’s impossible to shake.
