Xabat's face flashed through my mind. That half-grin he wore when he thought he was being charming, the way his eyes had softened when he looked at me like I was something beautiful and precious, the way he touched me.
For him, I wouldn't go easy. I would fight. Whatever came through that door, I would fight.
Except what came through the door an hour or so later was a young girl. She couldn't have been over twenty, with longdark hair that fell in glossy waves past her shoulders, caramel skin, and soulful brown eyes that held a depth of terror far exceeding my own.
She carried a silver tray laden with food, the dishes rattling and clinking against each other in a discordant rhythm created by the violent trembling in her hands. Her knuckles had gone white from gripping the handles, and I could see the muscles in her forearms straining with the effort of keeping the tray level.
"Who are you?" I demanded. The cadence of my voice made her flinch, her shoulders hunching inward as if to make herself smaller, less visible.
"A—Ana, my name is Ana." The words tumbled out in a rush of breath. She practically dropped the tray onto the mahogany table positioned in front of the window, the dishes clattering dangerously before settling. The table overlooked the ocean. A nice view, if I were in the mood for that kind of thing, which I decidedly wasn't.
I took a step closer, watching her body language shift into a defensive posture. "Do you live here, Ana?"
A strange look flickered across her delicate features—surprise mixed with something that looked almost like gratitude. As though the simple act of asking about her had caught her completely off guard. Her lips parted slightly, and for a moment she seemed unable to form words.
"I…." she started, then caught her lower lip between her teeth, worrying it. "No, not really."
Strange answer. Then, understanding hit me like cold water. "Did they take you? Kidnap you like they did me?"
Her brown eyes widened considerably, the whites showing all around her irises. "You mean the cat aliens?"
"Cat aliens?" What the fuck?
"They look like hairless cats to me." Ana sighed, a sound heavy with resignation, and turned her attention to the tray where she set about uncovering dishes with slow, mechanical movements. The smell of food—real food, not the processed garbage I'd been surviving on—made my stomach growl audibly, a sound that seemed obscenely loud in the room.
Hairless cat aliens? Xabat looked like an orc to me, and I'd found him sexy as hell. But I couldn't imagine a scenario where I'd find an alien that looked like a hairless cat anything other than deeply, viscerally creepy. "I haven't seen them. The men who took me were human."
Ana's head snapped up, shock written across her face, eyebrows rising toward her hairline. "You must be special."
"Why do you say that?" I took a step closer to the table, drawn as much by curiosity as by the intoxicating scent of the food. Fresh bread, something with cinnamon, and the rich aroma of real butter.
"The Master only uses his human guards when he wants a light touch." She shrugged her slender shoulders, the gesture carrying a disturbing casualness, as though discussing kidnapping and the deployment of mercenaries was as mundane as commenting on the weather. For her, perhaps it was just another day in whatever nightmare she'd been living.
"Light touch?" I scoffed, my voice dripping with disbelief, each word sharp enough to cut. "They fucking shot the man I love and drugged me."
Ana flinched at the hatred in my tone, her whole body recoiling as if I'd physically struck her. But then her eyes met mine—those deep brown eyes that had seen too much, endured too much—and I saw empathy swimming in their depths, mixed with a profound sadness that seemed to age her beyond her years. "It could have been worse."
The quiet certainty in those five words deflated some of my. The implication hung heavy between us, unspoken but understood. I wondered how much horror this girl had witnessed during her time here. What atrocities had she seen that made a murder and kidnapping seem like mercy by comparison?
"Where are we exactly?" I changed my tactics, forcing my voice into something calmer, more controlled. Anger wouldn't get me answers. I needed intel if I planned to escape.
"I don't know the name of this place, but it's an island off the coast of Florida." Her voice carried the flat affect of someone reciting facts they'd long since stopped questioning.
An island off Florida. My mind immediately started cataloging possibilities, distances, escape routes. The Keys stretched out in a chain, some close enough to the mainland that you could practically spit the distance, others farther out where the Gulf met the Atlantic. Then there were the barrier islands—some barely a mile offshore, others several miles out in deeper water.
I didn't know which one we were on, and that made all the difference. A strong swimmer could make a mile, maybe two, in calm conditions. I'd grown up near the ocean, done open water swims before, back when I had time for that sort of thing. Three miles or more? In unknown currents, with no gear? That was a death sentence. The Gulf Stream could sweep you out to sea before you made it halfway. Sharks, hypothermia, exhaustion—pick your poison.
Still, I filed the information away. If I could figure out exactly where we were, if I could get to a beach, if the conditions were right.... It was a lot of ifs. But it was something. More than I'd had five minutes ago.
"How long have you been here, Ana?" I asked, watching as she gestured toward the tray with a delicate sweep of her handand slid a chair out for me to sit, the legs scraping softly against the polished hardwood. I complied, sinking into the cushioned seat as my stomach rumbled too loudly to ignore any longer.
"I don't know for sure. A couple of years." The words sounded resigned and hollow, as if she'd long ago stopped counting the days. Her shoulders sagged. "My brother Sebastian is here too. My sister Merri was taken as well, but we don't know where she is." A tremor ran through her voice when she mentioned her sister.
"Other than the Master...." A bitter taste coated my tongue as I said the words, the title leaving a residue of disgust in my mouth like I'd bitten into something rotten. "Are you the only one here other than the cat aliens and soldiers?" I needed to know the full scope of this place. How many prisoners, how many guards, what the odds looked like stacked against me. I might only be a second-grade teacher, someone others might see as woefully inept to plan a daring escape. But anyone who'd spent any time shut up in a cramped classroom with twenty or more energetic, unpredictable seven-year-olds understood just how varied and adaptable my skill set truly was.
Ana shook her head sadly, the movement slow and weighted with sorrow. "There are others too... always others, but they don't stay long until the Trogvyk take them away." Her voice dropped to barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might draw unwanted attention.
"Take them away to where?" I pressed, reaching for the glass of orange juice and taking a sip. The flavor burst on my tongue so vividly I nearly moaned—fresh-squeezed, pulpy, sweet with just the right amount of tartness. Real fruit, not the concentrate I normally drank. The contrast between the luxury of the food and the horror of the situation felt obscene.
