Surprise and confusion flare through me, but it does not presently occur to me to be afraid. I do not feel threatened by him. His words seem perfunctory. When he speaks, I catch a glimpse of a slight chip on his bottom incisor.
“Today,” he says. “Things will change. You will shadow me from here on out. Your duty is to protect and serve my interests, and mine alone.”
“Yes, sir.”
His lips curve, just slightly. There’s something there behind his eyes, something more, something else. “You understand,” he says, “that you belong to me now.”
“Yes, sir.”
“My rule is your law. You will obey no other.”
“Yes, sir.”
He steps forward. His irises are so blue. A lock of dark hair curves across his eyes. “I am your master,” he says.
“Yes, sir.”
He’s so close I can feel his breath against my skin. Coffee and mint and something else, something subtle, fermented. Alcohol, I realize.
He steps back. “Get on your knees.”
I stare at him, frozen. The command was clear enough, but it feels like an error. “Sir?”
“On your knees, soldier. Now.”
Carefully, I comply. The floor is hard and cold and my uniform is too stiff to make this position comfortable. Still, I remain on my knees for so long that a curious spider scuttles forward, peering at me from underneath a chair. I stare at Anderson’s polished boots, the muscled curves of his calves noticeable even through his pants. The floor smells like bleach and lemon and dust.
When he commands me to, I look up.
“Now say it,” he says softly.
I blink at him. “Sir?”
“Tell me that I am your master.”
My mind goes blank.
A dull, warm sensation washes over me, a searching paralysis that locks my tongue, jams my mind. Fear propels through me, drowning me, and I fight to break the surface, clawing my way back to the moment.
I meet his eyes.
“You are my master,” I say.
His stiff smile bends, curves. Joy catches fire in his eyes. “Good,” he says softly. “Very good. How strange that you might turn out to be my favorite yet.”
KENJI
I stop short at the door.
Warner is here.
Warner and James, together.
James was given his own private section of the MT— which is otherwise full and cramped—and the two of them are here, Warner sitting in a chair beside James’s bed, James propped up against a stack of pillows. I’m so relieved to see him looking okay. His dirty-blond hair is a little too long, but his light, bright blue eyes are open and animated. Still, he looks more than a little tired, which probably explains the IV hooked up to his body.
Under normal circumstances, James should be able to heal himself, but if his body is drained, it makes the job harder. He must’ve arrived malnourished and dehydrated. The girls are probably doing what they can to help speed up the recovery process. I feel a rush of relief.
James will be better soon. He’s such a strong kid. After everything he’s been through—
