It had taken me days of haunting the dark corridors, but this morning, I'd found him. Hewes. Two levels down in the eastern corridor, sitting at a makeshift desk giving orders about shipments and acquisitions. His voice—that smooth, cultured tone that made my skin crawl—had been unmistakable even from a distance.
If I could get a weapon, if I could figure out a way to get close without him noticing, I could end this. End him.
But standing here now, my hand resting on the cold metal of the reinforced door, I realized how foolish that thought was. What weapon? My bare hands? Even if I managed to get inside, Hewes would have guards. He always had guards. And I was just a human woman—smaller, weaker, slower than almost every species in this godforsaken place.
The lock mechanism was complex, some kind of biometric scanner I had no hope of bypassing. I pressed my palm against it anyway, feeling the cool surface beneath my skin,willing it to somehow recognize me. To grant me access to the monster on the other side.
Nothing happened.
Of course nothing happened.
I closed my eyes, pressing my forehead against the door. I heard Hewes voice, muffled, but distinctly his, just meters away.
My fingers curled against the metal, nails scraping uselessly.
Then I heard the heavy thud of boots on metal flooring. Multiple sets, moving fast, coming from the corridor behind me.
Guards.
My heart lurched into my throat. I jerked my hand away from the door and spun around, but the footsteps were getting closer, echoing off the narrow walls. If they found me here, lurking outside Hewes's quarters, all my carefully cultivated compliance would mean nothing. They'd lock me down, watch me constantly, and any chance of getting to Hewes—any chance of freedom—would evaporate. Or worse, they'd give me to Hewes.
I ran.
My bare feet slapped against the cold floor as I sprinted back the way I'd come, taking the first turn I could find. The corridor branched left and I followed it, my breath coming in sharp gasps. Behind me, the footsteps continued their steady march. Had they seen me? Were they following?
I didn't dare look back.
Another turn, then another. The footsteps faded behind me, but I didn't slow down. Couldn't slow down. Not until I was safely back where I was supposed to be.
Finally, I recognized the junction near my assigned chamber. I slowed to a walk, forcing my breathing to steady, smoothing my hair back from my face. Just returning from a walk. Nothing suspicious. Nothing to see.
I slipped through the door to my chamber and pressed my back against it, my heart still hammering against my ribs.
That was too close.
But I'd found him. I knew where Hewes was now. And somehow, some way, I would figure out how to get to him.
The ideas were still rolling around in my head when they brought me to Ahrick after dark.
The guards didn't say anything, just opened the door to the prize room and gestured me inside. Nothing new—the pattern had been long established. After each fight, I was brought to Ahrick. I'd doctor his wounds, we'd eat and talk and plan.
And every night, I slept in his arms.
He hadn't kissed me again. Not since that first time, when everything had felt like it was falling apart and coming together all at once. We didn't talk about it. Didn't acknowledge what had shifted between us in that moment. But when the lights dimmed and exhaustion finally pulled us under, I would find myself curled against his chest, his arms wrapped around me like a shield against everything this place tried to take from us.
And tonight, after everything—after finding Hewes, after the close call with the guards, after watching Ahrick take blow after brutal blow in the arena—I needed it more than ever.
But tonight felt different.
The door closed behind me with a heavy thud, and I found him standing by the window—or what passed for a window in this place. Just a narrow slit in the metal wall that let in a sliver of Palaydium's gloomy twilight.
He was shirtless, his back to me, and even in the dim light I saw the fresh bruises blooming across his shoulders and ribs. Dark purple against the soft tan of his pelt. His long dark hair fell past his shoulders, and I saw the tension in every line of hisbody. He'd won his fight—I'd watched every brutal moment—but he'd taken damage doing it.
"Ahrick?"
He didn't turn. Just stood there, his hands braced against the wall on either side of the window, his head bowed.
Something was wrong.
