Page 263 of Coal Hearts

He was right that his advice was contradicting and confusing.

But for now, I just nodded. I refused to remember him blowing Victor in that animal carcass-filled room. I refused to accept that I’d have to watch him pleasure other Masters before I managed to get him free. If he needed me to promise that I’d stay fighting, then I’d keep fighting. For him. For all of them. “I’ll put it under my pillow.”

“Achchha.” (Good.) He never looked away. The moment stretched far too long before he ducked his head and pressed a fleeting kiss right on my mouth.

I froze.

Kirk sucked in a breath.

Rebecca went to say something, but two tall shadows appeared in the door frame. “What the fuck are you all doing in here?”

Slaves scattered.

Some bolted past the two guards. Others backed away into the corners of the room.

Peter gulped and slowly turned to face them. He kept his head bowed and body as meek as he could make it. “Nothing. Forgive us.”

The taller, broader of the guards with a shiny bald head spat, “Get up to breakfast. You’re late. All of you.”

Peter shot a look at the clock where my delusion-dragon had sulked last night.

8:19 a.m.

“Fuck.” Peter went deathly still before he shot into action. Spinning to me, he snatched my pendant from my hand and threw it back on the baskets of gemstones. Raking his eyes over the crowded room, he hissed, “Run.”

The guards stepped aside as jewels charged down the corridor and vanished.

“Come on.” Grabbing my wrist, Peter dragged me into a gallop.

Past the bathroom.

Through our quarters.

Right through the citadel and into the glaringly bright, horribly new morning.

Chapter Six

...............................

Henri

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MY TEETH TORE INTO A wonderfully warm baguette with lashings of ice-cold butter.

I’d never tasted anything so delicious.

I couldn’t remember ever having such a voracious appetite.

I’d only slept a couple of hours before my stomach woke me for another meal, and I’d stepped into the most sublime morning, walking around in hyperawareness.

My deliberate cold shower felt like pristine snow against my skin.

My toothbrush like minty bubbles in my mouth.

Even my clothes felt better than usual, and they weren’t even mine.

The grey t-shirt and jeans I’d chosen from the wardrobe were far more like my usual style back home before I had to pretend to be a rich son of a bitch who lived in tailored suits and rubbed shoulders with sadists.