Acting on pure instinct, and with the reckless abandonment her father had often cautioned her about, Aria’s hand snaked up with the agility and speed that had enabled her survival for the past seventeen years. And which would probably end her life now as her hand connected with his face with an echoing slap that lingered for a long time in the deathly silent air. Aria panted, trying to catch her breath as she gazed at him in wounded shock. The mark of her bloody handprint was perfectly evident against the hard curve of his cheek.
His head, which had been knocked slightly aside by her hard blow, came slowly back to her. She could feel the shock that rolled through him, but beneath that she could feel the rolling force of fury building within him. She knew that she should be afraid, knew that she should probably beg for forgiveness, but she would not, and she did not.
He stepped against her, forcing her into the wall, his face mere inches from hers. Aria found that she could no longer breathe, her hands were shaking. He pressed tighter against her, his hands resting on either side of her head as he bent low, his nose nearly touching hers. “It won’t be you I kill Arianna,” he growled. Her breath gasped into her, her knees buckled slightly as the implication of his words sank in. “I’ll keep you alive, and I’ll make you watch. I can take whatever I want, whenever I want it. I have been kind to you so far, I will not be kind any longer. No one disobeys me, no one goes against me. I will show you what kind of a monster I can truly be.”
“No,” she managed to whisper.
“Oh yes, and I am going to enjoy it. I’m actually rather parched at the moment, it’s been awhile since I’ve fed.”
Horror tore through her, she was rapidly shaking her head as he shoved away from her, moving with swift speed toward the door. She knew where he was going, knew who he was going to retrieve, and she had to stop it. Max couldn’t be punished because she was an idiot. Max couldn’t be punished because of her. Not again.
“Wait! No! Stop! Your highness, please do not do this! Please!” She scurried after him, nearly tripping over the leash still tethered to her. She seized hold of his hand but he shook her easily off. “No!” she gasped. “Don’t do this! Braith, I’m begging you, please!”
Her feet tangled up within the leash, jerking her painfully down, and causing it to slice deeper into her flesh. “He’s my friend, just my friend! He’s been my friend since we were children! He’s like a brother to me!” she practically wailed, despair threatening to choke her as tears clogged her throat. “I have never begged anyone in my life; please I am begging you, please do not hurt him! He did nothing wrong! I’m sorry, I’ll do whatever you want, whenever you want! Punish me! Punish me!”
The force of her sobs shook her, making it almost impossible for her to breathe through her broken rib. She couldn’t move; her entire body was wracked with agony. Blood continued to spill from her wounds, forming a puddle beneath her, soaking into her dress, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything anymore. She had ruined everything; she had destroyed Max’s life. She had not freed him; instead she had given him a death sentence. And from the look on Braith’s face it would be a painful one.
There was a long moment of silence in which she could not look at him, in which she felt as if she were dying, felt as if her misery was going to kill her. And then, to her surprise, she felt the gentlest, lightest touch she had ever felt. His hands were upon her face, cradling her cheeks as he lifted her face to his. His lips were on her, brushing against her cheeks, her forehead, whispering against her ears softly as he tried to soothe her.
“Don’t,” he said softly. Her sobs shook her, rocking her harder as a soft wail escaped from her. She didn’t know why she was crying now, didn’t know where the full source of this misery was coming from, but she could no more stem the flow of it as she could stem the flow of a tsunami. “Arianna stop, you’re hurting yourself. Stop Arianna, it’s ok.”
His hands were in her hair, pulling her toward him, drawing her against him as he clung tighter to her.
Chapter 9
Aria sat silently as Braith slowly bandaged her wrist. His touch was gentle, his hands light upon her wounded and sore skin. Her tears had finally subsided but she felt exhausted, broken, completely defeated. He was being kind to her again, and she didn’t know why. Neither of them had spoken in the past hour. She did not know why he had come back to her, why he had not gone after Max, and she didn’t care. As long as Max stayed alive then she didn’t care what happened, she had promised Braith anything he wanted; she had meant it.
She didn’t know if that was what had halted him, if that promise was what had brought him back to her, but she wasn’t going to risk him changing his mind. She had overestimated his kindness and understanding of her, but then again she had slapped him in the face. She supposed she was lucky that he hadn’t just killed her outright.
He finished with her bandages, his hand rested lightly upon her wrapped wrist and fingers. She slowly lifted her head to meet his shaded eyes. “Why?” she asked softly.
“Why what?”
She swallowed heavily, fearful of sending him into another rage, but she knew she had to ask the question. “Why did you pull me off that stage? Why did you choose me when you have never chosen a blood slave before?”
He sighed softly; his hands gently squeezed hers. He rose slowly from the floor and sat on the bed beside her. “I see that people have been talking.”
She shrugged, fiddling anxiously with her bandages. “I think most are curious.”
“As are you.”
“As am I,” she agreed softly.
He remained silent for a long moment, his attention fixed on the doorway. “I have never had a blood slave because I prefer to take my blood from the willing. Many of my kind enjoy the force and the control, I do not. I never have.”
She turned slowly toward him, her fingers stilling on her bandages as she studied his hard countenance. Her blood had been wiped from his face, but she could still see the fine imprint of her fingers upon him. A small bit of shame crept through her, she shouldn’t have hit him, but she had never been known to control her temper. It had nearly cost Max his life.
“There are many willing ones out there.”
She felt his eyes slide to her, felt his gaze as it slid over her. She could only imagine what she looked like. Her eyes had to be bloodshot; she could feel the swelling in them. She imagined her face was blotchy and swollen also; her hair was in disarray, wild as it straggled about her face. For the first time she found herself caring about her looks, she did not want to be ugly to him, did not want to look like a helpless child. Yet she felt as if she were both in his eyes right now.