Page 13

He slides down the door and drapes his arms around his bent legs, the golden brown of his skin a perfect pairing with the cobalt blue of his jumpsuit, which I shouldn’t be noticing at all.

I relocate to the wall when my stomach finally settles, then we’re quiet, him against the door and me on the opposite wall, waiting, watching, staring so intently as the last of twilight gives way to shades of night.

When only the blue light of the moons ventures through the tiny window above me, I lie on my side on the cold, hard floor and tuck my hands under my head like a pillow, trying to ignore the earthy scent hanging in the air around me.

I wait in the dark of the black room, my back to the man at the door, my eyes forced open and my heart beating to the volatile rhythm of the unknown. Once I hear the shuffling sound of him laying his body flat on the floor, the slow breaths, and I’m the only one watching the shadows on the walls, I know it’s time.

As though I’m sneaky and stealthy and swift—and not at all loud—I roll my body over the raw obsidian. One roll and I wait, sensing the air for a change in his breathing, a twitch of muscle.

Nothing.

I roll again and again, my hip bones kissing stone with each turn. He’s right next to me on his back, quiet as death, save for the little drum inside his chest. My spine to the floor, I wait again, letting it beat, so steady and sure, unlike the riot inside my own chest.

I scoot, one tiny movement closer at a time until the hairs on my arm graze his. I take shaky breaths in and out, then stop breathing altogether as I roll onto my side to face him. He smells faintly of cloves. His arms trace down his sides toward his outstretched legs, and with black curls blending into the floor,his head balances on the stone, nose pointed straight up at the ceiling.

Who sleeps like this?

I lift my head and inspect the space between us, then inch my way downward until I can reach his legs. I creep my hands closer and work my fingers into the first pocket I find, slowly lifting and shifting the folds of coarse fabric all the way down to the bottom. Empty.

So carefully, I pull my hand back out, watching his chest lift and settle, his face motionless. I feel around for another pocket, my fingers feathering over his thigh. I run into a raised flap and slip my hand inside to explore. Fabric presses against my knuckles. My palm slides against his leg.

I hit something hard.

The stone for the door.My way out.My fingers curl around the cold form and retrace the movements of my hand, backing out of his pocket with the treasure. As it comes into view—silver and slick and smooth—his hand clamps down on my wrist and smashes it against the floor.

I gasp and try to roll away, but he has me pinned, his hand keeping me at his side. My other arm is useless under me. He sits up, so wide awake with gleaming eyes and muscles hard like the stone between my fingers that I doubt he was ever asleep.

“That’s mine.” His voice grates the night air, and crisp, cool darkness wreaths around us, between us, above and below us, binding and looping around limbs, cold licking my neck and back.

I drop the stone, not able to hold it with my hand in his crushing clutch, bending my fingers in all the wrong ways. My tendons click and snick over my bones as he grinds down.

It’s hard to find my voice, but when I do, I force my ire into it to mask the defeat. “Is that all you got?” I wince, giving myself away.

His eyes go wide, and he eases his grip a notch, as though he wasn’t aware of his own strength. “I thought you said there wouldn’t be any entertainment.”

“You’re such a fucking creep.”

“I expect you to behave, little prisoner.” He squints down at me, blue moonlight blush on his cheeks. “And I suggest you keep your hands out of my pants unless you want me to return the favor.”

“You took my pants.”

“And offered youmyclothes like a fine fucking gentleman. Seems to me you like being half-dressed.”

“Fuck gentlemen,” I hiss. “You’re deranged. You stole my underwear and started stripping. Who does that?”

That smirk returns with a vengeance. “You’ve obviously never had a worthwhile guard before.”

He releases me, and I scurry back to the wall to nurse my numb hand. I was so damn close. I turn my rings in endless circles around my tingling fingers and take one last look at the mean man now perched in front of the door—guarding, keeping me in and others out—exactly how I guard my mind.

Despite all efforts, my eyes fall shut to the lullaby of thunder and rain. I sink further into the inky black of the wall, wishing it would slurp me into its shiny depths and spit me back into Caldera with Kelter at my side.

But it doesn’t.

It leaves me afflicted with images of what the man across the room might be capable of…and the horrors of a realm without coffee.

Chapter

Six