Page 8 of A Broken Promise (the Freckled Fate #1)

8

I slowly opened my eyes. The bright summer sun almost blinded me immediately. I didn’t have a chance to even blink twice, as nauseating dread rolled through me. Panicking, I raced my eyes to the wall-length windows and then back to my damaged body. It was still daytime, and I was still dressed in the same clothes.

Good.

I couldn’t have been out that long. The rope was gone from my neck, but it brought little relief as I realized that my wrists were tightly wrapped and anchored around one of the four large bed posts with rope just long enough to move my arms.

Alive. I was alive. Though, still a slave, now to the worst kind of monster. I took a second look around. It was a very spacious room, furnished with taste and luxury. The ceilings were high with an exquisite golden chandelier. The hardwood floors matched the color of the wooden beams through the ceiling. Right across the bed I was laying on was a large couch made from the albino tiger fur with a magnificent glass and metal coffee table in front. Tree-like plants in the large, painted pots were neatly trimmed and stood in two of the corners. The statues, the one-of-a-kind art on the textile-like walls, were much more luxurious than in the throne hall or anywhere else in the manor.

My eyes paused on two doors in the room. I didn’t have to question which was which as one abruptly opened, and the Destroyer General walked in.

His muscled body was steaming, and I could swear glowing, as small droplets of water rolled down his naked, smooth chest. He wore nothing but a wrapped white towel around the low of his waist. He ran his fingers through the still-wet hair, neatly trimmed on the sides and ruffled on top, and walked towards the dresser across the room.

At the sight of him, I jolted on the bed. His fierce, dark brown eyes turned on me.

A vulture and his prey.

“You are awake,” he stated, his eyes sliding down my body, assessing. My heart raced, yet my figure froze, gulp stuck mid throat.

A second later, like I wasn’t even there, he turned back and walked towards the dresser.

I bunched my knees to my chest, tugging my twisted dress skirt lower to cover my bare legs. He casually pulled a few items of clothing out of the black armoire.

Get away. Run.

But the initial panic settled in and though my heart begged me, I understood well enough that even if I was one of the Magic Wielders there was nothing— nothing —I could do right now to stop the Destroyer General from melting my skin away; from burning me until I was nothing but ash.

There was nothing I could do to even try to run.

I was wounded and hurt, tied and locked in a large manor, deep in the woods.

Alone. There was no one that would come and save me.

Nobody that could help.

I could do nothing, and I had no one.

Hopelessness was a poison that simmered through my veins. Deep anger and rage heated up inside of me, boiling, as if it were molten lava, spilling to the very ends of my limbs .

Commanding me to survive. Ordering me to take charge—to live.

I would survive or die trying.

Defiantly, I raised my eyes from underneath my bunched-up brows and stared at him. My eyes hit the back of his head. He was still facing the dresser, lazily putting clothes on. A white tunic now covered his defined back. Within a breath, the towel dropped, exposing his round and firm backside just for a second as he pulled his black leather pants up. I didn’t look away, even as my heart raced at an unknown speed. Being a slave didn’t quite grant you privacy.

He turned to me, as if feeling my stare, slowly rolling his sleeves up his tan, muscled forearms.

I tensed my jaw, fighting the panic within me. He was in his late twenties, perhaps older, though oddly young for a general. A feared general. Lord of Death, Inadios called him.

I wouldn’t let myself be tricked by his handsome features. True monsters were always hiding underneath a pretty mask.

He sauntered across the room carelessly, until he reached the bed and rested against one of the bed posts across from me. Folding his arms, he looked down at me.

“So, a Creator girl. What’s your name?” His dark brown eyes flashed with curiosity. His face was mature, and those eyes seemed ancient. A shiver went through my body.

For a split second I thought to lie—come up with a name and a story fitted for a Creator. But a part of me wanted him to know my name so if… No, when.

When I kill him, or he kills me, it would haunt him for the rest of his miserable existence.

“Finn,” I sharply said without backing down my stare. My eyes watered but I refused to blink. We stared at each other for what felt like an eternity. His face was expressionless, but I hid none of the hate in mine.

He finally unfolded his arms and put his hands in his pockets.

“You know, my father used to incinerate people if they looked at him without his permission. How the times have changed,” he said, his eyes narrowing while the corners of his mouth tugged upwards, his voice sinful.

I wanted to kill him then. It was my life, my existence, and for him, it was all a joke…

“What are you going to do with me?” I asked and immediately regretted it.

He straightened up and stared out of the window, ignoring me.

I could feel the anger burning me from within.

Perhaps, Fate never gifted me magic because she knew that if I had even an ounce of it, I would slowly make him choke on the air he was wasting and have his own ash fill up his lungs.

“You need to change,” he finally said without answering my question. My body trembled from pain or anger—I wasn’t sure. He continued, “You are filthy and covered in vomit and blood.”

I smelled the dried vomit on my sleeves the moment I woke up and could feel my hair crusty with blood, but that was fitting, considering my circumstances. I didn’t even remember throwing up, but that must have happened when I passed out. Either way, I wasn’t going to just play a pretty dress up doll for him.

“No,” I rebelliously said, glaring back at him. Though my voice was quiet and missing the intended bite to it, it didn’t shake, and I was proud of that.

I watched his face carefully and clenched my jaw tighter, seeing a slight flicker of amusement in his face.

My large, scratchy ropes evaporated into nothing but specks of ash as silver flames appeared out of thin air and ran through them. Scrambling, I shut my eyes and stopped breathing, preparing for the encompassing pain of the Destroyer’s fire. Yet when the pain didn’t come, I opened my eyes just to see my wrists free and silver flames gone.

I sharply looked back at him, my eyes full of hate and terror. He returned the stare, though, casual. Like nothing ever happened.

“A few rules, Finn…” He paused, tilting his head to the side just a bit. I willed my eyes to keep his stare, though my whole existence begged me to look away. “You do what I say when I say and how I say it. You do not run away, or even think about running away, unless you want to end up dead. You do not use your magic unless I tell you so. You will address me as the Lord Master or Lord Destroyer General. Now, do we have an understanding?”

I didn’t reply, staying completely silent. Something inside of me stirred furiously at just his presence.

Child torturer.

Child defiler.

A monster.

Monster of all monsters.

Defiance will be the death of me, Viyak once told me, and I was pretty sure he was right as I murmured.

“Go. To. Hell.”

His eyes widened in bafflement, but he quickly corrected that slip up.

“The dress is in the washroom. Go clean up,” he ordered as he swiftly strode out of the door.

The room filled up with heavy silence. The defiant facade I was keeping up crumbled down faster than a sandcastle against the large ocean wave. Tears started dropping down my cheeks. No, not yet, I told myself as I bit down my inner lip again, but even that didn’t help as emotions overcame me.

“ One minute, ” I whispered to myself. One minute is all I was going to take to pity myself and cry. And then I would get dressed and I would listen.

I would be obedient and meek.

I had to play that role many times and I could do it once more.

The bathroom was breathtaking; nothing compared to the one I bathed in just the night before. It was a spacious room with walls and floors made from pure white marble and delicate gold fixtures on the bathtub and sinks. There was a huge mirror spread above the tall, marble counter with cut in sinks. On the opposite side from the door was a semicircle giant window. It was a stained-glass mosaic. Colors of purple, red and blue mixed with green and yellow danced everywhere in the room, bringing life to the cold white of the walls. A large bath on golden, curved legs stood right in front of it .

You could bathe in rainbows, I thought to myself as I took another slow breath of the pinewood aroma coming from shampoos and oils laid out on a small stool near the tub.

The General never told me when he was coming back, I realized, and I supposed it didn’t matter. I wasn’t going to allow myself to lounge in the bubbly bath and risk anyone catching me off guard. I grinded my teeth and clenched my jaw, putting on the large, baby pink dress. The long skirt was made from layers of sheer pink tule. The top was made from a darker flushed shade, connected to the skirt just above my waist. Small but puffy, short sleeves stuck out like oversized pom poms on my bony shoulders. At least the top looked less baggy on my starved bust.

A few painful grunts came out of me as I attempted to tie the top of my dress in the back. Attempted, but didn’t succeed, leaving my back half exposed.

The wet, white towel turned crimson red as I ran it through my wet hair, dried blood slowly soaking off in pieces. I stared at myself, gradually moving the comb through my poorly chopped hair. All the makeup that Brita so religiously put on me this morning was ruined, leaving running streaks of mascara. Whatever powders she used were now streaked from tears and caked in creases like dirt. At least, the small black eye and the large purple and blue bruises covering my arms worked as an accessory to the pink fluffy dress.

I forced my mouth to stretch in a wide, glowing smile. I would smile until I felt the claws of darkness ease their grip from my soul. Smile through tears, smile until the muscles of my jaw would hurt. I would smile until I would convince myself that the happy image I see is what I am.

Yet the lump in my throat grew heavier, almost choking me.

“ Stop, damn it,” I muttered to myself as I wiped snot with the back of my hand that was dribbling down past my lips now. Still shrugging with internal sobs, I squinted my eyes tight to stop the tears.

You are truly pathetic.

Get it together, Finnleah.

The anger, like my righteous protector, was ready to barge in to raise the crumbling walls back up. Like a switch, I blinked and let the anger flow in.

I stared at myself again. I am strong and I will survive .

I rinsed my red face in the cold, almost icy water, tiny droplets almost evaporating at the touch of my skin.

I felt hot. I was hot. Feverish.

My mind might be able to climb any mountain, yet my body was weak. Broken.

I sighed in defeat, though some level of relief came with it. I was grateful that my body carried me this far, and if I must rot from within to meet my Death, so be it.

Better that, than by the hands of the Destroyer.