Page 10 of Agor the Merciless (Orc Mates #10)
Zoe scrambled to her feet, straightening her grease-stained shirt. Blood pounded in her ears. The joy of working with her hands had vanished, replaced by rage. Is was the same anger she felt when her father dismissed her talent, and Mark told her to be less of herself.
“You said I could do whatever makes me happy.” She showed him her blackened fingertips. “This makes me happy. Fixing things. Making them work.”
Agor’s nostrils flared. He stepped forward, radiating a contained, dangerous heat.
“I changed my mind.”
“You can’t just…”
“You are not to work with your hands. Not in grease. Not in dirt. Not in filth.”
“That’s not fair. I was helping! The engine was broken, and I fixed it. I did something useful!”
Agor slammed his fist against the stone wall. Dust and small fragments rained down, but Zoe didn’t flinch.
“Useful?” He barked the word. “My mate doesn’t need to be useful! My mate is a treasure, not a tool.”
He paced around her, his eyes never leaving hers. The torchlight cast his face in sharp angles, highlighting the broken tusk, the scar across his nose.
“Do you understand what it means to be mine?” He stopped in front of her. “You are to be worshipped, honored, kept safe.”
His hand reached out, thick fingers brushing against her cheek with a gentleness that contradicted his anger.
“I will bring you fresh water, not let you wallow in muck. I will feed you the choicest meat, not watch you strain and break yourself for others.” His voice dropped.
“I will dress you in the finest pelts, not in rags stained with grease. I will give you pleasure beyond imagination, not subject you to labor.”
He grabbed her hands, engulfing them in his, rubbing at the grease smudges with his thumb.
“These hands will touch only me. They will never again be blackened by common work.”
His words were a dismissal of everything she was. She pulled her hands free, stepping back.
“So I’m supposed to sit here in this cave? Waiting for you like some... some doll?”
“You are to be cherished, not used.”
“What you call cherishing feels like a prison. I didn’t come here to be useless.”
Agor shook his head, his eyes showing only incomprehension. “Not useless. Sacred.”
“Is that why you dragged me away? Because I’m too sacred to help? Too precious to have a purpose beyond waiting for you?”
“I protect what is mine.”
The gentleness in his voice was worse than the anger. He believed he was honoring her by locking her away, by stripping her of the very thing that made her feel alive. His worship was a cage.
She’d actually started to think this world was different, that she’d found a place where her hands on an engine were a good thing.
For a moment, she’d thought her strength wouldn’t be treated as a flaw here.
But Agor saw her skill as something to be scrubbed away.
He didn’t want Zoe the Mechanic. He wanted Zoe the Ornament.
Another pretty, useless thing to polish and display.
“You don’t understand who I am at all.” Her voice was a whisper.
For a moment, she didn’t know how else to react, what to say to him to convince him he was making a mistake. Then it struck her it wasn’t her responsibility to make him see how wrong he was. He should’ve known better.
“You lied to me. You told me I could do whatever makes me happy. You said that!” Her hands balled into fists. “Was everything a lie? The gentleness? The respect? Just to get me into your bed?”
His eyes darkened, a muscle jumping in his jaw.
“I didn’t lie. I changed…”
“Liar!” she screamed. “You’re no different from the men I left behind. They wanted to keep me small, too. They wanted me pretty, and quiet, and useless!”
His composure broke. With a harsh intake of breath, he lunged, moving too fast for her to react. His fingers wrapped around her wrist.
She twisted in his grip.
“Let me go!”
She dug her nails into his forearm, but they left only white marks on his thick skin. He dragged her toward the bed and the iron bolt. He caught her other wrist, pinning both in one hand while forcing her down onto the furs. From his belt he pulled a length of rope.
“Agor, stop.”
She bucked against him, trying to throw him off, but he was immovable. He looped the rope around her wrists, binding them to the iron bolt above the bed.
“Please. Don’t do this. This is not the right time.”
He stood over her. His expression wavered for a moment, then hardened into a blank mask.
Without a word, he turned his back on her.
He crossed the cavern in five strides. At the entrance, he paused, half-turned as if to speak, then continued into the dark tunnel.
His footsteps receded down the passage until silence filled the chamber.
She thrashed against her bonds. It was a good thing he hadn’t ravished her, like she’d thought he would, but still, this didn’t make things better.
Her throat burned as she screamed both curses and pleas.
She sensed more than saw the light fading outside the cave.
The torch hissed, its flame shrinking as the oil burned away.
The scattered candles cast a weak light against the encroaching darkness.
Time stretched on, marked only by the burning in her shoulders and the gnawing emptiness in her stomach.
Her anger cooled, leaving a dull ache that settled deep in her bones.
Her strength ebbed, and she sagged against the ropes.
The sweet scent of the furs under her now seemed sickly and cloying.
This bed, their sanctuary, was now a prison, and the stone walls seemed to press in from all sides.
She had escaped her family’s manipulation only to find herself literally bound by Agor’s idea of protection. The irony wasn’t lost on her.
The crunch of gravel in the tunnel jolted her. The sound was wrong – not Agor’s heavy footfalls, but lighter, cautious steps that hesitated, then advanced. She went still, every muscle tensed. Had he sent someone to free her? Had he reconsidered?
The steps drew closer. A figure emerged from the tunnel. The silhouette paused at the threshold, then stepped into the weak candlelight. It was Pira, clutching a small basket to her chest. Her eyes widened at the sight of Zoe tied to the wall, and her face crumpled with pity.