Page 45 of The Delta’s Rogue (Crescent Lake #4)

I lie on the bed in my prison disguised as a room, curled into a ball, with the heavy blankets tucked around me.

The room is warm, and I wear a beautiful fur-lined silk robe—heavier and warmer than the silk robe Brenna brought me ages ago—but there is a bone-aching chill that never diminishes.

It radiates from within me, from the cracks and the shattered pieces of my soul that grow with each passing day, with each act of submission, with each moment I pretend to be exactly what they want me to be.

Broken. Lifeless. A lump of clay for them to mold.

I pretended to pretend with Sebastian that first night at the club when we searched for Lennox. I don’t know how much more I can take, how much longer I can last until I’m once again no longer pretending.

I hug myself tighter and try to sleep, but slumber evades me. Instead, I’m haunted by memories. Memories of a pair of gray eyes and a head of messy, sandy-brown hair, and memories of everything they’ve made me do in my training since the day I knelt before Amara in submission.

I’ve practiced kneeling for hours on end, as well as holding other poses for them. I’ve practiced walking with a chain attached to my collar while Brenna guides me by using it like a leash.

They’ve forced me to dance while clothed and unclothed. They’ve taught me the proper noises and expressions to make, filming and photographing me so I can learn from my mistakes.

I’ve learned how to wrap my lips around a dildo, to relax my throat to take my “Dom” in deeper while he fucks my mouth.

They made me take that same dildo and insert it into my pussy, coaching me to pleasure myself with it and ride it, to put on a show for my “Dom” or anyone he may ask me to entertain.

All the while, Amara has watched me with unrestrained excitement and pride. She watches all the girls, but she takes extra satisfaction from my pain, from my degradation.

The worst part for me isn’t doing those things they force me to do. It’s not the actions themselves that are breaking me. Those, while horrifying, are only a drop in the bucket.

No. What’s truly breaking me is that I can no longer differentiate between the memories of my time with Sebastian and the ones from this monstrous place. I can’t remember what he taught me and what they did. It all warps together, overlapping and swirling.

Moments I could have sworn were memories from my nights with Sebastian now feature Amara front and center, praising me and rewarding me and soothing me. Moments I thought were recent have Sebastian holding me and encouraging me while forcing me to perform for him and endure this endless torture.

Somewhere deep in my soul, I know my Sebastian would never treat me that way. He was always so careful with me, checking in with me throughout every session, and so tender with me afterwards, cuddling me and comforting me and murmuring sweet nothings in my ear.

But the longer I weather this savagery, the more warped and distorted my memories become, and it’s only a matter of time before I forget the truth. Before I forget the soft, caring, protective side of Sebastian and only associate him with torture and pain and cruelty.

Goddess, I hope Brenna’s plan works. I hope we can reach my people in time and they can get me out.

I hope Sebastián will want a broken shell of the girl he once knew.

The familiar itch of electricity zinging through my bloodstream holds me in place as the door to my room opens.

They’ve granted me more luxuries over the weeks. The chains disappeared after the first full week of my submission. I’m fed meager meals twice a day—enough to keep me alive and give me energy, but never enough to fill my stomach .

Despite the amount of “freedom” I’m given, they continue to use my blood against me when necessary, and the silver cuffs and collar remain on my body.

It’s a reminder that I’m still their prisoner, even with the allowances and the luxuries they grant me.

I’m still trapped within the walls of their prison, an innocent captive in a den of heathens.

I tense against the unwelcome manipulation of my body. No matter how many times I experience it, I never adjust to the feeling. I burrow into my pillow and tug my blankets tighter around me as the door closes and the magical hold releases, ignoring the noise of the wheeled cart Brenna pushes.

I’ve no appetite today. Not after being led around like a dog for hours in six-inch platform heels and strappy, leather lingerie.

I don’t want to eat. All I want is for her to turn around and leave me alone. I want to hide in my bed, forget about everything I’ve gone through, and chase sleep until it’s time for Brenna to wake me in the morning.

But luck, it seems, is not on my side.

“I have exciting news!”

My eyes fly open. Ice forms in my veins at the sound of Amara’s sickeningly sweet voice. Her face fills my field of vision, and she rubs my upper back as she talks down to me.

“Come, sweet girl.” She urges me to scoot off the bed. “I’ve brought you a gift.”

I bite back any response I have for her. Nothing I say will help my situation. I must remain docile and compliant.

Para mi. Para Brenna . For me and Brenna, and every female they’ve ever harmed.

Amara’s dress rustles across the floor as I slide myself off the bed and follow her to the dressing area, where a rack full of new lingerie and dresses—and lingerie disguised as dresses—sits waiting for us, Brenna standing at its side.

Trailing my fingers on the hanging garments, I walk from one end of the rack to the other, pretending to examine each outfit. In reality, I’m staring blankly while focusing on placing one foot in front of the other without tripping on the hem of my too-long red robe.

“This is a very exciting occasion, and I’m allowing you to choose a new outfit to celebrate.”

I glance at Amara, who is waiting for me to reply.

“What are we celebrating?” I humor her even though I want nothing less .

“You’re being auctioned!”

She crosses to me and wraps me in a hug. Before I can think about what I’m doing, I’m returning her embrace, too shocked to do anything else. With my chin on Amara’s shoulder, I catch Brenna’s eye.

She fidgets with a garment on the rack, pretending to check the lace and the beading along the hem, but I spot the nervous trembling of her hands. There’s a shimmer of excitement in her eyes as well, and she gives me a reassuring smile and a nod before tearing her eyes away from mine.

“Isn’t that the best news?” Amara rests her hands on my shoulders, bending to my level. “I’m so proud of you. I’m sad to see you go, but I know you will serve your Dom well, whomever they may be.”

She leans forward and kisses my forehead. I have the urge to gag, or to shove her away, wrap my hands around her neck, and squeeze until she can no longer breathe. But I curl my fists into the fabric of my robe and swallow back the rising bile.

She spins and crosses to Brenna, wrapping her in a hug as well. “You’ve done splendidly too, darling Brenna. He will be pleased.”

Brenna pales, but she forces a smile as Amara gazes at her with satisfaction.

“Help our sweet Anaís find something to wear for the auction.” Her attention switches back to me as she instructs Brenna.

Amara’s eyes linger on my cleavage. My fingers twitch, itching to grab the hem of the robe crossing over my chest and cover myself with it.

“Preferably an outfit that shows off those gorgeous breasts of hers. Our buyers will be frothing at the mouth when they see them.”

“Yes, Mistress Amara,” Brenna says.

I blink away the tears in my eyes and fight my instincts to launch myself at Amara and claw her eyes out.

Soon. I’ll get my chance soon. Once I’m free, once I have access to my resources, I’ll hunt her down and fulfill every waking dream I’ve had about torturing her and killing her.

For now, I must continue to play her game and convince her I’m everything she wants me to be .

Brenna wraps her hand around the vial of my blood around her neck—I’ve lost track of how many times they’ve taken blood from me at this point—and I’m frozen in place as Amara leaves the room. The door clicks shut, and the bolt spins into the frame.

I open my mouth, but Brenna angles her head, brows raised in a silent warning.

“What do you think of this one, Anaís?”

I stroll to join her, heart thundering in my chest and hope blossoming within me. My eyes flick to the ceiling and then back to Brenna, who gives me a subtle nod.

Her illusion is in place.

“Are they really auctioning me?” I grab her arm and squeeze it tightly.

“On May fourteenth, yes.”

The hope blooming into thousands of tiny white and yellow flowers disappears in an instant, blown away by a gust of wind that sends stormy clouds in front of the sun.

“May fourteenth?” I repeat. “But Nuncio caught me on April thirtieth, and I’ve been here for at least two months. May fourteenth was weeks ago.”

Brenna removes a few garments from the rack. She slides my hand into hers and leads me to the pedestal, guiding me to stand on its smooth, raised surface. “Time moves differently here.”

“What?”

“What feels like weeks to you is only days to the outside world.”

Her delicate, deft fingers undo the buttons on my robe, and the fabric falls to the floor, pooling at my feet. It’s dark and rippling and thick. It’s a mirror of the blood Brenna keeps in the vial around her neck. A foreshadowing of the blood I will spill when I’m free and can exact my revenge.

“ ?Días? ” My voice cracks against my will.

“It’s only been a few days for your friends and family.” Brenna slips one of the dresses over my head.

The room blurs and spins, but I lift my arms and slide them through the flimsy straps, my body on autopilot as she clothes me.

“I don’t understand exactly how it works,” she continues as she tightens the corset lacings on the back of the bodice, “but now that you’ve been scheduled for an auction this month, time will move normally for you again. ”

I push my hands against my stomach to staunch the nausea bubbling there, to quell the gut-wrenching sob forming from within the depths of my soul. One hand covers the other and squeezes, so my mind focuses on something besides the rising panic and anxiety.

Brenna adjusts the skirt of the outfit, straightening it and smoothing out the ruffle that barely hides the bottom of my ass cheeks.

“Amara wanted to put you on the roster for May seventh, but I convinced her to give you another week. I convinced her it was the best choice, so you can be as close to perfect as possible and she’ll get as much money as she can out of your sale.

” She circles to the front, still smoothing minuscule wrinkles out of the skirt.

“That way, your people have more time to concoct a plan to rescue you.”

The emotions I worked so hard to hold back burst from me in a loud, sputtering sob. I’ve held all of it in during the weeks of my training, pushing it aside so all I experienced was a trickle—like the dripping of a leaky sink—but I can’t keep it in any longer.

My trembling hand flies to my mouth as wave after wave of tears escapes me, and Brenna’s focus lifts to my face, her optimism falling to the wayside.

My weakened legs can no longer hold me upright, and she catches me in her embrace as I collapse, lowering us so we both sit on the edge of the fancy pedestal.

“Sarina?” she whispers, holding my quivering body in her arms as I cry. My tears and snot soak and stain the black velvet of her dress. “What’s wrong?”

“Days.” I strain my neck through the tightening of my throat and grit my teeth at a rare shock of pain from the silver collar.

I’m mostly numb to the icy pain of the silver after wearing the shackles for so long, but every once in a while, the metal brushes against untarnished skin and that excruciating sensation jolts through me again. “ Solo han pasado unos días …”

It’s only been days .

She hugs me tighter, her hands stroking my back. “Isn’t it better this way?”

“Better?”

“Isn’t it better that they haven’t endured your absence for that long?”

I sit straight and glare at her through my tear-soaked eyelashes, hand slamming against my chest. “What about what I’ve endured?

” I growl, lip curling. “What about what I’ve been through?

The misery, the manipulation, the abuse?

No matter how short it’s been for them, it doesn’t change how long it’s been for me.

How can I heal from that? How can any of them understand the extent of everything I’ve been through when they think I’ve been gone for only a few days?

” I close my hands into fists and clench my eyes shut, shaking my head as a fresh, stormy, funnel cloud of sobs forms in my chest. “How can I face them after everything I’ve done? ”

She takes my hand in both of hers and scoots closer to me until our knees and foreheads touch. “They will understand that you did what you had to do. That you did it to save yourself. And they will help you heal. He will help you heal.”

My heart plummets to my feet, and I curl tighter into myself, but Brenna doesn’t let me pull away.

“ ?Y si ya no me quiere? ” I verbalize my true fear, almost incapable of getting the words out. “What if he doesn’t want me? How could he possibly still want me?”

“Because he loves you.”

“He never said—”

“Just because he never said the words to you, it doesn’t mean it’s untrue. You forget—I’ve seen your memories. I saw the way he looked at you, and I heard the words he said to you.” Her gaze lowers to my ribs.

I move my hand there, tracing over the invisible lines of the tattoos that her magic hides from sight.

“There’s more than one way to say ‘I love you’.” She watches my fingers as they rewrite the words that have brought me peace so many times over the last four years.

A tiny piece of me knows she’s right. He never told me, but I felt his love in my soul. It grew deeper and stronger every time we were together. It rippled and soared across the galaxy between us during the days we were apart.

“He loves you, Sarina.” She lifts her eyes to meet mine again. “I know he does. Which is why we’re going to contact him tonight, so we can tell him the date of your auction.”

“ ?Esta noche? ”

“Yes. Tonight.”

I lean forward and squeeze her hand tighter, my heart floating up from my feet and racing faster than the speed of light. “How?”

“I can connect the two of you in a dream.”

That spark of hope flares to life inside me again. It’s brief, a distant star in an endless sky of pure night. It’s buried by my fear of how he’ll react—of what he’ll think of me, of whether he’ll still want me—but it’s there.

“You mean…”

Brenna smiles at me. “You’ll get to see him.”