A victim who couldn’t even acknowledge he’d been a victim.
A boy who’d grown into a man who’d suppressed each touch, crime, and wound that had wrongly been done to him. And because of my blindness, I’d allowed him to once again trap me.
You truly are one of a kind, Gem.
And not in a good way.
I sat back on my haunches, my hands still buried in useless drawers. Nothing but dust-free neatness. A few pens and perfectly stacked schematics on plumbing, wiring, and the original blueprints of building this diabolic place.
Just like everything in this mansion, the level of tidiness bordered on obsessive.
And the only person who was around to keep this poverty palace in such pristine condition was none other than the comatose man currently twitching in his sleep across the room.
Argh.
I fell backward and lay on the carpet.
What the hell am I going to do?
No answers were forthcoming. No epiphany on how to juggle a mentally broken man and my desire for freedom. I was pulled in two directions. I wanted to stay and to go. I had no idea which was right.
You could start by trying to get that damn cuff off.
Fresh purpose slipped through my limbs. I was tired. Immensely so. It seemed just dealing with Kas, even in small doses, drained me of everything I had.
With a groan, I pushed upright and climbed to my feet. Padding around Kas, still sleeping on the floor, I paused for a moment. Moonlight shone over his face, making his skin shimmer pewter in the dark. With his eyes closed and mouth soft, I could be forgiven for thinking he was a kind, wonderful man who lavished me with love and affection. He seemed to have that quality about him. He was protective of those he loved. I’d witnessed that protection. He’d sacrificed himself over and over again for his Fable siblings, according to his numerous nightmares.
A heart of gold, tarnished and dinged but still priceless, was inside that scarred chest of his. Perhaps, I would never figure out how to earn it. Maybe, this was an utter waste of time, and I should just run away now while I had the chance.
So why, as my eyes traced over his wild, long hair, his scruffy beard, and prematurely lined eyes, did my heart skip a stupid beat and yearn for him.
I didn’t even know him.
Not really.
I only knew his nightmares and not the man left behind.
So how could I explain the painful bond I felt toward him?
How could I admit that, for all his savageness, I found him undeniably handsome and struggled with hot desire whenever we were close?
Was I just like those guests who’d abused him? Was I that horrendous that I’d stayed because I was physically turned on by him, despite his tragic past?
If I was a good person, wouldn’t I shut down all feelings of hunger? Wouldn’t I treat him as my brother? Someone who deserved a hug without my heart pounding for more?
God...is he right?
Did I take advantage of him that night? The night when he was a sweet teenager who’d blushed and asked me out. Who’d kissed me so softly yet the arrow of it had somehow pierced the very fabric of who I was?
Yet, when we’d first met, he was the one who forced me to my knees. He’d commanded I satisfy him. He’d demanded I grant him sexual pleasure, proving he was willing to do to me what had been done to him.
His pain had made him a beast. An unfathomable, unsavable beast.
My chest hurt.
“What are you doing to me, Kassen Sands?”
His slave name fell from my lips; a mantra I’d repeated on the many nights I’d lain in the library, trying to keep him alive. I’d stolen a copy and read the book of fables more times than I’d admit. I felt as if I knew his family from reading the fables they’d chosen and the names they’d invoked to survive this place.
How sad that Kas had chosen the Fable of Happiness, yet all I seemed to give him was grief.
“How am I supposed to help you, huh?”
He didn’t reply. Didn’t toss. Didn’t mumble. He just kept sleeping. His secrets were quiet, but his face couldn’t hide his pain. Decades worth. Far too much for a lone bumbling girl to fix.
“I’m not lonely while you’re here. That’s why you can’t go. Why you can never go. You’re mine.”
Stop thinking about that.
He didn’t mean it.
He was slurring with a concussion as he’d said it. And even if he did, didn’t he see that my very presence was what destroyed him?
For all my promises of granting him happiness. Of my assurances that I was the genie he dreamed of, the kindest thing I could do was leave.
Leave and never come back.
He was strong enough to live with the symptoms of a concussion until they passed. His arm would heal if he let the broken bone have time to knit. His other cuts and scrapes were superficial.