Kept by the Zandian (Zandian Brides 5)

“What do you mean?” Drayk’s hands tighten on mine.

“He said that my dark brown skin was so gorgeous, untainted. Pure. That I could sell for many stein as a pleasure slave. That he’d like such a human in his home for personal use. Mother Earth, he was vile. That greenish skin, those rheumy, mucusy eyes. He smelled like decay and death.”

I swallow hard. “And I had to stand there and look pleasant, and unconcerned, as if they were discussing the weather. Not my very existence.”

Drayk

I am ready to commit murder on all Ocretions when I hear this. My sweet human, almost sold as a pleasure slave to this monster? “They all deserve to rot,” I mutter. “Someday, stars willing, we will change this.”

Taisha pushes into me. “I hope so.”

“Do you need to stop discussing this?” I tilt her chin and peer into her face. “I do not wish to upset you.” I want to hear it, but the need to protect her rears up.

She shakes her head. “Sometimes the only way to beat the demons is to let them out by talking. It helps. If you keep holding me.” Her voice lowers. “I like it.”

I like it too… more than I should. I am aware that my body is reacting as if she were on my lap for a pleasure romp, not a difficult discussion.

I push back my arousal so I can focus on her words. “I want to help you.”

And the thing is, I really do. I wish I had the power to fix her wounds, make her happy.

“They treated me like a… thing. I was a possession, nothing more.” She clenches her fist. “Do you know how awful it is?” She wipes her eye. “There’s nothing worse in the galaxy, I’m positive.”

“You will never be that again,” I swear. “I won’t let that happen.”

Except I’m sort of doing it to her now, putting her in detention without warrant. But I’m different, I tell myself, pushing back the guilt. Her life is so much better here. It’s not the same at all.

“Well, then they left, the Master and his visitor. The son remained behind, just watching us, standing by the river.” She takes a breath. “And it’s then that it happened.”

“The important thing?” I keep my voice light, so she won’t stop talking.

“Yes. The Ocretion young fell into the river and started to drown.” She looks across the room. “They don’t swim well, and even us humans have a hard time in that river. The current is so strong. He had no chance.”

“What did you do?” I’m spellbound.

“Rannah and I ran to the bank. We could barely hear each other over the sound of the rapids and the falls. She put her mouth to my ear and said she wanted to watch him die.”

“And you?”

“I said he was only a child. Rannah got angry. Said we were were children once, too. That young grow up to be monsters, if you allow it. She wanted to enjoy the moment. She swore that his death would be her only pleasure in life.”

“Hmm.” I like this Rannah, to be honest. She seems fierce. Dedicated to her cause.

“But he looked at me, Drayk.” There is some new tone in her voice, as if she sensed my approval of Rannah just from the way I muttered. It’s like she needs to convince me of something. “Like I was someone important. Like I mattered. And there was hope in his eyes. I saw him mouth the words, help me. Please. So… I took off my boots. And I jumped in. I got him to shore and pounded his chest, and he—lived. He coughed out water forever and gasped, but he lived.”

Taisha stops talking suddenly and her body goes tight in my arms. Suddenly she begins to sob. “I had to do it,” she whispers, as her body shakes. “The other humans hated me, but I had to.”

She looks up at me, eyes wet. “Because he was not yet evil. There was still a chance. Do you understand?”

It’s like the next thing I say will be the only thing that matters.

I cup her chin and speak without even thinking. “I do. And you were right.”

I still think that Rannah has the kind of fire that can inflame an army, although perhaps she is overzealous. But Taisha has a gift of peace, the ability to withhold judgment. To make a decision that’s not based in anger. As a judge, I understand that to be just as important to our survival.

She closes her eyes and sinks back into my arms, and I know, without her speaking it aloud, that I passed some kind of test. When she continues her story—although it’s painful to hear—I feel that she’s speaking with more confidence. Like she trusts I won’t judge her.

“He told us not to tell his father, or any Ocretion, about what had happened. Then he stood up. Gave me the hand sign that means respect, the one that male Ocretions only give to each other.” She tilts her head. “He could have gotten into serious trouble for doing it to me, even if I’d saved his life. It’s not for slaves. Our lives are not important enough.”