16. Josie

16

JOSIE

I wake up feeling sore and conflicted, my body a patchwork of aches and tingles. Last night's events replay in my mind on an endless loop, a whirlwind of emotions I can't quite untangle. Lust, passion, confusion—they all swirl together, leaving me dizzy and off-balance. I've never felt so torn, so utterly consumed by contradictory feelings.

Dragging myself to the kitchen, I wince at every movement. My body aches in ways both familiar and new, a stark reminder of what transpired. As I wait for the chefs to prepare Sarod's breakfast, my hands tremble slightly, betraying my nervousness. What now? How do I face him after...? The question hangs in my mind, unanswered and terrifying.

The sound of heavy footsteps entering the dining room makes me freeze, my heart leaping into my throat. Sarod enters, his presence filling the room like a storm cloud. Our eyes meet, and electricity crackles between us, making the air feel thick and charged. I can't look away, even though every instinct screams at me to flee.

"Breakfast ready?" he grunts, his deep voice sending shivers down my spine.

I swallow hard, willing my voice not to shake. "Almost," I manage to reply, cursing inwardly at how breathless I sound. Gods, what has this orc done to me? My heart's pounding so hard I'm sure he can hear it, and I can feel heat creeping up my neck.

"Good. Once it's ready, bring it and sit. Eat with me."

It's not a request. I hesitate, then comply, my legs feeling like jelly as I move to fetch the food. When I return, I set the plates down with trembling hands and slide into the seat across from him. We eat in tense silence for a few moments, the clink of utensils almost deafening in the quiet room. I can feel his eyes on me, but I keep my gaze fixed on my plate.

Finally, Sarod speaks, his deep voice rumbling through me. "Sleep well, thief?" A smirk plays at his lips, and I can see the glint of his tusks.

I bristle at his words, my embarrassment quickly turning to indignation. "Like a rock," I snap back, meeting his gaze defiantly. "Your garden's quite comfortable, but I prefer my own bed."

He chuckles, a low rumble that sends shivers down my spine. "Didn't hear you complaining last night."

Heat rushes to my cheeks. "You were too busy grunting to hear anything."

His eyes narrow, but there's amusement dancing in their amber depths too. "Watch it, girl," he growls, his voice a low rumble that sends an involuntary shiver down my spine. "Don't forget who you're talking to."

"How could I?" I mutter, stabbing at my food with more force than necessary. The fruits on my plate become unwitting victims of my frustration. "You never let me forget for a single moment."

Sarod leans back in his chair, the wood creaking slightly under his muscular frame. His gaze is intense, almost predatory, making me squirm uncomfortably in my seat. I can feel the heat of his stare as it rakes over me, and I fight the urge to fidget or look away. "You're not like other humans," he says suddenly, his voice tinged with something I can't quite place. Curiosity? Admiration?

I look up, surprised by the unexpected comment. My fork pauses halfway to my mouth as I meet his gaze. "What's that supposed to mean?" I ask, unable to keep the defensive edge from my voice.

He shrugs, his broad shoulders rising and falling in a casual gesture that belies the intensity of his stare. His eyes don't leave mine, and I find myself caught in their amber depths. "You've got fire," he says, a hint of approval in his tone. "Most would've broken by now, begging for mercy or blubbering like children. But not you. You keep fighting, keep pushing back."

"Maybe you're not as scary as you think," I retort, but my voice lacks its usual bite. My heart races, betraying my outward composure. I can't help but wonder if he notices the slight tremor in my hands.

Sarod grins, showing his tusks. The sight of them should repulse me, but instead, I find myself oddly fascinated. "Oh, I'm plenty scary," he drawls, his amber eyes glinting with amusement. "You just might be worth keeping around."

The words hang between us, loaded with unspoken implications. I don't know how to respond, so I focus on my food instead, pushing the fruits around my plate. My mind races, trying to decipher his meaning. Worth keeping around? As what? A plaything? A challenge? Something more?

As we continue eating, the air feels charged, crackling with an energy I can't quite name. Every accidental brush of hands or meeting of eyes sends sparks through me, setting my nerves on fire. I hate how my body responds to him, how easily he affects me. It's infuriating, this pull towards someone I should despise. I catch myself stealing glances at his broad shoulders, the way his muscles flex as he reaches for his drink. Damn him and his stupid, attractive... everything.

But beneath the tension, there's something else. A strange comfort in sharing a meal, in the familiar rhythm of our banter. It terrifies me how natural this feels.

Soon enough, the conversation shifts to zyrphix. His training, his determination to be one of the best players in the league. For some reason, I like watching him talk so eagerly about his interests. His eyes light up, and his whole demeanor changes. It's... captivating, in a way I'm not ready to admit.

I don't know what comes over me, but I take a deep breath, gathering my courage. My heart's pounding so hard I swear he can hear it. Ironic how nervous I am to speak to him, considering what we were up to last night. "Your match the other day was... impressive. I've never seen anything like it." The words tumble out before I can stop them.

Sarod's eyebrows raise slightly, a hint of surprise crossing his features. "Oh? Didn't think you'd be interested in zyrphix." There's a note of curiosity in his voice that makes my stomach flip.

"I wasn't, before," I admit, fidgeting with the edge of my sleeve. "But watching you play... it was intense. The way you moved, how you handled the ball... I couldn't look away." I feel heat creeping up my neck as I realize how that sounds.

He leans forward, a glint in his eye that sends a shiver down my spine. "Would you like to see another match soon?" His voice is low, almost intimate, and I hate how much I want to say yes.

My heart skips a beat, then another. Is he actually inviting me? The thought sends a thrill through my body that I'm not entirely prepared for. "I... yes, I think I would," I stammer, cursing inwardly at how breathless I sound.

A slow, predatory grin spreads across Sarod's face, his tusks glinting in the dim light. "Good," he rumbles, his deep voice sending shivers down my spine. "You'll see why I'm considered the best captain in the league. I'll make sure you get a good seat."

"I don't doubt it," I say, surprising myself with my sincerity. The words tumble out before I can stop them. "You're a great captain, from what I've seen. The way you lead your team, it's... impressive."

Sarod's expression shifts, the playful glint in his eyes replaced by something harder, more guarded. His jaw tightens as he leans back, putting distance between us. "Don't think this changes anything between us, thief," he growls. "You're still here to work off your debt. This isn't some fairy tale."

I stiffen, the warmth of the moment evaporating like mist in the morning sun. Reality crashes back, cold and unforgiving. "Right," I mutter, wrapping my arms around myself. "How could I forget?"

"And don't even think about trying to escape again," he growls, leaning closer. "The consequences will be dire if you do. You may be watching my matches, but don't forget – you're still my property to own."

His words are like a bucket of cold water, dousing any spark of connection I'd felt. I nod stiffly, my jaw clenched so tight I can almost hear my teeth grinding. The warmth that had bloomed in my chest moments ago withers and dies, leaving nothing but a hollow ache.

"I understand," I manage to say, my voice tight and brittle. The words taste like ash in my mouth, but I force them out anyway. What else can I do? I'm trapped here, a prisoner in all but name.

Sarod holds my gaze for a long moment, his amber eyes unreadable. I search for some hint of the gentleness I'd glimpsed earlier, but there's nothing there now. Just cold, hard amber, like fossilized tree sap. Then he stands abruptly, towering over me. His massive form blocks out the light, casting me in shadow.

"Good," he says, his voice a low rumble that I can almost feel in my bones. "Now get to work. These dishes won't clean themselves." He gestures to the pile of dirty plates and cups, a mountain of grime waiting for me. I swallow hard, fighting back the urge to scream or cry or both.

As he strides out of the room, I'm left with a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Anger at his reminder of my status, frustration at my own weakness, and beneath it all, a traitorous flicker of excitement at the thought of seeing him play again.

I shake my head, trying to clear it. No matter what happened last night, no matter how he makes me feel, I can't forget the reality of my situation. I'm still a prisoner here, and Sarod is still my captor.

With a sigh, I begin clearing the table, steeling myself for another day of servitude.

Know your place, Josie, I remind myself. I'm nothing special to him. I'm just his servant.