Episode Three Let Me Help

L ylah

Am I dead? Maybe I'm in heaven. I'm being held in a soft embrace.

Women aren't allowed to learn about religion, but I heard some workers talking. They said heaven is a wonderful place you go after you die. Only they said you had to be good to earn your place there. I certainly don't meet that criterion. Otherwise, why have I been so badly punished all my life?

It feels amazing to be touched by someone who isn't hurting me.

Or maybe this is hell. I heard the workers talking about that, too. I think they used the words "eternal pain." My body hurts. Everywhere.

"Lylah?" It's a man's voice, but it's not Joseph's. It's too soft and kind to be my husband. "Lylah? It's Hazlan, the male from the cage. I'm so sorry."

I'm sorry? No one has ever said those words to me before. My face grimaces in an attempt at a smile at that thought.

I try to turn to see who's talking, but with just the smallest movement, knifelike pain slices through my side. I freeze, willing the pain to stop, but it doesn't. Joseph has never beaten me this badly before.

I should be used to the pain by now. I was a constant source of disappointment for him, never helping get him the promotion he wanted, never doing as he explicitly bid. Punishments came, however he delivered him, either with his meaty fists or lashes from his belt.

He had always stopped before he knocked me unconscious. I wouldn't be worth much to him dead. Or so I thought.

Now I remember. I gave food to the male in the cage. That's what made Joseph so mad.

"What can I do to help?" the kind voice asks.

I remember Joseph socked me in my jaw, so I'm afraid to say a word. Moving my mouth will be excruciating. I vaguely remember my body hitting the floor and the sight of his twisted face as he pulled his foot back to kick me.

"I'm going to ask where you hurt. You don't need to say a word. Just hum for yes, okay?"

"Hmm." I don't open my eyes. My face radiates pain and feels oddly stretched like I've been stung by a bee.

"Good."

He starts at the top of my head and asks questions about my scalp, my ears, eyes, and jaw. He finally gets the picture when I've hummed yes to every question.

"He hurt you everywhere?"

"Hmm."

"Can I look?"

If every inch of my body wasn't in excruciating pain, this question would make me laugh. I'm a woman who's been forced to walk practically naked through my house and the Tower hallways my whole life. Now this male is asking if he can look? If it weren't so sad, it would be funny.

I hum.

After he shifts his body, I can feel his gaze on me. It's a self-protective skill I developed even before my breasts began to bud. I wish he hadn't moved. It's freezing out here on the cold ground.

"Do you think he kicked you in your ribs?"

"Hmm."

He lies back down, but not as close as he had been. Even though it would hurt, if he snuggled against me, his warmth would seep into me, and it would be a slice of heaven.

"I've never seen anyone beaten this badly before, and I've watched guards kick centaurs and orcs. Lylah?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm worried you might not make it." His voice is steady and calm as if he doesn't want to frighten me. Again, I almost smile.

He feels responsible. If it wouldn't hurt so much to speak, I'd tell him it wasn't his fault. It's not as though he asked me to bring him food. I'd also tell him not to worry, that death would be better than going back into that house with Joseph.

"You're bleeding out of both ears. You have a broken nose, broken jaw, and I think the bone around your eye is broken. Broken ribs, for sure. These cuts on your flanks and stomach and… ass. From a belt?"

Oh, if he'd just talk to me in that warm, caring voice until I drifted away, it would be a blessing.

Oh, yeah. He asked me a question about a belt.

"Hmm."

"I have an idea, but I don't want to lie. It might not work. I was stolen from my family when I was young. I've heard, though, that when a couple is mated, the mate's saliva can heal his partner. It might just be a lie slaves tell each other. Would you want to try?"

"Hm?"

"I don't know how humans become mates. And that male? How could he treat you like that if he is truly mated to you? But if I were to mate you, it would mean I would have to…" He drops his voice and leans even closer to my ear. "I would have to put my… staff in you and bite you on the shoulder. I imagine it will hurt. But then I would lick you and see if I could get the bleeding to stop. If not, I'm afraid you won't make it till dawn."

Oh, is that why I feel so dreamy? Am I already dying? Wouldn't that be for the best?

"It's all my fault, Lylah. I shouldn't have looked at you, shouldn't have wished you'd speak to me on your midnight trips through the compound yard. I feel terrible."

This kind proudborn feels responsible? Poor male. Doesn't he realize he did nothing wrong? But I wouldn't want him to feel my death is on his hands. Having him put his staff in me—what a sweet thing to call it—wouldn't hurt more than any other man who has used me. And the bite won't hurt at all since I can barely feel a thing anymore.

Maybe Joseph knocked something loose in my head or maybe I'm sick of pain, of living like I'm already dead. There may be blood still pumping in my veins, but it's spilling out over the cold ground and onto this male's fur. Warm fur, soft hands, a caring touch. If mating him will bring me more of that and let me live, maybe I'm already in heaven.

"Hmm."

"Is that yes, Lylah? Yes, you will let me mate you and try to get all this bleeding to stop? I don't know if it will save you, but mayhap it will make the last hours of your life more bearable."

"Hmm."