8. Camille

EIGHT

Ifeel embarrassed and frustrated that I can't even manage to stand on my own right now. I've never felt so weak before. The creature before me withdraws slightly, and my emotions turn to confusion.

Why hasn't he hurt me yet? Why won't he reveal his motive for saving me? Something about this doesn't make sense to me. No one has ever helped me like this, not for any reason that was good. All of my instincts are screaming at me to not trust him, to run as soon as I get the chance.

He just stands there, staring at me. The silence is so deafening that it's almost awkward. I don't know what he wants from me, and I'm scared to find out.

Mazituz watches me with such intensity that it's hard to maintain eye contact. But as I look into those crystal blue eyes, it feels less like he's a predator eyeing his prey and more like he's merely full of curiosity. But how can that be possible?

Regardless, I still don't trust his intentions. Trying to regulate my breathing, I inch backward, farther away from him. As far as I can get. As I do so, my hands search the ground behind me.

Keeping my eyes on him, I try to find something, anything, that I could use as a weapon or tool of some sort. It's only a matter of time before this creature decides his patience with me has ended. Before he stops asking questions and gets violent.

I'm just counting down the seconds until that happens. Because I know it will. It always does. No matter how nice they may seem at first, everyone always shows their evil side eventually. I just have to count on my wits to get me out of this since my strength certainly won't.

"What do you want from me?" I ask, trying to distract him from what I'm doing.

He says nothing, and this only makes me angrier. He seemed talkative just a few moments ago, so what's with this eerie silence?

"Why won't you answer me?" Still nothing.

My heart speeds up as my hands close around an object. I try to act as normal as possible since he's still watching me. Gods, will he ever look away? I can't let him know what I'm doing.

The object feels small, like a stone, but sharp on two ends. It's meager, but it's better than nothing. It's not like I have a better selection to choose from, so I'll have to make do.

I clutch it tightly, but not tight enough that the edges will cut me. A surge of control courses through me amidst the chaos. I will not be taken again. I will not be overpowered. This is not going to be like last time. I will get myself out of this. I have to.

But my confidence is short-lived as Mazituz lets his eyes leave mine for the first time in minutes. His gaze settles on my hand behind my back, and those crystal-like eyes darken. Somehow, he knows.

His eyes narrow, and he tilts his head to the side as if to study me. I swallow hard, realizing that this is it. The moment I was waiting for, the moment I was dreading. The moment he shows me his true colors.

I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting for a blow, but it never comes. I peek at him, and he's still standing there with his head tilted, watching. He almost seems cautious, or intrigued. I don't detect even a hint of violence in those irises.

This only confuses me more. What is he waiting for?

Suddenly, he steps forward and extends a clawed hand toward me. I flinch, trying to move even farther away, but I hit the tunnel wall behind me. I'm trapped.

He doesn't speak as he keeps his hand out, waiting for me to take it. It's almost like he thinks this act will reassure me that he isn't going to harm me. Like he thinks I will just reach up and take it, no questions asked.

But I know what that hand means. It signifies captivity, and I'm not that na?ve. I shake my head.

"No."

But he only moves it closer. My hand tightens around the stone, knowing that my moment is coming. The moment that will define how the rest of this interaction will go. Whether or not I will become a slave to this creature.

I slide to the left and use the wall to rise once more. A wave of unimaginable pain crashes through my leg where I fell, and I do my best to ignore it, gasping through it. I manage to stand fully on both legs, keeping my hands on the wall, but my body still angled toward him.

My determination to escape fills me, and I use it to best the pain. I feel myself hardening, readying for this.

He finally drops his hand, and I brandish the stone in front of me, daring him to raise it again or step any closer. I shiver as a low rumbling sound comes from deep within him, a clear warning. But his tentacles rise placatingly as if to say, "I mean no harm." I'm not buying it, nor am I giving up.

It appears that he is playing the long game, but I've been playing it my whole life. He is underestimating me, it seems.

It's a silent battle of wills, neither of us giving up. My freedom means the world to me, and he will understand that sooner or later.

Another sound emits from him, and his tentacles seem to shake before dropping back down to their natural resting place. I sense his frustration, but it confuses me. If I'm causing him this much trouble, then why does he not overpower me?

Perhaps he cannot. Maybe I have overestimated him. Maybe his strength is limited. Or maybe he just enjoys watching my fear.

I panic at this thought, the stone in my hands becoming slick with sweat. It was already going to be useless, but now? I can forget about using it as a weapon.

I shriek as he moves quicker than I thought possible, deliberately capturing my wrist in his hand in a matter of seconds, using his other hand to pry the stone from me.

"Please!" I shout. "Please, don't!"

The stone drops to the ground with a clatter, and I tremble, using my other hand to clutch at the wall, trying not to fall.

"Please," I whisper.

I expect him to squeeze my wrist, to hurt me in some way, but he's surprisingly gentle. This means nothing to me, and I struggle against his hold. I am no one's property, and I refuse to submit.

"Stop moving," he finally speaks.

This only makes me struggle more. I try to pull away from him, to use the traction beneath my feet in my favor, but this only makes me stumble and I nearly fall. He reaches for me, but I throw my free hand up, letting it leave the comfort of the wall.

"Don't touch me!" I shout, my voice echoing off the surrounding tunnel walls. I glance around us, wondering if he was right about the dark elves still searching for me. What if I escape this creature only to run right back into the clutches of the elves?

All of a sudden, he pulls me close, our bodies nearly touching, and I can smell his intoxicatingly earthy scent. My first instinct is to thrash and pull away, but he holds me steady. It's hard enough to stand, let alone walk, and I have no idea how I'm going to pull this off.

But as I stare up into those eyes, I pause for the first time. He doesn't appear to be malicious. No, I've seen that particular look before, and this is not it.

I trust my judgment on this. In my experience, you can always tell someone's motive by their eyes. And this look he has, it's almost like… loneliness. A feeling I recognize, a feeling I've more than felt my fair share of.

I stop struggling as I watch him, as I study his expression. He stares back, unblinking.

Finally, he carefully releases my wrist, letting me back away. It comes across like he at last understands me, and I begin to feel hopeful that he will let me walk free. Maybe he is more reasonable than I had him pegged for. I take a step, but he moves, blocking my way out.

My heart sinks, and I realize I was wrong. I should have never gotten my hopes up. I should have never tried to see the good in him. There is no good. I'm convinced that good doesn't even exist for me, not in this life.

Since he's blocking the way I came, I glance behind me, wondering if I can run that way. But behind him is the only way I know to the surface. If I go the other way, I could very well be running into a dead end. Not just in the tunnel, but in my life.

I have officially run out of options. As I let myself lean against the wall beside me, clinging to it, my mind races. I find myself regretting not trying to run when I had the chance.

Pain courses up my leg, making me gasp again, reminding me that running was never possible in the first place. I was doomed from the start, and the sooner I accept my defeat, the better. It's already over.

I feel sick inside like I could throw up. I dig my nails into the wall, trying to hold myself upright when the world starts spinning around me. I don't realize what's happening until my legs give out and my body hits the floor.

My vision goes dark.