Chapter 2

Larkin

The present

Ihad never experienced death myself, but I thought about it plenty of times, fantasized about closing my eyes and never opening them again.

And many times over the years, I felt like I was close, that the pain was too much, too bone-crushing, too life-stealing.

Never in my life had I dreamed I'd ever wish for the sweet bliss of never taking another breath, or never feeling my heart race with excitement or happiness. But gods… I thought about it a lot.

I hated myself, cursed the feeling of wanting to take the "easy" way out. Because no matter how much they hurt me, how many bruises they gave me, how many bones they broke, I wanted to survive.

Because I wanted to see him again. Sometime in my life—if fate, or destiny, or the will of the gods decreed it—I wanted to see Odhran again.

Because that one short moment in time that I spent with him all those years ago wasn't enough. How funny life was, that one interaction with him so long ago would change me so much.

I didn't know mere hours with my fated mate could make me feel something so pure and harmonious, could fill one with a life experience that could never be matched.

I shifted onto my side and tucked my hands under my cheek, staring at the cell bars in front of me. My body ached, my ribs were sore—healing from being broken—and the soles of my feet were skinned and torn. They'd taken a whip to my feet days ago, strapped me down and allowed a group of salivating humans to watch me cry and scream out as my soles were torn and my flesh flayed from them.

But despite my broken body, the hollowness and sadness, I felt a sliver of strength still burning inside of me.

Recently, they'd given me long stretches of time to recuperate, to heal so they could do their horrendous deeds to me all over again. But I'd take this time to reflect, to reminisce, and to think of a better time and place that I refused to imagine I'd never experience again.

For decades, I'd been in this vicious cycle, this torturous routine where they used and abused me for the sole purpose of entertaining their customers. I'd had my bones broken, knives slicing into my flesh, and whips arching across the air before landing on my back. I'd been electrocuted, tortured to the point my tears had run dry and I passed out.

I'd experienced agony for longer than I'd been alive before they took me, so much that it was my norm. Yet despite feeling broken and ruined so many times, I kept up my strength and told myself I wouldn't give up, no matter how good eternal sleep sounded.

Time had no meaning down here, locked within a cell, three walls nothing but reinforced concrete and one made of mystically protected metal bars. Not that it did any good if it was woven with magic or not. As a water nymph, it wasn't as if I had the physical strength to open them, the power to pull them apart or crush the cement.

I stared at the lone hanging fluorescent bulb in the hallway, the buzzing from the electricity moving through it seeming overly loud. I was exhausted, but sleep wouldn't come.

I stayed on my side for so long my body started to ache. With a groan, I pushed myself up and curled my fingers around the edge of the thin cot mattress. My toes barely touched the cold cement floor.

For long seconds, I didn't move as I caught my breath, that small shift in movement causing my entire body to scream out in protest.

With a trembling hand, I lifted the edge of my dirty shift and pulled it up. Bruises of varying healing colors marred my thighs and belly, but it was the nasty burn mark on my side that I focused on.

The last time they'd taken me away, they branded me, burning the insignia of their organization into my flesh until I screamed and cried out for Odhran. I'd healed but they kept doing it over and over again until there was no healing the scar.

A starburst with a crescent moon in the center.

I touched the edge of the brand and hissed. I may've been one of the weakest species in the Otherworld, but I still had superior healing abilities compared to humans. My broken bones and bruises, the cuts and welts would heal within days. But still… they were hideous to look at, and if done over and over again, they were permanent.

Yet out of all the heinous things they did to me, the only thing I was grateful for was they never violated me in that way. I wasn't molested or raped, and I had to be thankful for small miracles.

I let my shift fall back in place and stared at the tray that sat by the cell door, my sandwich half eaten, the water bottle untouched.

I closed my eyes and exhaled, thinking about all the Otherworld creatures that were in the same situation, locked behind mystically protected cells, only being let free so they could be tortured. I stayed quiet and listened. I watched. I knew they sedated the males so the ones who could shift weren't able to, knew they dosed them so they weren't strong, couldn't fight back.

But they still did, these supernatural males born and bred to be warriors, to never submit.

My hand automatically went up to my throat, where my necklace hadn't hung for so long it now seemed like it never had.

I squeezed my eyes shut as memories of being here played through my head. Flashes of when I'd pass the viewing rooms, watching the horror these creatures suffered, listening to the shouts and gasps from the human spectators as they grew bloodthirsty for more.

I always thought of myself as a gentle soul, caring of every life, seeing it all as vital and sacred. But after all this… I wished a painful, slow death for all the humans involved.

And so when I felt a prickling on the back of my neck a second before I heard keys jangling, a lock disengaging, and then a door opening, I knew they were back. The sound of multiple heavy boots hitting the cement as they came closer had me straightening my shoulders and holding my head up. I didn't cower. I wasn't ruined or broken.

I told myself that over and over again as I stood, pushing away the aches and pains, the agony that settled into every cell in my body, rooted in the bottom of my feet so it made standing almost unbearable. I faced off with the men who stopped in front of my cell.

They didn't say anything, just stared at me with their bottomless eyes. They were heartless bastards. And one day they'd get what was coming to them. I'd make it my life's mission.

It was always two guards who came to take me away, as if I could even take any of them down. One of them had an intense expression on his face, focused solely on me. It was something darker, more depraved.

He was called D.

The corner of his mouth lifted ever-so-slightly in what could only be called a smile of sadistic pleasure. He lifted his hand and curled his fingers around the bars.

"Come here," D said in a cold, low voice.

I'd fought their demands so many times over the years, fought them physically, scratching and biting, screaming and doing everything in my power so it wasn't easy for them. But all it ever got me was more pain.

I didn't move right away, and when I saw his eyes narrow and his mouth thin, only then did I take a step closer, feeling a sliver of power that I'd gotten to him, even if it would cost me. Because I got pleasure in knowing that I could get under his skin.

So even if it earned me a slap across the face or a bruise on my arm as he yanked me forward, I was still going to defy them, because it was all I could do.

I stopped when I was a foot from him, smelling the stench of days-old sweat surrounding both humans.

A part of me used to feel bad for D, knowing he'd probably been brainwashed, warped and twisted into thinking what he was doing was somehow justifiable. But that pity faded pretty fast with the first hit, with the first snarl of cruel words.

He knew what he was doing to all of us, and he liked it.

"D, stop messing with it," the other guard said.

It.That was what we were considered to them.

"You know Tore doesn't want us talking to them."

D lifted a hand to silence the other man. I saw a muscle tic under his jaw as he continued to stare at me. And then he took his hand and slid it through the bars, crooking his finger.

"Come closer, waif."

It was my turn to grit my teeth at what he called me. I hated that, after all these years, that derogatory term toward me still got under my skin. But this particular guard liked making me feel like less than the dirt on the bottom of his boots.

I was about to take a step back, make him work for my pain, but before I could move, he leaned another inch, wrapped his meaty hand around my upper arm hard enough a gasp left me, and jerked me forward.

My chest collided with the bars, a cry being ripped from me as all that power surged from the metal and coursed through my frame. He had both my wrists in his hands now, forcing me to wrap my fingers around the bars.

I was helpless, because the pain was too great for me to fight. I was immobile, my entire body tense, tears streaking down my cheeks.

"Jesus Christ, D. Enough. Tore is gonna find out you're playing with her and reprimand you." The other guard's voice was harder than before.

"Shut the fuck up, Q," D snapped but didn't look away from me. He kept his hand tightly wrapped around me, kept me pressed to the bars.

"I can't help it," D gritted out, low. "There's something about this one." His brows pulled together, and I refused to be the one to break eye contact.

Let him get off on my pain. I'd show him that I was still strong. I'm not broken.

He let me go but not before I reached out and grabbed a chunk of his hair, pulling him forward with the little strength I had left. I brought him in until his chest slammed against the bars. He cursed, and his arms shot out through the bars, but I stumbled back, breathing hard and glaring at him.

My cheeks were wet from my tears, my throat raw from the cries.

D's anger was palpable, and the other guard shifted on his feet, looking uncomfortable as he kept glancing down the cell block, as if he expected someone to catch them down here.

"We gotta go now, D."

I glanced down at my hands, my palms blistered and red, inky black veins snaking up my forearms from the magic that had coursed through my veins.

The pain would fade. It always did, but the memory of it would be forever etched in my brain. It was a scar on me now and forever. Even though it healed, I'd be able to see it, run my fingers over it and feel it.

These moments were now a part of me.

I expected to hear the cell door opening, that his worry had manifested others, but when silence continued to build, I forced myself to look up, to hold D's gaze.

"Seriously, D. We gotta get out of here. We're not even supposed to be in this block right now."

I kept staring, wanting him to see the fire flashing in my eyes. And when his nostrils flared and he clenched his jaw, I knew it worked.

"Look at you," he murmured in a tone that had me freezing. It held a note of something else, something darker… more malicious.

It was desire.

"I bet you're so thirsty, aren't you." He didn't phrase it like a question, and he wasn't speaking about a glass of water for my parched throat.

He and I both knew what he meant. Being a water nymph meant I derived energy from natural bodies of water. I'd been starved of that for so long. They were sparse when they gave me the essential nutrients I needed, wanting to keep me alive but nowhere near strong.

Because broken merchandise was no good to them and didn't make them money.

So they hosed me down with spring water, and although I wasn't human, it was absolutely a very dehumanizing experience… to stand in the middle of the cell as they sprayed me like I was a stray dog.

"I say you're due for time with the hose again, aren't you?" His voice was low, maybe too low for the other human to hear. He was taunting me, teasing me. This was another form of torture.

With one more prolonged look in my direction, he turned around and started stalking out of the cell, the other guard following him.

I exhaled and stood there a second before shuffling to the bars. Making sure I didn't touch them again, I craned my neck enough that I could see them leaving and watched as D produced his key card and swiped it across the electronic panel on the wall. The lock disengaged loudly, and both men exited, the heavy metal door closing behind them loud and menacing, like a bullet firing.

I closed my eyes and just breathed, feeling the power of the magic slowly start to ebb from me. Once I felt more like myself, I bent down, picked up the tray with the half-eaten sandwich and bottle of water, and went back to the cot.

And that was where I stayed until exhaustion finally took over and I couldn't pretend to be strong anymore.