Chapter 4

A week passes and every day, Aezok instructs me to withhold food from the prisoner, Viz'en. Every day, I clean the lab, run titrations for Dr. Inde, and retreat to my cell. Every day, Viz'en grows weaker and paler. Starvation ketoacidosis. Patient's body is breaking down muscle to use as fuel.

And his eyes, when they latch onto mine, are filled with a deeper and deeper loathing.

It's a loathing that my own heart echoes.

Inde shocks him every few days and knocks him out in order to take new blood samples. I try not to be in the lab when this happens, but I can't always run away fast enough. He roars and groans, his skin turns crimson, his veins blackening, and his muscles flex until I'm positive he's about to break down the bars holding him back. I hold my breath, waiting.

But he never does.

By the end of the week, I'm at my limit. I can't help the prisoner. I can't help myself. I can't escape, but I can't be a part of this depravity any longer.

My year of captivity, of doing what I could to survive, has come to its conclusion. I don't want to exist here anymore. I don't want to wake in my cell, to wait for my door to open, to eat a frozen, tasteless meal, and to watch an innocent man starve to death. My fingernails are jagged and raw from scraping at my window bars, but I can't loosen them any faster.

There's likely nothing outside of that window anyway. I'm probably in the middle of a desert, on the floor of an ocean. If I broke out, I'd just die anyway.

In my reflection this morning, my dull eyes have faded to a flat blankness I don't recognize.

Despite my longstanding escape plan, despair has dug its sharp fingernails under my rib cage and burrowed inside. I don't think I can bear to be here another day. Do I give up? Do I run, see how far I can get down the corridor before Aezok catches me and beats me to death? I'd have to egg him on when he got to the end, the part where he usually pulls back. I'd have to make him really mad. My chest tightens. I may be ready to exit this hellish place, but that doesn't mean I want to go out in pain.

I don't like pain. I don't like to be hurt. It's ridiculous how easy it is for Aezok to control me with that little button.

At the sink, my skin burning under the harsh soap as I scrub test tubes, I slip my hands from the water to touch my throat with wet fingers. I could slash my carotid. I'd bleed out pretty quickly that way. But God, it's so violent. So final. I'm not sure I'm capable of it. My heart is so achingly heavy with despair, the action required for that kind of brutality daunts me.

The glass would cut through my skin like a hot knife through butter. My blood would spray. My vision would dim. I'd fall. It probably wouldn't hurt.

The sound of my fall would alert Inde. He's working just across the room.

Sweat beads on my forehead, my mouth filling with acid as I imagine my body prone on the floor, Inde trying to save me. The image is grotesque.

Maybe I'm not as checked out as I think I am if I'm that worked up over the idea of Inde involved in my dying moments. He'd be touching me. Those cold, cybernetic fingers that have harmed thousands of small creatures; that are currently harming the man imprisoned behind me.

I can't let him win.

My hands start to sting, and I realize I've scrubbed them raw under the hot water. I place the flask in the drying rack and turn, ready to grab the next, when my gaze snags on Viz'en.

He's watching me from under a furrowed brow. His eyes, dark and liquid, are focused with rage. I swallow hard, lifting my hand to stroke it across my neck again. He wouldn't say a word if he watched me slash my throat. He'd probably enjoy it.

His muscles tense under his thin shirt, and a haze of darker crimson moves across his skin, but he doesn't speak to me.

Aezok barks my name from Inde's lab, and I turn, grateful from the reprieve of those knowing eyes.

I scurry past the cage, my gaze on my slippers, and ignore the low growl following me.

Dr. Inde's lab is buzzing with mechanical noises. I blink hard when I step inside, my eyes rounding. I haven't been here in days, since reaching it involves walking past the cage. It's been transformed in my absence.

Machines whirr and dark fluids travel back and forth through thin tubing along the ceiling. The air smells of antiseptic and something thick, something primal. It makes my chest ache when I inhale too deep a breath. That smell is new. My skin prickles as I inhale again. It smells . . . really good. Like thick chocolate, or roasting coffee, or maybe, a toasted marshmallow. A s'more. I swallow hard, my tastebuds writhing on my tongue, desperate to taste what that smell represents.

Shuddering, I will the longing away.

Aezok paces back and forth in front of the long counter. His pink face is paler than normal, his red eyes bloodshot. I look away to examine the room again. The black fluid in the tubing is familiar. This is what he injected himself with that night he came into my cell. My throat moves convulsively. Is he . . . making more of it?

I want to kick myself. Of course he is, Mara. Don't be stupid.

My knees start to knock as I track Aezok's agitated movements. I know this restless behavior. It never bodes well for me. When he gets frustrated with his work, I'm an easy punching bag. Or, if I'm right and he's trying to inject himself with a stronger version of that black serum, I'm watching my future rapist.

I think again of the sharp glass breaking, my hand slashing at my neck. A knot burns in my throat.

I try to straighten my shoulders and work to blink the gathering moisture from my eyes. I won't make it easy for him to break me. If he comes at me again, I'll fight. I'll fight until he beats me to death. I hope it doesn't hurt too badly.

I don't know why Aezok's injecting himself with the serum. Rape can't be his ultimate goal—he's too cold-blooded. And I refuse to believe an alien society so intelligent it's capable of interstellar flight doesn't have medical or pharmaceutical help available for men who want erections.

So the rape is either a status thing—an obvious sign of his virility? He needs to conquer the human female he bought? But that's too ridiculous, like a badly written villain plot. Or the rape is just the first step of his plan. And maybe what he really wants is a hybrid human-Aezok baby he can experiment on next . . . My pulse beats a staccato rhythm at my wrists, a frantic SOS to my encircling fingertips. Over my dead body.

The track marks on his left forearm tell me he's injecting himself daily, maybe hoping the serum will build up in his body. Today, his pink skin appears a little darker than usual. The stubbed horns on his head might be a little longer as well.

But his eyes, they're almost as dull as mine. I think the serum's making him sick.

I feel lightheaded when I catalog those changes out loud in my brain. Is he . . . sucking the life out of Viz'en and injecting it into himself, like some kind of alien vampire? Does he want to be Viz'en?

Unconscious to my horrible thoughts, Aezok stops pacing to stand in front of me. His scent, sour lemons and algae, fills my nostrils. I stare at his narrow chin, waiting for his instructions. Behind my back, I wrench my fingers in my sockets, hoping the pain grounds my terror.

"Mara," he murmurs, and I stiffen further.

"Our new prisoner is a Kral. Do you know this species?"

I shake my head, mute.

"The Kral are a species of jungle origin, very close to their primitive roots. Kral males are subject to something they call the Wrath, a complete degeneration to their base selves during times of great emotional or physical stress. It gives them heightened strength, but the toxin the enzyme releases in their blood, if not leached, will kill them in just a short period of time. You may have noticed how his skin will change sometimes, the red turning darker?"

I swallow hard and nod. I've wondered about it, and I hate knowing it's because Viz'en's hurting.

Then I want to kick myself in the ass. Of course he's hurting. We've imprisoned him.

Then I want to kick myself harder. It's not "we." I'm not responsible here.

But that's semantics. Of course I bear fault. My stomach is churning so hard, it's a wonder Aezok doesn't hear the maelstrom. Maybe he'll leave me alone if I puke on him?

"My mother is a Kral," Aezok continues, and my eyes involuntarily rise to check his facial expression. He's lost in his thoughts, not paying attention to me as he paces. "She mated a Kral male, my legal father, however, she was not faithful to him. She conceived me via a Terran male employed at a brothel in my home city."

My mouth drops open.

"When I was born, it was obvious to everyone I was not a full-blooded Kral." He gestures absently at his pink skin. "My legal father left my mother, and we fell into poverty. My mother never let me forget that, if not for me, she would have had a happy life. And, once I was old enough, I never let her forget she cheated me of my birthright." His eyes turn a little feral, wide and gleaming.

I'm so out of my depth right now, I can't decide how to respond to this information. Is he confiding in me? Does he think this will bring me over to his evil machinations? While I can't deny the thought of a mother placing the burden of her infidelity on her child is horrid, I can't accept that a rough childhood justifies anything I've witnessed over the past year.

"I've dedicated my life to finding a way to become a full-blooded Kral. I will be respected. I will be strong enough to carry the Wrath."

I shiver as he lasers me with a focused stare.

"And I've continuously failed. Until now. This serum, once we've perfected it so its effects last more than mere moments, will change my life. It will change the lives of other marginalized half-bloods. It will bring me true wealth and power. It may even work on enhancing strength and stamina in other species. The black-market potential is limitless."

His head drops so he's staring at the ceiling above us. His mouth moves, but no sound emerges. I think he's still reciting his future rewards to himself.

While he's lost in his reverie, I glance around the lab again. The black, viscous liquid is trickling through the system of glass flasks on the counter closest to me. I don't recognize the setup. When Inde experimented on the beasties, everything was about dissection and tissue samples, long analyses under high-powered microscopes. This dripping system is new.

There's a new smell in the air, too, coming from the tubes in the ceiling. Ripe and damp, like rotting earth. The longer I'm standing here, the more it smothers the thick, toasted coffee scent that filled my senses when I first entered the room. It's suffocating me. My throat is closing.

I jump when Aezok starts speaking out loud again. "I need your enhanced cooperation for this next part, Mara. In return, I will make you a promise."

I train my gaze on his face to find him watching me closely once more. My pulse leaps at my throat.

"I will free you. I will pay for you to be returned to your origin planet."

My lungs seize. In my wildest dreams, I never imagined for a moment a return to Earth was possible. Is he being honest with me? I have no way to know. I'm completely ignorant about how this universe functions. And I can't trust him even a little.

My brain alights with startled, sparking thoughts as the same time my throat closes.

I let my memories take me away. My little apartment, walking distance to the hospital and cozy, small. Slimer, my spicy and sweet green macaw who's probably missing my spoiling. God, I hope someone noticed I vanished and checked on him before he starved to death.

My friends at work and from my school days, my book club, my grandma . . . I haven't let myself think of my grandma. She's probably heartbroken, even though she won't remember why. She has Alzheimer's. Surely my parents hid my disappearance from her, which means, when she's lucid, she likely thinks I'm a rotten granddaughter for not visiting.

My face flushes hot as tears build behind my eyes again.

Aezok nods as he takes in my obvious emotional response. I restrain the urge to kick him as he continues, "Yes, I just need you to do a few small things."

I swallow hard and wait for the hammer to fall. The immediate end to my brief wish. The rules I won't want to follow.

"I would like you to befriend the Kral."

I blink rapidly, rocking back on my heels. That wasn't at all where I thought this conversation was going.

"Be kind to him. Talk to him. Soothe him if he becomes anxious. I know you have struggled here in the lab without the ability to practice your nursing arts on the Kryllians, so use them now on the Kral male. Keep him healthy and happy."

"Why?" I want to suck the word back into my throat as soon as it leaves my lips, but I can't. I flinch, waiting for the blow.

Aezok doesn't punish my question. Instead, he says, "This male is very good at controlling his Wrath. Stronger than I expected. A week of no food, and he's no closer to succumbing to it. We need to revive his body, replenish his reserves, while we think of a way to draw it out of him. The enzyme we need for the serum is only produced when a Kral male is in a Wrath."

My brows rise. I can't believe he actually answered me. He must really be desperate. Still, I have no idea what he's asking me to do. I get to go home if I'm nice? That makes no sense.

Although I can't deny a part of me wants to grin at the prisoner's fortitude. Good for him.

"For how long?" I rasp. Am I contemplating going along with this plan? Is it worth it for the chance Aezok could be telling the truth about sending me home?

I hate that I'm seriously considering this scenario. My chin drops to my chest, my breath hitching.

The Kral is a stranger. It's not my fault he's here. All I have to do is treat him with kindness, the same way I would a beastie.

And then I can walk away. I can ignore the fact I'm leaving him here.

I despise myself as my shoulders hunch. I feel myself nodding when Aezok tells me, just for a few weeks.

The Mara that was me a year ago would kick my ass right now—tell me to spit in Aezok's face and refuse to be complicit in torture and illegal experimentation on a sentient being. But that Mara had no idea how much agony her body can take before she blacks out; how hunger and thirst can force her into despicable acts; how despair fills her days with a gray haze that smooths things out until the pain and loneliness sort of fade away.

A-year-ago-me would never have thought about ending my life. But, a-year-ago-me is gone. Only survival-Mara exists now. Or maybe I'll call her soulless-Mara.

"Good." Aezok turns away, dismissing me. "I purchased fresh provisions this morning. Why don't you go to the kitchen, make him a meal? I'm sure he's very hungry."

I touch the base of my neck, my fingertip like ice, and spin quickly, almost running from the room.

AEZOK'S instructions are easier said than done. I've never cooked a meal in this alien kitchen before.

As I putter around, pulling out the new ingredients, my mind dissects the conversation that just occurred. I don't go near the possibility of getting sent home. That's too unreal to even consider. But the rest of it? I don't like the reason why he's decided to start feeding the prisoner, but I'm not going to question the order. Viz'en hasn't eaten in days. Surely, every bit of protein helps, even if Aezok and Inde intend the food to keep him alive long enough to use him.

He's a big, strong guy. He has to be thinking about escape. He's definitely thinking about how much he hates us—I shiver as I recall his cold glares. If I give him a good meal, maybe that'll help him gather the strength enough to break his chains.

Although, part of me worries Aezok's plan is just a new form of his torture—no food for a week and then a lavish meal, followed by . . . no more food? Some other terrible thing? But Aezok said he wants the blood and whatever that Wrath enzyme is. Maybe starvation is deteriorating the blood and he and Inde want to perk it up?

Maybe the prisoner is weakening too fast, and they're worried he's going to check out before they get their damn serum right.

My chest tightens, and I stroke a fingertip across the flesh of a red fruit on the counter. When he first arrived here, Viz'en was this vibrant color. Now he's pale, more rust than maroon. Except when he's being electrocuted, or sometimes when he stares at me, and he turns solid red again.

Biting my lip, I figure out how to send the fresh meat and the other brightly colored vegetables through the processor, my own stomach grumbling and complaining.

His muscles are still brawny and thick at least—not that I've been staring at them. Or noticing them. Or cataloging them.

I stare at his body because I don't like to look at his face and see the hatred in his gaze. That's the only reason.

I rub my hand against my throat hard before I bend to focus on the food. I can't remember the last time I ate something other than a protein bar, and, as the smell of the meat cooking fills the stale air, I imagine what this meal would taste like, the noodles slippery and salty, the meat falling apart under my teeth.

But this is for Viz'en. Not me. I don't deserve fresh food. And I know better than to try even a small sample without Aezok's express permission.

I finish preparing everything and serve it in a huge bowl. There isn't any silverware in the alien kitchen, but I've seen Inde using something like chopsticks before, so I stick a couple of them into the steaming mass.

My mouth is watering so bad, I'm like a rabid dog.

My forearms straining, my bad arm trembling under the weight, I carry the bowl into the lab and hurry to the cage. Viz'en watches me approach with unfathomable eyes. I try to smile at him, though I have a feeling my desperate, hungry face may be a little off-putting. I push the bowl through the gap at the bottom of the cage and hurriedly sit. I don't know how long Aezok's going to stick to the "be friendly" agenda, and I want to earn my ticket home, but I'm also not stupid. I'm very aware the odds are against my freedom. So if this is my only chance to offer comfort and be a friend, I'll take it.

I gesture at the bowl, "Please eat. It's fresh. I made it for you."

Heat scalds my cheeks. "I mean, I made it fresh just now. It's yours."

The prisoner doesn't move. He's lounging on his cot, his legs sprawled and knees cocked, his arms crossed across his firm, muscled chest. His shirt, black and tight, flexes with his even breaths. In the week he's been here, the scruff on his cheeks and chin has turned into a thick beard. It shadows the full lips currently pressed together in displeasure. The tusks poking from his lower lip are sharp and white against the dark hair of his beard.

My stomach churns. I know he's starving. Why won't he reach for the food?

"I promise it's safe." I bite my lip hard. I really need him to eat this meal. I can't check his vitals. I can't get him a shower or a clean set of clothes. I can't get him out of this cage. But I can feed him. I need to feed him. This is my first and only chance here to actually help, and it's killing me he's refusing.

At the same time, I know I have no right to his compliance. I understand what he's doing, exercising his finite amount of free will. I would do the same in his place. Maybe. Maybe not. The smell emanating from the bowl is so enticing . . .

In the still quiet, I can hear him breathing. We stare at each other, separated by the metal bars and the fact that I'm outside, and he's not. But really, I'm inside, too. Not with him. I'm in my own prison. This lab. This isolated compound on this alien planet.

I exhale a shaky puff of air. A knot builds in my throat, and I can feel my eyes grow hazy with tears. I want him to eat, but I won't force him. I stand abruptly and spin away, ignoring the way my knees buckle. I have to leave. Now. I can't let him see me fall apart. I won't let my despair influence his choices.

I run from the room at the same time a faint growl grows in the air. I ignore it. I'm glad he's still so full of rage. I hope it keeps him alive.