Six

He has no intention of setting me free; no more words were spoken, just leering and something that sounded like a grunt.

I’d be happier if he had slammed the door, but like a perfect gentleman, he just closed it behind him gently. The click of the lock was loud enough for my standard ears.

"Loud and clear."

The rustle of the sheets and the lingering scent—I mean, only the blind wouldn’t be affected by him, or maybe a deaf person—his voice was enough. The rough palms and the heat of his body

Yes, he was doing all the right things without even wanting to do them. That night and the next, I was unable to get any real sleep. A couple of hours later, I was back on my feet, pacing the room I had come to know like the back of my hand.

No one dared to interact with me; they just left whatever they had brought in and left. With no words or looks, it was like he had told them to do the bare minimum—just keep me alive.

At different times of day, the movement could be heard from different points of the room. The window from the bathroom was wide enough for me to stick my head out and take a peek, but it was like this place was designed to keep me guessing. To anyone else, to anyone untrained but me, it sounded like a large group of people in training. Making rounds, meetings, and celebrations. The second week after his visit, there was some sort of gathering, like a party. I could smell the food and hear the music, but the walls blocked my view, so I saw the person in the tub letting the soft instrumental music in.

I woke up the next day in the big tub with a pillow under my head and the bed cover over my body. The sounds of the outside world had put me to sleep too deeply. What worried me the most was that whoever had come in had the chance to end me very easily. The maid that had been assigned to tidy up my current quarters was in the process of changing the bed sheets while I drooled in the tub.

The knowing glances she threw me every time she came into the room had started to make my blood boil. It was like there was a joke I hadn’t been invited to hear. Another female on my list

"Good morning."

"Good morning." The slightly raspy accent in her voice makes my curiosity spark. Western Europe maybe. Her coloring is not a given; it might be my imagination, but this might be proof that the rumors are true; this pack is as ancient as mine.

"The master allowed only outside time, at night only. Today, nine o’clock." Brand new, shipped from the old country most likely. I’m so deep in my thoughts, taking mental notes, that I merely nod at what she just told me. I should be jumping up and down, knowing that I’m allowed outside, but the thing is that a human might be wondering why it's nighttime instead of daytime, but maybe that’s downtime for them.

So many things are being revealed in such a short time.

"Is the master here?" Fuck it, I might not get an answer, but this one didn’t seem to be as suspicious as the others.

"Left. Work." Those extra rolls on the r. "Come back later."

"What is your name?"

"Lydia." She replies without looking at me; her hands are full of the old sheets, which she dumps on the floor in a big pile, then moves on to her next task: dusting the surfaces.

"Nice to meet you, Lydia. I’m Lyanna or Anna." I had to try it, figuring that being friendly to her might give me bonus points.

"I know. The master said to be careful. You spy." The last word came out as an insult.

I almost slipped, and my belly filled with joy. I felt a smile crawling into my face but caught myself just in time.

"I’m not a spy," I said with a voice filled with disbelief.

"Lie." It wasn’t the tone of her voice, but the look in her eyes. She was a hundred percent sure of it—that I was here to spy on them, maybe hurt them—but she was not afraid or perhaps didn’t care. She was here to do her job and most likely watch me. Maybe you should make me try to reveal my secrets.

"It is not a lie."

"Don’t care. Master says you're a spy, you're a spy."

Okay, she’s also very loyal.

"What’s the other woman’s name, the blond one?" Now that I've got her talking, let's see how much she’s willing to give.

"Ruby." Her lips curve: "She thinks she's the boss. "So there are hierarchy problems; I could watch her work as she spilled the beans on Barbie Bitch. "Her father, right hand of boss. Reinceck. She wanna be a boss woman."

You don’t say!

I would kill for a pint of wine at this exact moment. Don’t care about the clock screaming ten in the morning; this felt like when a girlfriend comes over and you shred to pieces the girl you hate.

Highschool vibes.

"The boss doesn’t have a wife?"

No, mate, he doesn’t want."

I didn’t ask why; I knew the answer right away: because he likes his freedom, because attaching yourself to someone makes your priorities change, and because it will make him weak. For the same reason, I reject the idea of surrounding myself with the males of my pack. I don’t need that kind of distraction in my life. I love my freedom too much. Yes, I don’t judge him at all.

The soft, short grass brushed my calves. It's after midnight, and as promised, I’m out contemplating the stars. This was a moonlit night, and the crickets and other night crawlers had come out to do their part. Shame it wasn’t firefly season; on nights like this one when my brain was clouded with too much information, just sitting still for a moment helped, but tonight I had the same sensation as the last time he came into the room.

With my back to the house, there wasn’t a way to figure out from which window he was watching me; either way, it didn’t matter. His goonies had parked themselves in strategic spots. Like I was so foolish to reveal that I could run to the high wall, avoid the barbed wire, and blend into the night, but I was starting to get information about them and about him.

"Lydia says you've been asking questions."

"It’s called having a conversation." Again, I didn’t hear him approach me, and I hated it. If we were on the same side, I’d ask him to teach me. "Your people have been asking me questions since I got here; why shouldn’t I be allowed to do the same?"

"Because prisoners don’t have any say."

"Is that why you allowed me to get out of the room or cover me with a blanket?" This is when I chose to look back over my shoulder; he sounded close, but not this close. He’s crouching behind me; his legs are almost touching my shoulder. It would be a ridiculous posture on someone else, but he looks equally menacing. With his roughened looks and his normal clothes.

His eyes are not looking at me but are turned upwards to the sky, and this is when I take him in. The wide jaw and the scruffy beard, his Adam’s apple, and the way his hair moves with the slight breeze

Goddamnit, he’s fucking gorgeous.

I need to get out of here.