Tears trailed through the dirt smeared on my cheeks as Cyrus brought me into the house, up the stairs rather than back into the cells below. His room here was just as lavish as the one in the house he’d kept me in before, but he didn’t hesitate before laying me on a pristine white lounge near the window.

He used his fangs to tear open his wrist, then pressed it to my lips, holding still as I drank my fill. His jaw hardened as he looked me over. “You’ll stay with me from now on. I won’t have her using you in her petty games.”

“She wants Alrik. She’s looking for him.” I wiped his blood from my lips, ignoring the dirt on my tongue. “If she hurts him—”

“She won’t. She’ll never find him, Lydia. I swear.” Cyrus’s brow furrowed. “I would take you away from here if I could, but she won’t release Elah. I can’t fight for both of you.”

“Why? Since when do you let anyone have this kind of power over you?”

He let out a dry laugh and shook his head. “Only her. She’s my sire. She’d know the second I turned on her and I rather enjoy living.”

I wanted to ask if he was afraid of her, but I couldn’t see that question leading anywhere good, so I kept my mouth shut. His lips slanted slightly, as though he knew what I was thinking. Then he stood, brushing the dry earth off his surprisingly plain black suit.

“Stay here while I pour you a bath.”

“A bath? I’ll be soaking in dirt.” I rubbed my face, my skin stiff with the grit covering every inch of me. “Let me take a shower.”

“You’re not strong enough to stand yet.”

“Then help me.”

His shock matched my own. Because I meant it. I wanted—I needed his help. I needed the dirt off me. I needed to know Rosali wouldn’t walk into the room and take me out to be buried again. I shivered as I considered how she could make the next coffin impossible to escape. Put it somewhere Cyrus would never find.

He could stop her. Without him, I would fall apart. Spend every moment waiting for her. Watching the door of my cell. She might never come, but the wait would be enough to drive me insane.

I’d rather die. I almost wished I was dead now, but I had to live. Cyrus wouldn’t stop Rosali from taking Alrik if he didn’t have me.

There was no reason to fight him anymore. I wanted to belong to Cyrus.

Being his was all I had left.

“As much as this pleases me, I don’t want you to lose yourself, Lydia.” He pulled me to my feet, supporting me with a hand under my elbow when my knees buckled. “You’ll recover and hate me again tomorrow.”

I laughed, moving like I’d aged a hundred years, leaning against him as he wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “Do you want me to hate you?”

“No.” His lips quirked slightly. “But don’t make it too easy.”

“You call this easy?” I sucked air through my teeth as he lowered me to the edge of the tub, leaving me there as he went to turn on the water in the large glass shower, heating it until steam filled the room. “I know who you are, Cyrus. That hasn’t changed.”

He unbuttoned his suit jacket, tossing it into the corner of the room, then started removing his shirt. “Then what has?”

“I don’t care.”

His brow lifted. He stopped undoing the buttons.

“You were there. I know it’s fucked up, and tomorrow I might be telling you to go to hell, but…I don’t think so. And it doesn’t matter because we’ll always be playing this game.” I let my arms fall to my sides as he came to me, taking off my shirt, then helping me stand so he could slide off my dirt-caked panties. “I won’t win without you.”

He inclined his head. “I’ll still hurt you, pet.”

“Do you want to hurt me now?”

Tilting his head to one side, he frowned. “No. I want to take care of you. Which is new.”

I laughed, biting my bottom lip as he finished stripping. For a sadistic, evil fucker, he was damn sexy. And seeing him that way was twisted, but I couldn’t help looking him over, appreciating the view for the first time. His long, sleek black hair, his toned body, cut with muscle in all the right places. The V of his pelvis drew my eyes down to his thick length, which I’d never paid much attention to before.

He wasn’t circumcised, but neither was Elah, and even though I’d seen enough online to know most women found an ‘uncut’ dick ugly, I liked them as much as any other dick. The way a man used it was all that mattered.

“You’ve never looked at me that way before.” Cyrus helped me up, wrapping my dirty hair around his hand and tipping my head back. “I’m not sure any woman has.”

Leaning forward, I flicked my tongue over his bottom lip. “Like what?”

“Like you aren’t afraid of me.”

“Then I’m putting on a good fucking act, because I’m not that stupid.”

His lips curved in a devilish smile. “What a relief. I was afraid I’d lost my touch.”

I was lying and he knew it. Apparently, I was that stupid, because at that moment, he didn’t scare me. He might hurt me tomorrow. He’d continue hurting me every chance he got. But he didn’t want to break me, and I was close to the edge.

“Enough of that. Come.” He led me to the shower, checking the water before easing me under the spray. “Lean against the wall.”

Resting my back against the warm tiles, I relaxed as he soaped up a sea sponge and began washing me. The mist around us carried the sweet scent of vanilla and coconut oil, and the horror of the last few days drained away as the dirt swirled down the drain. Once he’d scrubbed my hair with a shampoo that smelled like honey, I felt like I’d been pieced back together. Real again.

And other than cleaning me, he’d done nothing. He could have fucked me against the wall of the shower. I wouldn’t have stopped him. Instead, he stepped out of the shower naked, pulling fluffy white towels from a shelf by the bath, and held one out to me after wrapping the other around his waist.

Then he carried me to his bed, sitting me on the edge as he found a long white shirt for me. He used the towel to dry my hair, then sat behind me, gently brushing my hair until all the tangles were out and my eyes were drifting shut.

He laid me on his bed, covering me with the blanket before climbing in beside me.

His breathing slowed.

He’d fallen asleep.

This couldn’t be happening. Cyrus knew I was grateful. He knew I’d let him have anything he wanted from me. This scared me. If he lost interest, I was fucked.

I didn’t believe he was giving me a night to recover. Sure, this whole wanting to take care of someone might be new to him, but wouldn’t entertain him for long. I’d seen what happened to those who bored him. I couldn’t be one of them.

Coming on to him was one option, but that wasn’t like me. He’d be suspicious. He’d accepted me needing his help before because I was desperate. Shaken to the core. Now that I felt like myself again, what would he expect me to do?

Probably exactly what I was doing.

This was a game. It always would be. And it was my move.

Slipping out from under the blanket, I stood. Took a step toward the door.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

I glanced back at him, not surprised to see him fully awake, his head braced on his hand. “Then what would you do?”

“I would have accepted the very generous gift of a few hours rest. Waited until I was strong enough to demand what was expected of me.” He gave me a hooded look. “Then probably tell me I could have saved myself. If I didn’t kill me while I slept.”

“You wouldn’t care if a young boy died for your actions.”

“Not in the least.”

“I could almost like you if you weren’t such a demented bastard.” I sat on the edge of the bed. No point in pretending I was going anywhere. “What the fuck do you want from me, Cyrus?”

He crooked a finger at me, smiling as I crawled across the bed. “You could have gone with seducing me.”

“But then you wouldn’t be in control.”

“You’re learning. Good.” He rose up, pulling me under him and trapping my wrists in one hand. “Give me that control. Not to avoid pain. Not to keep Alrik safe. Let me have you. All of you. Because you want to see what it feels like when you’re not fighting me.”

“I won’t fight you tonight.” I relaxed in his grip, meeting his eyes. “But I won’t promise I never will again.”

“If you promised me that, I’d know you were lying.” He reached his free hand past the edge of the mattress, pulling up a thick chain, clucking his tongue when I jerked at my wrist. “You’re not off to a good start, pet.”

Pressing my eyes shut, I panted as he wound the chains around my wrists, wincing as a lock clicked into place. The cool metal on my flesh reminded me too much of my first memories, laying on the gritty floor, naked, bound, and blind, on display for the crowd. He’d done that to me.

The horror, the fear, seemed so long ago, but the bite of the chain brought it all back. Still, I didn’t fight him. There hadn’t been a point to fighting then. There was even less of one now.

Tears wet my lashes as Cyrus tore open my borrowed shirt. I winced as he brought his lips to one breast, but he simply brushed a soft kiss over my nipple, teasing the tender nub with his tongue until it tightened. I squirmed as sparks of pleasure skittered along my nerves, trashing my efforts to remain detached.

Curving his hands under my breasts, Cyrus lifted one, then the other to his lips, sucking and biting until I jerked at the chains, the erotic sensations triggering the need to move. To be closer to the stimulation. My body had betrayed me before, but this time, I welcomed the way it overruled my mind.

I wanted what he was giving me. Wanted one damn moment when I could give in willingly and push aside the past. It would be waiting for me when we were done. It always was, even though most was nothing but a gaping black hole.

Moving down my body, Cyrus pushed my thighs open, his tongue slipping against my folds, dipping into me, driving me out of my mind. I lifted my hips to him, but his hand pressed down on my pelvis, locking me in place.

He brought me close to the edge of release. Stopped. Thrust his tongue into me, dragging me to the peak yet again before leaving me gasping and straining to rise.

Without warning, he flipped me over, jerking me up to my knees. The chains tightened around my wrists, pinching my skin between the links so hard they broke the flesh. Blood trailed down my forearms, small droplets disappearing into the black sheets as he positioned himself behind me.

Sliding his dick up and down over my pussy, he taunted me, moving out of reach every time I shifted my hips to urge him on. I pressed my head to the mattress between my forearms, whimpering as he finally pressed into me, inch at a time, so fucking slow I wanted to scream at him. But I didn’t. I was afraid he’d stop.

“So desperate. Tell me, Lydia. Tell me what you need.” He ground into me, stroking one hand down my spine. Wrapping my hair around his hand, he jerked me up as far as the chains would allow. “You know how much I love it when you beg.”

He’d used my own body as a weapon against me. A twisted part of me was so fucking turned on, I craved his every sadistic urge. I let out a low moan as he drew away, biting into my cheek as the flat of his palm connected with my thigh.

“Tell. Me.” He tightened his grip on my hair until my eyes teared and I cried out at the pain in my scalp. “Say the words or I’ll leave you here with a toy to keep you this hot and pathetic all fucking night.”

“You…” I pulled as much as I could in his grip, meeting his hard gaze over my shoulder. “I need you.”

Claiming my lips in a rough kiss, he filled me with one smooth thrust, pulling my hips back in a hard rhythm, filling the room with the sound of flesh slapping flesh. He shoved me back down on the mattress, his hand on the back of my neck, curving his free arm around my waist and scissoring his fingers at either side of my clit.

Everything inside me clamped down and I screamed as pleasure burst out like flammable liquid ignited under pressure. The flames spread within and without, undulating my core, blazing along every nerve. I shuddered as he slammed in over and over, never slowing, never letting up, bringing me to another climax so intense that ecstasy spotted my vision with flashes of red through darkness.

Raking his nails down my back, he drove in one last time, a feral sound escaping him before he wrapped his arms around my waist, resting his weight on me as though his release had taken the last of his strength.

Warmth slicked his chest and my back, blood spilling from the flesh he’d clawed, but I had scars from much worse wounds he’d left on me. This was nothing. Compared to all the other times he’d taken me, this was almost…gentle.

Appreciating being fucked by him in any way was so messed up, I refused to think on it too long. As my body cooled, the scent of sawdust and dirt returned to me and I shivered. Being pinned down reminded me of being trapped in the earth, so close to freedom, unable to take it because the risk was worse than the nightmare surrounding me.

The story of my fucking life.

Easing away from me, Cyrus grabbed a set of keys from the nightstand and quickly undid the lock on my chains. He released me, letting me lie down on the bed as he disappeared into the bathroom.

He returned with a damp, black facecloth, and used it to clean the blood from my back. The wounds stung, but I bit into my tongue to keep from making a sound. This side of him, this attentive tenderness, wasn’t real. For some reason, he’d chosen to play the part of a kind lover. If I let myself believe he cared at all, he’d destroy me when he got bored of this game.

“I might not, you know.” He carefully lifted one wrist, then the other, cleaning the blood off them as well. “You rarely bore me and I rather like the idea of you purring for me now and then. You aren’t a loyal bitch, wagging her tail for scraps. More like a kitten, ready to curl up in my lap, or bite my hand if I rub you the wrong way.”

I let out a tired laugh, not sure what to make of him constantly trying to mold me into some kind of pet. That wasn’t what he really wanted from me. I wasn’t sure he even knew what he did want. Tonight, it was this, and I wouldn’t fight him on it. After what I’d gone through, I needed some time to figure out my own mind.

Cyrus tossed the cloth aside, then pulled me into his arms, stroking my hair, trying to comfort me in a way that proved my reality had been turned inside out. I lay staring at the ceiling for hours, long after he’d drifted off. The smell of dirt lingered. Stale air. My own blood. The grave still held me, more tangible when I closed my eyes than the soft bed beneath me, or the solid chest where I rested my head.

Maybe I hadn’t gotten out at all. Maybe this was a dream. A fucked up dream because I couldn’t imagine anything better than this gilded cage I was in. My fantasy was not being tortured. My only hope that my sacrifice would mean something. So long as I had those basic comforts, what more could I want?

Other than the mercy of death.