Cage

Waking up with Ella feels like a dream. We’re still in the bedroom on the soft bed, my hand still wrapped around her. She’s turned around in her sleep and huddled close to me, curling up against my chest. Heat flows through my body looking at her naked skin, her sexy curves, as I think about how I laid claim to her yesterday.

She’s my woman—completely mine—and I adore every inch of her sweet body and that beautiful smile.

However, when I gaze down to admire each little nook, I notice a red stain on the sheets. My eyes widen, and I lean up to inspect it, trying not to wake her. It’s right between and below her legs too.

Fuck.

I nudge her away to take a closer look and dab the sheets with my hand. It’s wet … and it looks like blood.

“Ella,” I say because I wonder if she knows what this means.

Her eyes open slowly, the salt still in her eyes as she blinks. I point at the blood pooling underneath her. She doesn’t seem entirely awake, so I grab her shoulder and look deep into her eyes. “Pain?”

“What?” she mumbles.

I point between her legs again. When her eyes follow and see the blood, they widen and she sucks in a breath.

“Shit!”

She clambers out of bed as if she’s seen a dead body, almost falling over her feet to stagger away.

I throw off the sheets to reveal more blood that has seeped through. If this came from her… she must be wounded.

Fuck.

Was I too rough? I wanted to go slowly, ease her into it, but I couldn’t stop myself from ramming into her with all my pent-up lust. Did I go too far this time?

Fuck!

It’s my fault. It has to be. Just thinking about it makes me want to punch the wall, so my fist instantly responds.

Ella jolts back from my sudden outrage, and I immediately regret my decision. I try to approach her, but she leans back. I hate when she’s fearful of me because I will never, ever harm her.

“Come …” I say, wanting to inspect her for injuries.

She shakes her head and looks down at her own legs covered in blood. “Shit.”

“Blood,” I say, and I look at the camera in the corner. “Come, now!” I growl at it.

I know he’s watching, so I’ll keep yelling until he comes. I want him to look at her and see if she’s okay.

“No,” she says, shaking her hands. “Please, don’t call him.”

“You’re bleeding …” I growl, and I shout back at the camera again. “COME HERE!”

My voice is so loud it makes Ella inch back again until she reaches the door. It clicks open, and she rushes through, back into her cell.

I know I’m scaring her, and I know she hates Father, but I need to know if she’s okay. It doesn’t take him long to get here, though. I follow her through the black door, which closes behind me just seconds before Father arrives.

He barges into the room and screams, “What happened?”

I point at the red stain on Ella’s legs.

His eyes follow, and soon it clicks. A smile slowly creeps onto his face. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

He reaches into his pocket and takes out a device with buttons. I know just what it is, and the mere sight of it makes me do a double take.

“No,” I say.

“You know it’s necessary,” he says. “Get back into your cage.”

The black door opens again, but I want to go to Ella instead. I hold out my hand. She doesn’t budge, despite me trying to get her to come with me. “Come,” I say.

She shakes her head, her eyes alternating back and forth between me and Father. She doesn’t understand that I want to protect her … and right now, I don’t know what he’s going to do to her if she stays.

“Come. Now,” I say, wanting to grab her hand, but she flinches.

“Get back into your cage!” Father yells, and he shows me the device. “Or do you want me to press that button?” His finger hovers over the one that makes me stop in my tracks. The one that causes immeasurable amounts of pain. The one I want to avoid at all cost.

I swallow and slowly step away from Ella.

“Get back …” Father says, pointing at the door.

I creep toward it, never taking my eyes off Ella, wishing she’d come with me. But she’s frozen to the floor as he forces me to back away from her.

“Go,” Father emphasizes, and when I finally enter the door, it quickly snaps shut in my face.

Fuck.

Reluctantly, I go back to my cage and stand near the glass, watching his every move and keeping an eye on her. I don’t want him to touch her. I don’t want him to do anything to her, but I have no choice in the matter.

I’m just as much of a prisoner in this place as she is.

He gazes at her with too much interest.

“Don’t,” I tell him, but he ignores me completely.

Then he presses the button and gas fills her room again.

“No!” I yell.

“Silence!” Father screams. “Don’t you dare forget your place.”

“She’s mine!” I growl, pounding on the glass, but I can’t break through, no matter how hard I punch.

She shivers as she struggles to breathe. Soon she begins to cough, and it doesn’t take long for her to fall to the floor. He walks out of the room and comes back with a wheelchair. I watch helplessly as he goes into her cell and picks her lifeless body up from the floor, stuffing it in the chair like a puppet before pulling her out of my sight.

“Why?” I ask.

“Because she’s bleeding, that’s why,” he answers then goes through the black doors. When he comes out again, he stops to say, “Make no mistake … this girl is my property, and I will take care of it as I see fit. I brought her here, just as I brought you here. Don’t forget that.”

I grimace and lean away from the glass, fury raging through my body as I watch him wheel her away. When she disappears from my sight, I roar out loud, feeling the loss of my mate to the bone.

* * *

Ella

When I wake up again, the first thing I feel is a pang in my belly. The bright light above my face makes me squint. Where am I?

Music blares in my ears, making me want to plug them. A radio is playing “Don’t Worry Baby,” and the sound is what pulls me back to reality.

I can feel cold metal beneath me, and leather straps run across my body, making it so I’m unable to move my limbs. I look around and notice Graham standing near a desk with a computer on it. I don’t recognize this room, though. It’s not the one I was in before. This is much bigger … and it looks like a lab.

“Oh, you’re awake,” he says. “Good.” He picks up a tube and stares at it then shakes it. He grabs two thin photographs and plasters them on the wall. Only then do I realize they’re not photographs … They look like ultrasounds.

“I bought my own equipment. Beats having to go to the hospital every time. Neat, don’t you think?” He smiles as if he’s actually proud of his accomplishment. As if it’s not at all an invasion of privacy.

The stinging sensation inside my belly—and between my legs—interrupts my thoughts.

“If you’re in pain, I can give you painkillers,” he muses. “You’re probably experiencing some irritation due to the swab that went up there.”

Swab. Up there.

My eyes widen.

Did he … perform a pelvic exam on me?

Bile rises in my throat as the tears spring into my eyes.

I suffocate on my own emotions; the horror that I feel bursting to the surface. But no matter how much I try, I can’t move. I can’t bring myself to fight and scream.

“Relax,” he says. “Otherwise, it’ll only hurt more.” There’s that wretched smile again. I want to punch him. Cut him. Stab him. Kill him.

I’ve never had these thoughts before, but now I definitely have them. He took something from me that I never wanted to give away. And for what?

He can’t even look me in the eye as I fall apart. Instead, he’s busy looking at the ultrasound pictures stuck to the wall. “So …” he mumbles. “The good news is, everything seems to be working perfectly, which I’m thankful for, seeing as how that other girl was completely useless.”

Other girl … does he mean Syrena? Or the ones who came before me?

Not knowing eats away at me, but I have no time to think about it because he keeps telling me more. And every little bit of information is crucial right now.

“The bad news is … well, I suppose it’s not exactly bad news,” he says, chuckling as if any of this is even remotely funny. “But the blood is normal. You’re on your period.”

Period. The idea seems so farfetched if I think about it because I used to get that at home. In the safety of my own bathroom. I wasn’t examined by some creepy man or kept in a dark, damp hole. Periods meant pain, but I could live with that pain. In fact, I’d do anything to have just that pain.

After being through so much in this depraved prison, I never even thought of my monthly calendar, let alone actually having a period. That I’m still able to bleed surprises me … I guess nature doesn’t give up as easily as I had hoped.

But then I realize … why does this even matter to Graham?

I look up and watch him take down the ultrasound pictures. He sighs and says, “I’ll give you some pads and underwear along with a disposal bag when you go back to your cell.”

Despite trying so desperately, I stammer, but no words come from my mouth. I don’t want to go back into that glass cage. Anywhere but there. The small space is killing me.

“Oh …” A vicious smile spreads on his lips. “Are you trying to talk?” He laughs. “How amusing to watch you struggle.”

That bastard. Laughing at my expense.

“What is it that you called it? Selective mutism?” he muses, watching for my reaction.

I try to stay calm—I honestly do—but that look on his face brings me terror unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before. I knew he was watching us through the cameras … I just never realized the extent of it. How often? How much? Does he listen in to every conversation?

Of course, he’d never tell me. That’d be like giving away his hand, and he plays to win. I’m just a chess piece on the board I’ve yet to understand.

However, when he opens his mouth, it uncovers itself.

“Well, no matter,” he says. “I know all I want. You’re not pregnant. We’ll try again when possible.”

Pregnant.

The keyword that unravels me.

The chess piece that beats them all.

“What? Is that a surprise to you?” he asks, closing in on me. Shaking his head, he says in a condescending voice, “You should’ve known I wanted you to have sex with him for a reason. You’re not just a prize he won.”

My lip quivers as he brushes my face ever so gently, the mere touch of his skin on mine making me want to puke.

“You’re so pretty, so thin and curvy at the same time … perfect … for conceiving.”

No amount of breathing can provide the oxygen I need right now. I feel lightheaded. Sick to my stomach. On the verge of passing out.

“You’re not just here for him. You’re here for me,” he says with a low voice. “So his sperm can create the perfect fighter for me to make money off of … over and over again.”