Chapter Seven
Phebe
“Phebe,” my father called. I ran from my bedroom and into the living room. A man was sitting on the couch. The man was dressed in white and had the blondest hair I had ever seen. Well, except for one other. My Rebekah. But she had gone now. Gone to the prophet’s home to rid the devil from her soul. Soon she would be free from evil, and I would have my best friend and sister back again.
I was counting the days.
“Phebe,” my father said. “This is Brother John.”
“Hello sir,” I said and bowed low. When I had straightened, my father beamed at me.
I smiled.
Brother John rose from the couch and came toward me. He stopped just a few inches away, lifted his hand and placed his fingers under my chin. I looked into his blue eyes as he searched my face. He was smiling at me kindly; I smiled back at him. That seemed to please Brother John, because he nodded and spoke to my father. “She is beautiful. She will make a good Sacred Sister.”
Brother John untied my headdress and pushed it back. My long hair was tied back off my face. He withdrew the pins that held it in place and let it fall around me. It fell all the way to my waist.
“Beautiful,” he said again and ran his fingers through the strands. “Tell me, Phebe,” Brother John asked. “How old are you?”
“I am ten years old, sir.”
“Perfect,” he replied. “And have you yet received your first touch?”
I glanced to my father, who nodded for me to answer. “Yes, sir.”
“She has not been fully broken in, but she has been explored by a brother I am close to, since she was very young. She has the necessary experience.” My heart beat fast as I remembered Brother Abel. The first time I had lain on my bed as he came into my room and removed my clothes. And then he had touched me. He whispered scripture in my ear as his fingers explored my flesh. And then he told me to touch him too. He came back often and did the same things, sometimes more. My father had told me it was God’s will.
“Phebe,” Brother John said, and I blinked. “The prophet has requested you for a special position in our commune.”
Happiness raced through my body, and I smiled with excitement. “Me? The prophet knows who I am?”
“Yes.” Brother John stroked his finger down my face. “And you are to become a very special girl to him and all of the brothers in our faith.”
“I am?”
“Yes. You are to become a Sacred Sister. Do you know what that is?”
“No, sir.”
“It is one of the most important positions in all of Prophet David’s kingdoms.”
I swallowed hard as Brother John slipped his hand into mine. “Come, child. You will stay with me across the commune in a very special place.” I glanced across at my father, and he smiled so big at me. I felt nothing but pride as Brother John led me from my home. Brothers and sisters that I passed waved at me in congratulation. All the time, I thought of our prophet and how lucky I was to have been chosen for a special position.
I would not let him down . . .
My eyes rolled open as a slice of pain cut through my stomach. The light in the room stabbed my eyes, and I called out as its brightness caused my head to ache.
I lifted my hands to my head and tried to stop the throbbing that was beating in my brain. Sweat coated my palms, and I felt my stomach rolling and rolling until . . . I leaned over the edge of the bed to the bucket beside me and purged. I heaved over and over, the awful memory of my youth still playing on repeat in my mind. When there was nothing left to bring up, when the retches became dry coughs, I tried to clear my head from the fog. I was tired, so tired. Then two hands were around my arms, lifting me back to the wet mattress. I shifted my body and felt my legs stick to the linen beneath.
“Fuck,” someone growled. My heart ceased to beat. I was sure I would look up and find Meister. I did not want Meister. I never had. I shut my eyes as I was deposited somewhere and heard someone rushing about the room. I tried to move, but when I did I cried out in agony. My muscles, every single one of my muscles felt on fire, only they were burning me from the inside. My hand moved down my arm, only to stop at the middle. My skin scraped the flesh as I silently searched for the answer to what I needed.
The potion . . . I needed the potion.
“None here, Red. Just gonna have to ride through this shit with me.” A deep voice was near my ear, then I was in someone’s arms. Only these arms did not feel like Meister’s, this male did not smell like him. He smelled of smoke, leather and gunpowder.
I was lowered back down to the bed, and then someone sat beside me. I cracked my eyes open, but my vision was blurred. I blinked until it was clear. A gentle hand cupped the back of my head and a glass was brought to my lips. Cool water entered my mouth; it felt like razor blades as I swallowed. I drained the glass, then a second. When I wanted a third, the deep voice said, “No.”
I reached out, trying to bring the water back, but he stood and walked away. I tried to focus on his retreating back, and all I saw was the devil, laughing at me. Fear seized me, and screams poured from my mouth. When he came back, my voice stopped in my throat. I watched his dark eyes as they met mine. He had a small beard and his hair was long, like the brothers in the commune, but he was not one. I knew he was not one.
He kneeled beside me and pushed my hair from my forehead. “I need . . .” I gasped as pain slammed though me, bending my back. My fingernails scraped along the already broken skin on my arms. “Potion,” I begged. “I need the potion.”
He shook his head. “No potion, Red. Not anymore.”
Tears tracked down my cheeks. Things began to move around the room. People entered, shadows at first, then . . .
“Rebekah,” I cried. She was rocking in the corner, bleeding, burned from the fire on Perdition Hill. “No!” I tried to move, but someone was holding me down.
“You did this,” she said in her beautiful voice. Blood replaced her tears and marked her perfect skin.
“I did not know,” I cried. “I believed them when they told me you were devil-created.” I sobbed; I sobbed so hard that my throat felt clawed and raw. Then there was movement to the right.
I screamed out in agony when I saw her move beside Rebekah. Sapphira’s brown eyes stared at me, and she held out her hand. Her bottom lip wobbled, and tears fell down her cheeks. I reached back for her, but I could not touch her. I was too far away. I could never get to her. People were always holding me back.
“You never told me,” she said sadly. My stomach clenched again.
“I could not.” I watched as blood began to pour from her nose and mouth. “They would never let me.” My throat was raw from crying. “If I did well, they would let me see you, but they would never let me talk to of such things. They would never let me tell you.”
“You let them hurt me.” She pointed to the bruises on her arms, on her legs. She lifted her dress up her thighs and exposed the handprints, the marks . . . the tattoo.
“You are safe now. He sent you from the commune. You are safe.”
“Think.” She stepped closer to the bed. When she came into the light, my heart tore in two. “Remember,” she begged. Her long blond hair fell limply to her waist, and her brown eyes were sunken and sad.
“Remember what?”
Sapphira shook her head and stood beside Rebekah. They held hands. I wanted nothing more than to run to them, to join them, whether that be in heaven or hell. But a male held me down.
“Do you see them?” I cried, my salty tears stinging my eyes. “They are hurt, they need me to save them! Sapphira . . . she is only fourteen. She is hurt!”
“It is too late,” Rebekah said, and I froze. Sapphira turned her head from me, robbing me of her beautiful face.
“No . . . ”
“They’re not there,” the male said into my ear.
“No!” I screamed back, but his incredible strength held me down.
“Push through it. They ain’t there. There’s just you and me in this room. They’re in your head.”
“You lie,” I sobbed and slumped against his hold. My head sank into the pillow as another wave of hellfire took command of my muscles. I gritted my teeth and tried to cope with the pain. The only relief I found was a cool cloth being placed on my head, momentarily ridding my scalding skin from the mass of sweat there.
“Potion,” I begged. “Please . . . just give me Meister’s potion.”
“No,” the voice thundered, firm and hard. It came from just above me. I forced my eyes to open. The male’s face slowly swam into view.
“You,” I said, and the male stilled. I lifted my hand to his long brown hair and ran my fingertips over the hair covering his upper lip and chin. “Am I still at the tree?” Was I outside, in the fresh air? I tried to smell if I was, to smell the freshness of the grass and the evening air, but I could smell nothing; I could place nothing.
All was . . . displaced.
“You’re safe,” he said reassuringly and took my hand from his face. I believed he would throw away my touch, like every other male had ever done. But instead, he held my hand in his and squeezed it tightly.
His words filtered into my fogged brain. “Safe?” I asked. He dipped his head closer. I looked into his brown eyes, and he nodded. I stopped breathing. His eyes. I knew his eyes . . . “Kind eyes,” I whispered. He sat back, sighing.
Bringing his hand to my mouth, I kissed at the skin. “Please.” My eyes fell on Rebekah and Sapphira in the corner. They were still watching me. Only this time, parts of their flesh were breaking away, their hair was falling into the air, and the blood that stained their skin began to pour in rivulets down onto the floor. “You did this,” Rebekah rebuked. “You believed them. You let them hurt us.”
“No!” I cried, but it was no good. “The potion,” I pleaded to the male. “You must give me the potion. I cannot take this anymore.”
He took a long inhale. When he opened his eyes, they were shining. “You gotta,” he simply said. “You gotta go through this shit to get better.”
Rage like nothing I had encountered before built within me, and I pushed his hand away. I spat at his naked devil-painted chest. “Give it to me! I want it!” I slapped my head and pushed the side table beside me. It crashed to the floor. I pointed at my arm and hit at my skin. “Here! Put it in HERE! NOW!”
In a flash the male was on me, his huge body pinning my arms down to the mattress. I spat in his face and tried to claw at his arms. My anger was leading me and I let it, as the fire came back, burning every part of me alive. “GIVE IT TO ME!” I yelled. The male stared me down, still saying nothing.
I stared back, screaming demands until my voice cut off and I saw the final remnants of Rebekah and Sapphira fade into the air behind him. My chest caved in as racking tears poured from my eyes. “Please . . . please . . . please . . .”
He shook his head.
“You’re gonna get through this.”
“I want to die,” I said finally, after I didn’t know how long. I had failed. “Let me die.” A whispered request. “Help . . . me die.”
The male’s head snapped back as I spoke those words. His grip tightened on my wrist, and he leaned his head in close. “You’re not gonna die. I’m not gonna let another one die. You got me, Red?” His tanned cheeks reddened, and his eyes clouded with darkness. “We’re gonna get you through this. We’ve been here a while already, just a little more time to go. You ain’t getting your smack, and you ain’t gonna die.”
So I closed my eyes and let the darkness take me. But it was Meister that I saw. Meister and Judah in New Zion.
“Phebe!” Judah called, and I walked toward his seat. I stared at this male pretending to be the prophet and knew his lies. He knew that I knew them too; his eyes, identical to Prophet Cain’s, watched me constantly. Their eyes looked the same, yet Judah’s had always held something different to Cain’s—an innate malice one could not deny.
“Prophet Cain.” I dropped to my knees before him.
“Rise.” I did as ordered. There was a male I had only seen once before standing beside him. He had attended a recent Lord’s Sharing. To Judah’s right was Sarai, the child who had recently become his consort.
“Sister Phebe.” Judah gestured to the shaven-haired male beside him. “This is Meister. He is a very privileged guest here at New Zion. He saw you in the Lord’s Sharing, and quickly became an admirer of your . . . talents.” Judah’s stare bored into mine, and I understood perfectly what he wanted me to do.
“I understand, Prophet Cain.” I walked toward Meister. With each step I concentrated on everything I had ever been taught. My hips swayed seductively as I climbed the stairs to where they stood. I dipped my head and glanced up at him through hooded eyes. I flicked my hair to the side and let it swish against my waist.
And then I was before him. “Sir,” I said in a husky voice. “Come. I would like to show you how we honor our guests.”
Meister slipped his hand in mine, and I led him from the prophet’s house to my chambers. I offered him a place at the end of my bed and stood before him. Without breaking eye contact, I moved my hair from my shoulders and raised my hand to slip off the sleeves of my garment. Meister became hard under his jeans; the bared muscles of his arms and neck tensed and bulged as the material fell from my body, leaving me exposed.
I walked forward, slow enough for him to savor my body, but quick enough to make him pant for my touch.
“Fuck me,” he said as I stopped before him and ran my hands up his arms. Strange markings were painted on his skin, unlike any I had ever seen before. Some bright, some horrifying. I lifted his shirt over his head and bared his body to my eyes. Still looking into his eyes, I slipped my breasts down the skin on his chest and found my mouth at his nipples. I lapped at the flesh with the tip of my tongue, feeling the bead harden under my touch. He hissed as I grazed my teeth over the raised skin.
His hand moved to my hair, and, suddenly, I was being wrenched to the mattress. I called out as I slammed against the bed. Meister was on his feet, undoing his pants with fast-working hands. His blue eyes were lit with ardor. His strong hands pulled down his pants, freeing his thick length. Using the training that had been ingrained in me since the age of ten, I reached forward and pulled him closer by his muscled hips. His length was hard and ready, so without pausing, I wrapped my lips around him. I was slow at first, teasing and tantalizing, but Meister’s hard hand clutched at my hair. Without warning, he thrust himself inside my mouth until I gagged. I swallowed every thrust he gave, ignoring the tears running down my cheeks. And then Meister was out of my mouth and pushing me onto my back. “Like it rough, do you, whore?” he snarled. Fear settled into my bones.
I had seduced hundreds upon hundreds of males. Some were rougher than others—I was prepared for all—but the glint in Meister’s eyes unnerved me more than anyone I had ever met. Even Judah.
Meister covered my body and split apart my legs with his strong hands. I cried out in surprise as he did so, but it only brought a smile to Meister’s lips. “Do you like that, whore? Like that I can take what I want from you and you can do nothing to fight me off?”
My lip shook as I prepared myself for he was about to do. And then I remembered my training and what was expected of me as a Sacred Sister. “Yes, sir,” I replied. “I want you to overpower me. To take me against my will.” Lifting my mouth to Meister’s ear, I licked along the lobe and whispered, “I want you to own me.”
That was all it took for Meister to snap. He threw me down to the mattress and roughly slammed himself inside me. I stared up at the ceiling as he rammed himself into me over and over again. My hands ran over his back, and I let him savage my mouth with his own, biting on my lip to draw blood. Because that was my role in this life. To pleasure the males associated with the prophet and the faith.
And I was good at it.
The most decorated Sacred Sister.
Meister roared his release into my ear and smothered me with his sweat-soaked body.
I closed my eyes.
*****
I gasped awake. After many seconds, the room swam into focus. I was familiar with this room now. I tried moving my arms and legs. They still ached, but today it was less. I drew in a long inhale and allowed my lungs the freedom of my chest. It hurt when I filled them to capacity, but not to the extent it had the last time I had awoken. I had no idea how long I had been in this room. I remembered purging. I remembered crying. And I remembered the anger.
But now I felt calmer. The images of Rebekah and Sapphira were a distant memory. Even now, as I stared at the spot they had been occupying for too many hours to count, I saw only a wooden wall and the remnants of a smashed dresser.
I glanced about the room, and then I saw him.
He was watching me. Every time I had woken up—at least lately, in the times I could recall—he had been there. He bore scratches on his skin and bruises on his chest. Yet he had never left me alone.
Something in my chest swelled at that knowledge. I refused to believe it was my heart, as I was not sure it was still there, it had been broken so many times. But I thought perhaps it was gratitude.
I did not know. But this man, the man with the kind eyes, had stayed with me. He had rid me of Meister’s potion. I shifted on the mattress. My dry tongue rolled around my dusty mouth. Before I could even move, the man was walking across the room. As he came closer, I saw deep, dark circles under his eyes, and the roughness of the skin on his face. I wondered if he had slept at all in the time I had been here. I tried to recall where I had come from, but all I could see was Meister and the dark room in which he kept me.
And the potion he gave me. That stood out the most. It was all I could think about.
The man sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the glass of water I had been searching for. He swallowed as he leaned his naked torso over me and cupped the back of my head. Gentler than I could have imagined, he lifted my head and brought the glass to my mouth. I closed my eyes as the liquid lubricated my dry throat. I took gulp after gulp until the glass was drained.
When he laid me back on the pillow, I kept my gaze on him. He dropped his head, breaking eye contact, and asked in a hoarse voice, “How’re you feeling?” His deep timbre settled within me, and I watched as he raked his hair back from his face.
I shifted on the bed, mortification cutting through me when I felt wetness under me, when I smelled the stench of my body’s waste. Tears pricked my eyes in embarrassment, and I tried to get out of the bed. But the male’s arms were immediately on my shoulders, keeping me in place. “Don’t fucking be embarrassed about jack shit, right?” I swallowed back the burgeoning lump in my throat. “You feeling okay?” he repeated, this time not removing his eyes from me for a single moment.
I took in a shaky breath. “I . . . I am feeling much better . . . I think . . .”
The male’s shoulders relaxed, as though my answer was the good news he had been hoping for.
“I . . .” I ducked my head, my cheeks blazing with embarrassment. “I am unclean. I . . .” I brushed away the droplet that had fallen from my eye. “I wish to bathe . . . if that is okay with you?”
I felt the weight of his heavy gaze on me. “Yeah,” he said finally and got up from the bed. He walked out of the room, and I heard the sound of water running next door. I moved to the end of the bed, clenching my teeth at the incredible effort it took to do so. I noticed I was wearing strange clothes that hung from my body. When I looked at my hands, I saw nothing but bones and blue veins. The skin on my arms was marked with red welts and raised scabs. I sucked on my bottom lip to stop it trembling.
Using the wall beside me, I pushed myself to stand. My legs shook. I looked down, but had to close my eyes and look away when I saw that all of the flesh had wasted away from my bones.
I opened my eyes at the sound of someone entering the room. The male was staring at me, running his gaze down my too-thin, ruined body. I wanted to cover myself with my arms, but I could not move. The hand that hung by his side clenched into a fist.
Taking a deep breath, I forced my leg to move. Just a single, small step felt like climbing the highest of mountains. My breath became labored, and sweat broke out on my already hot skin. Yet I pushed forward. I needed to be clean. I had seen what I had done to the linen I had been lying on. Humiliation acted as the perfect incentive to get to the cleansing water.
When I reached the male, he held out his arms for me to take. But I shook my head. I would do this alone. I followed the sound of water to a small bathroom. The steam from the shower clung to my skin and acted as a beacon to my weary bones.
“Towel is there. I’ll be just down the hall if you need me,” the male said behind me.
I did not turn around to reply. “Thank you.”
The door shut behind me, and I dropped to sit on the closed toilet seat. I breathed in the steam, giving myself a moment to gather some strength. I looked at the shower—I craved it more than Meister’s potion right now.
It took me too many minutes to rid myself of the soiled clothing I had been wearing and even longer to step into the shower. But the second the water hit the top of my head, an onslaught of tiredness and hurt came barreling down upon me. I struggled to keep up with the fog that was clouding my mind. Confusion wrapped around me. How had I come to be here, and where was he? Where had I been, and what had happened to me? Why was I so thin? Where was Meister? The thought of Meister made my legs give way. I tumbled down to the shower’s floor, hitting it with a thud. Fear had taken hold and I could scarcely move. Tears flooded my face and mixed with the water raining from above.
Shivers broke along my skin as flashes of Meister tying me down to a chair, hurting me, came slamming into my head. I placed my hands on the sides of the shower and tried to get up, but I could not move. My traitorous muscles had collapsed and left me too weak to move from this spot.
I tipped my head to the spray, trying to wash away the feel of Meister on my skin, to cleanse his memory from my mind. And just as I began to cry harder in frustration, the door to the bathroom opened and the male who had cared for me entered. He darted toward me and bent down, wrapping me in his strong hold. He smelled strongly of smoke. It had not been that strong in the bedroom.
“I fell,” I managed to say when I eventually found my voice. “I . . . I could not get back up.”
“It’s okay, Red,” he reassured me and took me from the shower.
“No!” I protested, managing to add some strength to my voice. “Please.” I stretched out my hand to the shower, yearning to be clean. To feel anything but what I did at present; I felt plagued with dirt, inside and out.
In his arms, my body trembled with cold. “You want me to clean you?” he asked.
I turned my head into his chest to shield me from embarrassment. “Please . . .”
The man took a deep breath, then turned and walked back to the still-running shower. I thought he would stand behind me and guide me as I tried to bathe. I did not expect him to step inside with me, still wearing his pants. He kept me cradled in his arms. He braced my feet on the floor and held me with one arm. With his free hand, he took some shampoo and rubbed it into my scalp. I closed my eyes as he washed away the grime and the dirt. I sighed as his hand ran over my skin, taking away the sweat and stench that I found so abhorrent. Then he guided me as I simply stood under the hot spray. He stayed behind me, a pillar of strength. He never spoke as the last of the suds from the shampoo were rinsed from my body. Not once did he utter a single word, until the water began to cool and he asked softly, “Are you finished?”
He switched off the shower and wrapped me in a towel. He sat me back on the closed toilet seat while he dried my hair with a second towel. I sighed as his hands massaged my scalp. And I opened my eyes. I opened my eyes and found myself face to face with this man. He was not looking at me, so focused was he on his task. A wave of something unknown crashed through me when I realized that, in all my life, no man had ever cared for me this way, let alone a complete stranger.
An angel. The endearment fluttered through my mind.
His dark hair was wet. His pants were sodden, creating a flood at his feet. Mesmerized by this strange, kind soul, this man, I found myself with my hand on his wrist. He froze the second my fingers touched him, but he gently met my gaze. “What . . .” I gulped. “What is your name?”
The man’s dark eyes narrowed just a fraction. He withdrew his hands from my hair. “AK.”
“AK,” I said softly, feeling the strangeness of his name on my lips. Not knowing what else to do, I brought his wrist to my mouth and pressed a single grateful kiss to his pulse. I felt it speed up beneath my lips and heard his sudden intake of breath. “We have met before, have we not?”
He glanced away. “Once.”
“The tree,” I said. He nodded in confirmation. A sudden rush of emotion swept into my heart. “You helped save my Rebekah.” I winced as I fought back tears. Then I remembered his eyes, his hair and his smell so close to mine. “You spared my life when you could have destroyed me.”
Sighing, he reluctantly looked at me. “You hadn’t done shit wrong.”
His words were not a balm, rather a heavy metal spike piercing my conscience. “That is debatable,” I replied.
He studied me, his dark eyes assessing. I swallowed hard under his close attention. I opened my mouth to speak. But the words did not come. I could not verbalize my shame, my utter guilt at being the sister who ensured that Rebekah, from a young age, became the devil-girl all in the commune believed her to be.
In truth, I was the devil’s girl. I allowed men to hurt a child; even worse, I encouraged Rebekah to believe she was evil herself.
What she must have thought of me . . .
“She’s here.”
The blood that ran smoothly through my body became a rushing torrent. I stared at AK. He met my eyes and nodded gently. “R-Rebekah?” I managed to stutter, certain I had misheard.
“Lilah.” AK stepped back. “Your sister. She’s here. She lives here.”
AK held out his hand for me to take. He wanted me to get to my feet. But it was impossible. A million emotions ran through my mind as his words sank in. She was here? Here in this place?
“The devil’s men,” I said, my voice cracking.
AK’s eyebrows pulled down. “We’re the Hades Hangmen. And your sister belongs to one of us now.”
“The man with the long blond hair.”
“Ky.”
Ky. I ran the name through my mind, savoring the familiarity of the syllable in my memory. Rebekah loved him. She had told me so before she was punished.
Image after image of Rebekah filled my mind. Her beautiful smile, her long blond hair, and the devastation on her face as they publicly tried her in New Zion. Her face, as she looked to me with such pained resignation in her eyes. Resolve that this was always how her life would end. And that she was the devil-woman they had made her out to be.
A Cursed Woman of Eve. A truth I had believed for so long. The title that had tortured her life.
“Is . . . is she happy?” I asked. AK nodded, a small smile on his lips, and I could not have stopped the tears if I tried.
“She is,” he said gruffly, and my head fell forward. My wet hair veiled my face as I covered my mouth with my hands. I let the relief pour from my body. She was happy. I had not known. But she was happy. I could not have wished for anything more.
AK left the room. He returned and stood in the doorway, holding some clothing in his hands. I could not read the expression on his face as he watched me. He was difficult to understand, I thought. Wearing a neutral mask that hid his true feelings.
He had erected walls around himself for protection. I knew this because I recognized it in myself. I wondered why.
“Get dressed. And then you need to eat.”
The thought of food caused my stomach to roll with nausea. I shook my head, about to protest when AK said, “You haven’t eaten for nearly a week while you were coming off the smack. It ain’t gonna be easy, Red, but you gotta eat something.” He pointed to me. “Right now you’re a bag of bones.” He stepped away and left me alone. I took the clothes he had laid on the counter. I slipped the long sleeveless top over my head and pulled the soft pants over my legs. The pants were too big, but I was able to tie them around my small waist with the drawstring on the waistline.
Using the wall for balance, I stood and made my way to the counter. There was a new toothbrush on the top, and a comb. I brushed my teeth, and when my mouth was clean and refreshed, I forced myself to stare at the reflection I had been avoiding.
I gasped as I stared at the girl in the mirror. Her skin was dull and gray. Her bones jutted out at odd angles, and her hair hung limply at her sides. Then my eyes fell to the marks on her inner arms. Dozens of marks that marred her pale, freckled skin. I ran my fingertips over the marks. I could almost feel the needle piercing the skin and the heavenly potion slipping like pure sunlight into my veins. My body swayed and my eyes closed as I remembered how it took me away from my pain and my burdens.
I stumbled, and my eyes snapped open. Just at the thought of the potion, my cheeks had flushed. Dread settled in my stomach. I craved the potion more than I wanted food, or water, or anything else for that matter. But then I thought of Rebekah, here in this place, safe and happy, and I made myself reach for the comb. Concentrating on her face, her smile, and the hope that Grace made it to her alive, I ran the comb through my hair until the long red strands were straight and smooth.
Red, I thought as I stared back at my reflection. AK had called me “Red”.
The color of my hair.
I startled at the brief flicker of a smile on my lips. I was not sure why, but I enjoyed that name for me. Not Phebe. Not “whore” . . . but the sheer simplicity of the name Red.
I opened the door, and, slowly, painfully, I made my legs take me in the direction AK had gone. The smell of food almost made me return to the bathroom to purge. But I fought it, determined to keep moving.
When I reached the kitchen, AK was at a stove, cooking food. I did not realize I had paused in the doorway, captivated by him, until he glanced over his shoulder and froze. He had changed into another pair of pants, and his hair was brushed back from his face.
He was incredibly handsome. I did not understand the flush that came to my cheeks as that thought crossed my mind. Men did not affect me. They never had. Yet here I was, blushing as though I did not know the touch of a man.
“You wanna sit?” He flicked his chin toward a table at the side of the room. I sat down, and AK placed a mug in front of me. I knew the smell immediately.
“Coffee,” he said and walked back to the stove.
“I have never tried it.” I lowered my nose to the liquid, but I had to turn my head away at the smell.
“Try it,” he said encouragingly, placing a plate of food before me. Bacon and eggs. He shrugged and sat down opposite me. “I ain’t a good cook, but even I can't fuck this up.”
I tentatively cut into the food. I brought a small amount to my mouth and made myself chew. It tasted like sawdust on my tongue. It felt like razorblades to swallow. But I ate it. I knew that I must.
AK stared out of the window of his cabin while I ate as much as I could—it was not much. When I could eat no more, I placed down the cutlery and asked, “Why?”
AK slowly turned back to face me. I swallowed a small amount of the coffee, wincing as the hot liquid burned my throat. But I liked it.
“Why what?” he echoed. My eyes fell to his naked torso and the mass of tattoos marring his skin.
“Me?” I said, finally fixing my attention back on his eyes. “Why . . . why did you help me?” Instinctively, my hand ran over the marks on my inner arm. “Why did you take me from . . . him?” I dropped my gaze and stared into the dark abyss of my coffee cup. “Why did you care? You do not know me.”
“Just did,” he replied finally.
I could see by his stiff posture that he would say nothing more on the matter. And that was okay. He did not have to explain anything. He rescued me, for whatever reason, from Meister. In the end, that was all I needed to know.
“Thank you,” I whispered, keeping my eyes from meeting his. “Thank you for saving me.”
I heard his breathing quicken, and I felt his need to say something to me from across the table. But before he could reply, there was a knock at the door.
My head snapped up. I wondered who it could be. AK got up and opened the door. When the visitor stepped inside, my heart filled with light. He saw me sitting at the table and stopped dead.
“Phebe,” he breathed.
My hand shot to my mouth in disbelief. I saw a woman enter behind him. She was beautiful, with long black hair and blue eyes. But before I could wonder about her any further, Cain crossed the room and took me in his arms. Tears spilled from my eyes as I fell into his familiar embrace. He wore a black shirt and denim pants . . . and his long hair was gone. I cried into his shoulder, racking sobs, until he stood back. His eyes swept over me, and he smiled.
I recognized that kind smile.
Then the woman was pushing past him. “Phebe,” she breathed and embraced me with the same vigor. I frowned in confusion, wondering how she knew me. Then she pulled back, and I studied her face. Her hair was the wrong color, as were her eyes, but she was, this was . . .
“Harmony?” I whispered in disbelief, then held her as close as I could. Harmony stepped back and smiled at me. Her hand ghosted down my face. “It is Bella, Phebe. My true name is Bella.” She pointed at her hair and eyes. “I was in disguise in New Zion. This is the real me.”
“Bella?” I shook my head in confusion. I did not understand.
“It is okay,” Harm—no, Bella—said. “We will explain in time.”
I looked at Cain, but I immediately saw Judah staring back at me. I swallowed, and Cain shifted on his feet. “He killed them all,” Cain said, reading my mind. His expression filled with agony. “I . . . I killed him, Phebe. I . . . I had to stop him.”
Shock rendered me motionless, speechless. Bella took Cain’s hand in hers and lifted to her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. They were together, I realized. A foreign pang of envy traveled through me. So much so that my heart actually ached. Cain closed his eyes under Bella’s caress, then took a deep breath and turned to me. I searched his eyes for the answer to the question I did not dare to ask. “She is safe,” he said. I held my breath, finding it impossible to believe. “We got her out.” He smiled. “She is with your sister. Here. Safe and happy.”
“Grace.” I closed my eyes as relief swept through me. He had gotten her out. Grace was safe. She was with Rebekah. “I need to see them.”
“When he’s checked you,” AK’s strong voice said from the back of the kitchen. His posture was tense, and his eyes were tracking every move Cain made. I didn’t understand what was wrong. “Check her,” he said to Cain. “She’s through the worst of the shit now.”
His tone was cold, almost cruel. I furrowed my brow in confusion. Cain came toward me holding a large bag, his cheeks red with embarrassment. “I was trained as a healer, Phebe. I’m here to check you’re okay. Meister had you on a lot of drugs—I’m not entirely sure of them all. AK helped you rid your system of them.”
I nodded, still confused as to why AK had replaced kindness for anger in Cain’s presence. But I did not say anything on the matter. Instead I watched AK as Cain examined me. I watched as AK’s attention never left mine.
And it made me feel . . . warm.
I was not sure why; I knew him not at all.
But I knew that this feeling, this warmth he gave me, was real.