Reap

She was sad for me.

My stomach sank. It was as if her kiss was telling me that something bad was about to happen. As Talia broke away, she ran her hand down my neck, over my chest and down to grip my hand. Feeling eyes watching, Talia turned us to face her brother.

Talia brought us forward. Every cell in my body was alert as the man stared at me. He was dressed in a shirt and pants like Master. He looked like Master. The female behind him, the female with the bright blue eyes moved closer to the male who looked like Master.

Talia brought us to a long seat and urged me to sit. I followed her lead, but my eyes never left the male. He was tall, broad, and strong. He had scars on his face and arms. I looked down at my arms. They were like mine.

Talia’s brother and the female slowly sat on the seat opposite us. The room was filled with tension and silence. It made me want to get up and leave.

The male watched me, then turned to Talia. “How long?”

I tensed when the question came from his lips. Talia flushed red and bowed her head. “Awhile.”

The male’s face hardened and his jaw clenched. “And you didn’t think to tell me?”

Talia was silent. The finger wrapped around mine tightened. The female next to her reached over and got the male’s attention. She shook her head at him. The male’s eyes focused back on me. His hard eyes flickered to Talia, but not for long.

I pulled on Talia’s hand and her head lifted. Brown eyes met mine and I stroked my free hand down her face to make sure she was okay. Talia cast me a small smile and turned back to her brother.

“Luka,” she said quietly, her voice timid as though she was afraid of what he might say, “Zaal has been free of the drug for weeks. He has been gaining strength each day.” Her eyes fell, then fluttered nervously back up. “That’s why he is out of the basement. He changed when the drug left him. I have … I’ve been caring for him.” She sucked in a deep breath. “I’ve been with him.”

Talia glanced up at me and brought our joined hands to her mouth, her lips pressing a kiss to the back of my hand.

“Talia,” the female opposite whispered as though she was shocked, attracting my attention. She smiled sadly at her friend and then smiled across at me. But I watched the male. I watched his unmoving expression.

“Luka,” Talia said, her voice suddenly seeming more powerful than before, “I asked you to come here today because Zaal has started having dreams, flashes of people and pictures he can’t explain. He wants to know why you freed him from Jakhua. He wants to know where he’s from. He wants to know who he is.” Talia’s voice never wavered, and she added, “I know some, but not much. I thought this would be best coming from you. That’s why I called you here today. It wasn’t for any other reason.”

Her steely gaze lay upon her brother, and I felt my chest swell with pride that she was by my side. “I didn’t want to get anything wrong. It’s important he hears it correctly. The whole truth, from someone who was there for part of it.”

My hot blood pumped in my veins as I listened to Talia speak, then it froze to ice, my lungs squeezing all air from my chest.

… he wants to know why you freed him from Jakhua. He wants to know where he’s from. He wants to know who he is.…

Talia’s brother rose from his seat. He walked toward us. Talia squeezed my hand so tightly that, for a moment, I thought she might fear her brother. Rage spiked in my blood at the thought of him taking her from me. I jumped to my feet.

I was taller than her brother.

Bigger.

I had size, but there was no fear in his eyes as he fixed his attention on me. My muscles tensed as he approached. One thought controlled me: protect Talia.

“Get back,” I snarled as he approached.

But he didn’t. He just kept coming. I braced on my feet and ignored Talia’s nervous breathing behind me. My head lowered in anticipation of the strike. Suddenly, staring me right in the eyes, the man ripped off his shirt, threw it to the ground, and halted only feet away.

My body couldn’t move, too overcome by the picture before me.

818. His chest read 818. His tattoo, his identity ink, just like mine.

The man lifted his hand and traced his number with his finger. “I am like you,” he said roughly. He took a step closer. “I was taken from my family as a child and forced into a gulag. I was made to fight against my will. Pumped full of drugs until I felt nothing but rage. Injected with more drugs to forget my home, my family. I lived only to kill. I was trained to maim, to slaughter, to annihilate. I was Raze, a champion death-match fighter. I was 818. I was death.”