Knight (An Impossible Novel) (13 page)

My gaze fell on the hair that covered my sex.  That was all wrong as well.  Even though I knew Master wouldn’t see that particular part of my body, I couldn’t resist the impulse to tidy it up.

When I emerged from the bathroom, I was pleased to see Master suck in a breath as his eyes fell on me.  I was even more gratified when his gaze fell on my bare legs, roving slowly up my body until his eyes came to rest on my face.  I was beaming at him, and he returned my smile easily.

Now it was my turn to inhale sharply.  God, he was beautiful.  And I finally felt like I might be worthy of him.  I was still too thin, but the retro cut of my amethyst dress – tapered to the waist before flaring out to fall mid-thigh – gave a hint of the curves I used to possess.

Then my mind drifted to the ugly scars that marred my skin, and I realized I would never be good enough for him, no matter how much I preened.

He crossed the room in four long strides to gather me up in his arms.  “What was that thought, little one?”  He asked.

“My scars…”  My gaze fell on my wrist, and I shuddered.  I touched my fingers to my throat to reassure myself that the phantom weight of my iron collar was just that: a phantom.

Master grasped my fingers in his, pulling my hand towards his face.  His lips brushed against the scar at the inside of my wrist, and my pulse jumped.

“You’re beautiful, sweetheart.”  His voice was a low rumble.  “That Bastard can never take that from you.”

“Thank you, Master,” I said breathily, stunned by his praise and his intimate touch.

He blinked hard, his expression falling with regret as he slowly lowered my hand from his lips.  Still, he didn’t release me even as he stepped away.  Keeping his hold on my wrist, he gently guided me to the kitchen so he could help me prepare our dinner.

“We’re running low on food,” he told me after we had finished eating.  “Why don’t you make a list of what you want to cook, and I’ll order it.”  It was worded as a question, but it was an order.

I happily complied, excited by the prospect of pleasing Master further.  He took such good care of me; the only time that I could care for him was when I prepared his meals.  While he grumbled over his laptop, I took up the paper and pencil he had set before me.

I paused, frowning.  I hadn’t written anything in so long.  What if I didn’t remember how?

No.  I had to remember.  Master had ordered me to do this, and I wasn’t going to disappoint him.  I touched the lead to the paper, and the word “eggs” flowed out in cursive.  The form of the letters wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t wrong either.  I smiled to myself as I recognized the handwriting as my own personal scrawl.  It was yet another thing I had lost that Master had given back to me.  The pencil moved across the paper in assured, continuous strokes.  I hummed softly to myself as I worked, contented by the scratch of the lead as it left bold charcoal lines in its wake.

“So you’re a baseball fan, then?”  Master’s question cut through my reverie.  I glanced up at him, my brow furrowed in confusion.  “You’re humming ‘Take Me Out to the Ballgame,’” he informed me, his full lips quirked up in an amused smile.

“Oh,” I said, a bit dumbly.

Was I a baseball fan?

Flashing signs emblazoned in blue, red, and white. 
The roar of the crowd.  The scent of beer and hotdogs.

Joy.

“Yes,” I said slowly.  “I do like baseball.”

Master grinned as he stood, crossing from the couch to join me in the kitchen.  “We’ll watch a game later,” he told me as he approached.  “You had better be an Orioles fan.”

I grimaced, and Master laughed.  “I guess that’s a ‘no,’ then,” he said.  His gaze fell on the list I had been writing, and his eyebrows rose.  “That’s amazing, sweetheart.”

“What?”  I asked, confused.  I glanced down at the paper to find a sketch of an eye staring back up at me.  My fingertips were darkened with lead where I had smudged it to add shading to my drawing.  I stared at it, bewildered.  Had I really done that?  I hadn’t even realized it.  I gazed up at Master and found the inspiration for my drawing glinting down at me.  My sketch didn’t even come close to capturing the multifaceted beauty of his eyes.

“Where did you learn to do that?”  He asked, the curiosity in his tone colored by something more inquisitive, incisive.

An elderly woman sat beside me at the dining room table, her wrinkled hand moving with the surety of years of practice as she gave life to a sketch of a pretty little girl with dark, curling hair.  A pencil was clutched awkwardly in my own tiny hand, and I tried to mimic her drawing.  My efforts were laughably rough in comparison to her masterpiece, but she praised my work, altering my grip on the pencil as she instructed me on how to improve.

Granny.

I shook my head hard.  No.  Those weren’t my memories.  They were
hers.

“I don’t know.”

It was the first time I had lied to Master.  I knew I was breaking one of his rules, but I couldn’t remember the woman who owned those memories.  I wouldn’t.  Master wasn’t a part of her life, and I refused to let go of him.

He studied my face carefully, but I schooled my expression to a blank mask.  I hoped it would pass for genuine ignorance rather than deceit.

After a moment, the intensity of his stare eased, and I resisted the impulse to heave a sigh of relief at the reprieve.  He smiled at me gently.

“Come on.”  He took me by the hand and tugged me towards the couch.  “We’ll watch a game while I order groceries.”  His gaze turned hard, authoritative, but a smile was still playing around his lips.  “You’ll learn to root for the Orioles.”

I snorted and rolled my eyes.  “So long as you don’t ask me to support the damn Cardinals, we’ll be okay.”

Master’s booming laugh filled the room.  “Sweetheart, I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you cuss.”

I smirked at him.  “I wonder where I might have picked up that habit?”  I asked pointedly.

His chuckle held a dark edge as he tugged my wrist hard, sending me tumbling down onto the couch beside him.

“Don’t go getting bratty with me, girl.  You won’t like the consequences.”  I froze as he paused for a beat, fear and something darker stirring in my belly at the mention of
consequences.

“I might have to cook dinner tomorrow,” he threatened.

I laughed and gave a dramatic shudder.  “You wouldn’t.”

“Watch me.”

I made a show of pursing my lips, playfully letting him know he wouldn’t get any more sass off me.  For now.

He planted a swift kiss on my forehead.  “Good girl.  I really didn’t want to put both of us through that.”

“You are truly terrifying, Master,” I quipped.  “I am thoroughly intimidated.”

He gave a playful growl and pinched my arm hard.  He grinned at the sound of my surprised yelp.  “Don’t push your luck, girl.  What kind of Master would I be if I can’t follow through with my threats?”

My breath caught in my throat.  It was the first time he had made reference to his ownership of me aloud since the morning that he had almost rejected me.  Rather than quivering in fear at his threat, I flung myself into his arms, pressing my face into the crook between his neck and shoulder, breathing deeply and inhaling his intoxicating scent.

“I’m sorry, Master,” I said, my tone low and husky.  “I promise I’ll be good.”

He stiffened beneath me for a moment, but then he sighed, his arms wrapping around me as he tilted his head to rest it atop my own.

“You’ve been very good, sweetheart.  I’m so proud of you.”

Unable to help myself, I turned my head slightly so I could press my lips gently against his neck.

Instantly, I jerked away from him, horrified at my mistake.  But he held me fast, refusing to release me.

“It’s okay, girl.”  His warm breath tickled across my ear as he reassured me.  “I’m not angry.  Just don’t do that again.”

“I won’t, Master,” I agreed, my voice ragged with relief.

He cleared his throat abruptly, shifting so he could retrieve the remote from the coffee table.

“We’ll watch an Orioles-Cardinals game,” he told me.  “That way you’ll have to root for the Orioles.”

I huffed out an annoyed breath, but I couldn’t fully suppress my amused smile.  “You’re evil, Master,” I informed him.

He pinched my arm again, laughing when I tried to squirm away from him.  He held me firmly to his side.  “Watch yourself, girl.  You’re on thin ice as it is.”

I sighed happily and snuggled into him, ceding to his beautiful control.  I enjoyed this playful side of Master almost as much as I relished his power over me.

Chapter 11

“I have something for you, sweetheart,” Master told me the next day after we had finished putting the groceries away.  I had noticed the two extra packages that had been passed through the door, but I hadn’t asked about them.  If Master wanted me to know what they were, he would tell me.  Now my heart leapt at his words.  Even though it made me feel even more unequal in what I gave to him in return for his generosity, I loved how he pampered me.

He opened the first, smaller cardboard box and proffered me the blue velvet-covered box that he retrieved from it.  I hesitated.  I knew that kind of box meant he had purchased something extravagant for me.  He had already spent so much on me, and I was unsure if I should accept more.

“Open it,” he ordered steadily.

I reached for it; I didn’t have an option now.  When I snapped open the box, I gasped.  Nestled in the silken white lining was a simple tourmaline pendant set in silver.  The stone was a gorgeous, vibrant green with a fiery blue heart that flashed elusively when the light played through the gem’s facets.

The heat of Master’s body suddenly washed over me as he entered my personal space.  His fingers curled beneath my chin, guiding my face up to his.  There was an intense light in his silver gaze.  It shone through my flesh to illuminate my soul.

“It reminded me of your eyes,” he said, his voice gruff with emotion.

My eyes?

I thought back to when I had studied my reflection in the mirror.  I had taken inventory of my body, but I hadn’t looked myself in the eye.  I realized now that I was afraid to see the deadened, defeated flatness of them.  The stone I held was vibrant, sparkling as it caught the light.  Was that really what Master saw when he looked into my eyes?

He plucked the box from my fingers, carefully extricating the delicate silver chain that held the pendant.

“Turn around and lift your hair for me,” he commanded.

I obeyed with alacrity, eager to accept Master’s gift.  It was so much more than just a pretty piece of jewelry.

“I’ve noticed how you touch your throat when you’re anxious,” he said, his breath fanning across the exposed skin at the nape of my neck.  I shivered delightedly.  “I know you’re looking for that Bastard’s collar.”  The silver was cool on my skin as he clicked the clasp closed.  “Now you can touch this and think of me instead.”

To my utter shock, his lips brushed against my neck where he had clasped the necklace.  I leaned back into him, a small, pleasurable sigh escaping me.

The intimate contact was broken all too soon.  Master stepped back from me with a grunt, his hands closing around my upper arms and pulling them down so that my hair cascaded down my back.  He applied gentle pressure, turning my body so I was facing him once again.  His predator’s eyes shone with a hungry light, but his lips were pressed into a thin line.  As though he couldn’t help himself, he reached out to stroke his fingertips along the line of the silver chain.

“Beautiful,” he said softly.  But he wasn’t looking at the pendant.

I touched my fingers to his, silently communicating that I welcomed the contact.

“Thank you, Master,” I whispered fervently.

Shaking his head slightly, he cleared his throat.  But his movements were hesitant, regretful, as he pulled away from me.  My face fell as disappointment flooded me.  Resolutely, I rolled the chain between my fingers, reminding myself that he had claimed me as his, even if he was fighting his desire for me.  His jaw clenched as his eyes followed my gesture, and he tore his gaze away from me, his attention turning to the other package.

Moments later, he offered me a large sketchpad and a vibrant set of colored pencils.  Again, I hesitated to accept his gift.  My flash of memory the day before had unsettled me, and I wasn’t at all sure that I wanted to tap into that part of myself further.

“I want you to draw something for me,” Master said firmly.

I swallowed hard, knowing I couldn’t refuse.  Compliantly, I took the sketchpad from him, but I offered no words of thanks this time.  Master studied my troubled expression.

“It would make me very happy if you would draw something for me,” he told me gently.

A pang shot through my heart.  Now I definitely couldn’t refuse.  If I could do anything to please him in the way that he had pleased me, then I had to do it.

“What would you like for me to draw?”  I
asked, my voice slightly tremulous.

“How about someplace that makes you happy?”  He suggested.  “And don’t draw my apartment,” he stipulated after a moment’s consideration.

Uneasiness made my gut churn.  I didn’t know anyplace else that made me happy.  I bit my lip, but I nodded to demonstrate my compliance.  Master closed the short distance between us to kiss the top of my head sweetly.

“Good girl,” he said with approval.  “I’m going to sift through some of this goddamn paperwork.  Otherwise Clayton might come by and demand that I return to the office.”

No. 
I couldn’t allow that to happen.  If he needed me to draw so he could focus on his work rather than being distracted by a movie, then I would happily do so.  I flipped open the sketchpad before he had even made it to the couch.

Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath.

I re-arranged his suggestion into an order, allowing his will to guide me rather than my own mind. 

Draw someplace that makes you happy.

Taking up a pencil, I settled into a trance-like state, the sketch coming to life before me almost of its own accord.  I had tapped into some contented part of my mind, where primal emotions ruled me rather than my own busy thoughts.  I slipped out of time as I sank back into that deep part of myself, and I barely even noticed what I was drawing.

“Chicago, huh?”
  The sound of Master’s voice just behind me made me jump.  “That’s really beautiful, sweetheart.”

I blinked, pulling myself out of my trance to actually take in what I had drawn.  The colors were muted, the scene softly illuminated by the early morning sun that shone weakly through the blanket of snow clouds above.  The city rose up abruptly from the shore of Lake Michigan in the distance.  A woman stood in the foreground, her face in profile as she stared out over the lake.  She huddled in her purple pea coat as the wind caught up her light brown, wavy hair, lifting it so that it floated behind her, lending her an ethereal quality.

“When were you in Chicago?”  Master asked.

I froze.  Ice began to crystalize at the base of my spine, creeping upward to radiate a chill throughout my entire body.

“I wasn’t,” I said.  But my voice wavered.

“Then why did you draw yourself there?”  Master’s voice rumbled through my skin, but it didn’t bring the comfort that it usually did.  It sank into my chest, filling the space until my lungs threatened to burst.

“I didn’t,” I insisted.

Master reached around me to point at the woman in the picture.  “That’s you,” he told me firmly.

“No.”  I shook my head vigorously.  “That’s not me.  That’s Lydia.”

My mouth snapped
closed, and coppery blood spilled onto my tongue as I bit the inside of my cheek hard.

Master grasped my shoulders and forcibly swiveled my body on the barstool so that I was facing him.  I wouldn’t meet his eye.  I couldn’t face what he was saying.

“That’s you, sweetheart,” he said, more gently this time.  “You’re Lydia.”

A small whimper slid up my throat as I shook my head again.  I wasn’t her.  I wasn’t her.

He gripped my chin between his thumb and forefinger, turning my head so that I was staring down at the drawing.  I squeezed my eyes shut, unwilling to face it.

“Look at her, girl,” he ordered.

Oh, god.  Why was he doing this to me?  Master was going to destroy me.  I wasn’t Lydia; I was his slave.  And I didn’t want to be anyone else.

“I won’t tell you again.”  This time his words were a threatening growl.

Dread pooling in my stomach, I obeyed, forcing myself to study the woman in my drawing.  Her skin was lightly tanned, and her cheekbones weren’t as pronounced as mine.  But she had my delicate, sloping nose and my pointed chin.  Even though her gaze was directed towards the water, her eyes flashed a hint of blue-green.

“This is Lydia,” Master said firmly from beside me.  “She’s been to Chicago.  Judging by her hatred of the Cardinals, I’m guessing she’s a Cubs fan.  She’s an artist and an excellent cook.  She hates romantic comedies.  She prefers dresses to jeans, and her favorite color is purple.  Isn’t that right, girl?”

My entire body trembled, and tears pooled in my eyes.  “She doesn’t exist anymore,” I whispered desperately.  “She died.”

Master applied pressure beneath my chin, forcing my face back to his.  His expression was hard, determined.  But something akin to sadness flickered through his steely gaze.

“She’s not dead.  She’s you.  You’re Lydia.”

Panic tore through me, ripping my insides apart.

“NO!”  I shrieked.  My knees hit the tiled kitchen floor as I flung myself at his feet.  I stared up at him with feverish desperation.  “I’m yours, Master.  I’m yours.  I don’t want to be her.  Please…”

His features twisted with horror and disgust.

He didn’t want me anymore.

I screamed as my entire world shattered, the shards of it ripping at my soul.  My body collapsed to the floor, and I curled up in on myself, hugging my knees to my chest protectively.  My fingers closed around the pendant at my throat with a vice-like grip as despairing sobs wracked my body.

I wasn’t Master’s slave.  He didn’t want me anymore.

But I wasn’t Lydia either.  I couldn’t be Lydia.  She would
be disgusted by what my former master had reduced me to.  She couldn’t face that.

I was no one.

I was no one.

My mind went completely blank as I allowed the thought to claim me.  If I didn’t exist, then nothing could hurt me.  The pain would stop.

God, I wanted the pain to stop.

My trembling
ceased, and I went utterly silent as I embraced the nothingness.  I was aware of the sound of his voice, but his words were meaningless.  It was easier that way.

“Fuck!”  His thumb traced the line of my cheekbone.  I chose to ignore the almost painful sweetness of the sensation of his skin against mine.  “Open your eyes, sweetheart.  Look at me.  I’m right here.  I’ve got you.”  His voice was taut with anxiety, but I didn’t respond.  He didn’t have any authority over me.

He grasped my shoulders, shaking me.  “Look at me, girl,” he almost snarled the demand.

But I wasn’t his sweetheart and I wasn’t his girl.  I was no one.

“God damn it!”  He shook me harder.  “Lydia!”

I certainly wasn’t
her
.  I remained in my merciful blankness.

Curses dropped from his lips in a continuous stream.  After a few minutes, he went quiet, and his touch left me.  Dimly, I was disturbed by the loss of the heat of him.  I shied away from the emotion.  I was tired of hurting.

God, I was tired.

When he spoke again, his voice was deep and authoritative, his words even.  All signs of his earlier kindness and concerned anxiety were gone.

“Open your eyes.”

The clear, controlled tone frightened me.  His iron will was almost strong enough to penetrate my sweet nothingness, and I flinched ever so slightly.

Stinging pain bloomed on my cheek as his palm cracked across it.

“I gave you an order, slave.”  The calmly-spoken words held a more serious threat than his ferocious snarl.

Slave.

Tears of joy spilled down my cheeks as my eyes snapped open.  His expression was cool and remote as he stood, his arms folding across his chest as he towered over me.  I scrambled up onto my knees, desperate to demonstrate my utter devotion and gratitude.

“Master.”  My voice broke on his title.

He brushed his fingers over the top of my head, accepting my submission.  Unable to help myself, I leaned forward, pressing my cheek against his leg.  This was where I wanted to be.  This was where I belonged.  Master owned me.  He would take care of me, protect me.

He allowed me to stay there for a few minutes, my tears dampening his trousers as I clung to him.

After a while, he bent down and gathered me up in his arms, cradling my body against his chest.  I stared up at his perfect face with open adoration.  He caught my eye, but he quickly looked away, his jaw tightening as he resolutely gazed straight ahead.  Once we were in the bedroom, he settled down on the bed, his back resting against the wall so
that he was sitting upright.

My heart swelled when he didn’t release me.  Instead, he shifted me so one arm was supporting my back.  His free hand brushed against my cheek.  My skin pulsed with gentle heat where he had struck me.

“I’m sorry I had to do that, sweetheart,” he said quietly.  “I didn’t know what else -” 

He cut himself off, clearing his face of c
oncern.  His hard, impassive mask was back.  I loved the sight of it.  I didn’t have to worry about anything when Master was in control.