Slave to Passion (7 page)

His eyes popped open. His body jerked. Then his hand closed over hers against his elbow.

Kavin gasped, tried to pull away. His grip was strong, locking her in place, reminding her of the night he’d held her against the wall. Fear threatened to push in as he stared hard into her eyes, his gaze clouded and unwavering. But instead of being filled with venom—as before—this time, his eyes looked haunted, not those of a killer per se, but of a man who’d seen too much, lived through too much, and was fighting to cope with the fallout.

Silence stretched between them. Her heart raced beneath her breast. He wasn’t a man, and she was foolish to think him anything but the monster she’d come to know. But…as his fingers seared her skin, as his gaze bore into hers, tension and something Kavin hadn’t felt before—some electric and overpowering current—charged the air.

Her pulse picked up speed as she stared into his hard, dark eyes. Her adrenaline soared. Before she could figure out what the odd sensation was, he let go and dropped his head back against the wall with a groan.

Relief spiraled through her—or was that regret? Her head was so jumbled she suddenly didn’t know. Rubbing her hand over the spot he’d just held, she tried to make sense of what had just happened. Couldn’t.

“Allah,” she muttered, noticing the sweat beaded his brow, the pale and clammy skin. He wasn’t just injured, he was sick. “You need help.”

“Don’t want help,” he whispered, eyes closed. “’Specially not yours. Just want to be left alone. Alone is…safe.”

Emptiness rippled through Kavin’s chest. An emptiness she’d been fighting since the moment her parents had sold her to Zayd. One that had grown and multiplied exponentially with every second she’d been locked in this cell, wondering—dreading—what would happen next. “Being left alone isn’t safe,” she whispered. “It’s the greatest form of torture there is.”

He didn’t answer. Didn’t even move. And suddenly, fear for her own safety mingled with urgency for his. If he died from infection now, she was all but dead.
Jarriah
did not get second chances in the test, no matter the circumstances.

She pushed to her feet, bent and slid her arms under his, careful not to touch the wound on his side. “Come on, get up.”

His big hands landed against her shoulders. He rolled his head against the stones. The groan that echoed from his chest told her he still didn’t want her help, but he shifted his feet under himself, regardless.

“Come on, Marid,” she ground out, pulling as hard as she could. “I can’t do this on my own.”

Somehow she got him up, braced his back against the wall, and leaned against him to keep them both upright. He had to weigh twice what she did, and he was burning up with fever. She grunted, pulled, and eventually maneuvered him toward the bed. With a groan, he dropped onto the mattress, flopped over onto his back. Blood trickled down his skin from beneath the thin, red-soaked bandage.

Her stomach rolled again, but she ignored it, instead propped his tree-trunk-like legs up onto the mattress, pulled the blanket out from under him, then draped it across his body. Peeling back the cover near his wound, she dropped to her knees, steeled her courage, then slowly untied the bandage from his torso to get a good look.

His hand snaked out again and wrapped around her wrist with stunning force. And just as it had before, electricity arced in the air between them, sent a thousand vibrations all along her skin, and pulled a gasp from her lips.

Her gaze darted to his and held. To eyes that should chill her to the bone but suddenly didn’t. Because this close, she saw something else lurking in their depths. Something she’d missed before when she’d been too scared to think. The same emptiness that consumed her. A hint of vulnerability she hadn’t known was there.

Her breath quickened. Her skin tingled as if it were coming to life. So many times he could have truly hurt her but hadn’t. Even that first night, he’d let her go. And though he held her tightly and could easily snap her wrist with barely a flick of his hand, she somehow knew he wouldn’t.

Words formed in her mind. Words she didn’t even know if he could hear in his current state, let alone understand. Words she suddenly needed to say. “I-I’m not here to hurt you,
sahad
. I only want to help.”

“You can’t help me,” he muttered. “No one can. Not anymore.”

His gaze never left hers, and energy vibrated through her entire body under his blinding stare. Energy she felt all the way to her core. In the silence that followed, his ominous words settled in the air around them, reminding her what Hana had told her in the baths.

“
Marid mate for a lifetime
.” Followed by the news that the death of a warrior’s mate was the only thing that could turn him into a monster.

Was that what he was doing? Battling to avenge his dead mate? Questions she hadn’t thought to ask before circled in her mind. Then mixed and swirled with the image of him, dangerous and magnificent, fighting to the death in the arena.

Her skin grew hot. A low ache gathered in her chest. Though she fought it, compassion spread through her veins, trickled to her belly. Suddenly, he wasn’t the beast the highborns made him out to be. He was nothing more than a slave fighting to stay alive, just like her. Fighting to defy those who wanted to see him dead.

That was what she needed to do, she realized. Purpose rippled through her as their gazes held. A purpose that gave her strength, one she’d been lacking since being brought to Jahannam. Zayd could take her body; he could even take her freedom, but she wouldn’t let him break her spirit. No one could take that from her. Not unless she let them.

“Let me try,” she whispered, wanting—no,
needing
—to help him for reasons even she couldn’t totally understand.

His eyes searched hers. For truth or lies, she wasn’t sure. But something shifted in the air between them in that moment. Something she felt all the way to her toes.

He slowly released his grip, turned his head away, and closed his eyes. And as her chest thrummed with the weight of what had just passed between them, Kavin swallowed hard and reached for the bandage again.

The cut was deep, the edges puckered and swollen. She didn’t see any signs of pus—which was a good thing—so she recovered it. But her hands were shaking when she pushed to her feet, then pressed the back of her hand against his forehead.

“Allah…” Urgency shifted to panic. She crossed for the door and pounded her fist against the cold steel.

“I know you’re out there,” she hollered at the guards. “If you want the
sahad
to die on your watch, continue to ignore me.”

Metal scraped metal as the slot in the door was pulled open, and the guard’s grim face filled the hole. “We don’t answer to
jarriah
.”

“You’ll answer to this one,” Kavin snapped. Fuck the guards. Fuck what Zayd would think when he heard what she’d done. Fuck them all. “The
sahad
is sick with fever and infection. I need bandages and medical supplies.”

“Why should we care?” the other guard sneered, stepping up to the opening in the door. “One less Marid to worry about.”

“You’ll care because he’s the champion of the arena. And if the highborns find out he died because of your neglect,” she lied, “you’ll be executed. Or better yet, tossed in the arena yourselves.”

Fear flashed in both their eyes, followed by the brutal rush of resentment. But Kavin barely cared. So long as they bought in to her bluff and were motivated to get what she needed, that was all that mattered.

The opening in the door snapped closed, and muffled voices echoed from the corridor, followed by the sharp clomp of footsteps quickly moving away. Drawing a deep breath, Kavin turned back for the bed.

The
sahad
shivered, so she pulled the blanket up to his chin, tucked it around his shoulders. His eyes were closed, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths. In the dim candlelight, she stared down at his face, which suddenly looked childlike and innocent as he tried to sleep, not harsh and cold as it had before. Her gaze drifted over the dark lashes feathering the soft skin beneath his eyes, to the chiseled cheekbones, the weathered skin, the stubble along his square, strong jaw, then finally to the full, masculine line of his lips.

Lips, she could now imagine, that had once been used for kissing, not doling out harsh words and threats.

He stirred, tried to roll to his side, winced in pain but still didn’t open his eyes. To ease him while they waited, she sat on the side of the bed and brushed damp locks back from his heated skin. “Shh…just rest.”

The muscles around his eyes relaxed as she began humming a song she remembered her mother singing to her when she was little, and he seemed to drift back to sleep. Relief spread through her again as she continued to stroke his hair, then her gaze drifted down his neck to the fire opal at the base of his throat.

The gem was mesmerizing, catching the candlelight and making it dance as if it had a life of its own. Pulling the cover back, she ran her index finger across the smooth stone edged all in gold. Heat gathered beneath her skin, the sensation so startling it cut off her humming mid-song.

Where had he gotten it? Why did the guards allow him to keep something of such value? She knew the highborns all wanted it, had heard whispers in the harem that if a highborn’s
sahad
killed him, the gem would then belong to them. But so far that hadn’t happened. He’d destroyed every opponent they’d tossed at him.

Another image of him arcing out again and again with his swords in the arena flashed in front of her eyes, the stone as much a part of him as he fought as his hair or eyes or teeth. Was that how he stayed alive? Did the gemstone give him some kind of power?

“Who are you?” she whispered.

He didn’t answer. She didn’t expect him to. He was lost in some fever-induced haze, but that was okay. Probably better, actually. Because, based on the way she was now feeling toward him, if he turned that dark and dangerous gaze on her again so soon, she wasn’t sure what she’d do.

Hinges creaked, and metal groaned. Kavin looked up sharply just as the door was pulled open and a guard stepped in, a square box in his hand. “This will have to do.” He dropped it at his feet, then moved back. “See to it he does not die.”

He was gone before she could answer, the lock clanking loudly in his wake. Slowly, Kavin moved away from the
sahad
and crossed the floor, then lifted the box and opened the lid.

Bandages, medicine, ointment for the wound. Relief was a welcome yet disturbing feeling.

He wasn’t going to die. Not tonight, anyway.

Chapter Six

Someone was humming.

Nasir wrestled from a deep and clouded sleep and slowly opened his eyes to blink up at a stone ceiling.

Awareness seeped in. Candlelight illuminated the ceiling above, the rock walls around him, and the dirt floor below. A shiver ran down his back as realization came crashing in. He was in his cell in the pits of Jahannam, lying on the uncomfortable mattress with a blanket pulled up to his chest, darkness surrounding him as always. Except…

Somewhere close, the sweet, gentle notes of a song he didn’t recognize met his ears. The melody pushed the darkness to the wayside, dragged his thoughts from despair and pulled them toward the light. Tipping his head, he looked toward the candle’s flickering flame…and the redheaded female sitting in his corner, wrapping what looked like strips of fabric into a ball.

Something warm rolled through his chest. Something he hadn’t felt in a very long time. Something that nearly stopped his breath.

Her head came up. The humming stopped. She stared at him a long beat but didn’t speak. And in her hypnotizing eyes, he couldn’t read her expression.

“You’re awake,” she finally said.

Weird images passed before him. Her arms around his torso. Her lush, tempting body pressing into his. Her leaning over him, the soft curtain of her hair tickling his cheeks. And concern across her mesmerizing face when she’d swiped a cool cloth over his forehead and whispered, “The worst is over. Rest now.”

She pushed to her feet, smoothed out the black skirt of her dress, looking nervous and unsure and way too damn gorgeous as she took a hesitant step his way. “How do you feel?”

Nasir’s pulse picked up speed, and his skin tingled. How did he feel? Hot. Achy. And oddly…aroused. Especially with the way she was looking at him. But why was she asking? Why would she care?

She moved to the foot of the bed, the candlelight flickering over her cleavage, drawing his gaze, making his skin that much tighter. “You’ve been asleep almost a full day. Your
mu’allim
was here. He brought herbs to break the fever. It looks like they helped.”

He’d been out a full day? And Malik had been to see him? Confusion swept through Nasir’s hazy mind as he tried to look away from her tantalizing breasts.

He pushed up on his hands, worked to sit upright. The female rushed over. “Here, let me help.”

His adrenaline surged, and he sucked in a breath, knowing he should say no, yet not able to get the words out of his mouth. She set the ball of fabric—no, bandages—on the foot of the bed and gripped his arm in her dainty hands, her skin silky soft against his, her heat and floral scent making him light-headed. Sweat beaded his brow as she helped move him back so his spine was against the walls. And wicked heat flared all through his body at her touch. A touch he wanted to go on feeling. Even knowing he shouldn’t.

Talk, dammit. Get your brain back online
.

“What—” His voice was thick, raspy, not his own. He cleared his throat. Tried again. “What happened?”

“Infection,” she said, finally letting go and moving back. Relief and disappointment swept through him all at the same time, confusing him even more. “From the wound in your side. I stitched it closed and bandaged it with what they gave me. But it was really the herbs your
mu’allim
brought that made the difference.”