Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 91631 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91631 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
"Then this is how it must be. I want to talk to you. More than once. I do not want your laundry." I feel like...an idiot saying these things, but I cannot describe the ways that she obsesses me. I have so little to look forward to—more meals? Fights in the arena? Why should I not take what I want? And yet, I realize that because I have asked, I have taken her freedom. I know this, and it bothers me, and yet…I will not change my mind. So I say stupid words. "I liked you because you were not afraid of me. Everyone is always afraid. It makes me wonder what kind of monster I am."
Her face softens. She glares at the wall for a moment longer and then sighs, heavily. She glances over at me. "You're not a monster, just like I'm not a sex toy. We're just people. Fucked up, fucked-over people."
"Mina," I say. "I remember your name."
"Crulden," she says with a little nod. Her gaze moves to my wrist, covered in bandages. "You broke your wrist. Did they fix it?"
I shrug.
She gives me an odd look and holds her hand out. "Can I see it?"
"Why?"
Mina adjusts the blanket around her shoulders, freeing her arm as she holds the blanket tight with the other. "I want to see what it looks like. You went absolutely crazy earlier. I didn't know what to think. You hurt yourself, too."
Her words make me feel…strange. It's like she's chiding me for being an uncontrollable beast. Isn't that what they want from me, though? To kill and attack? It's not what Mina wants, though. When I extend my wrist, she peels back the bandages and clucks her tongue over the fresh-healing scars. Like…they bother her.
"Does it hurt?"
Another odd question. "I am in constant hurt. What is one more?" I shrug. "It will heal, and then they will demand I hurt myself in new ways to please them."
Her eyes grow sad, those dark brows furrowing. Carefully, she reaches out and touches a fingertip to one pink, healing scar. "There's more to life than just pain."
I watch that small finger, fascinated. "If there is, I haven't experienced it."
Mina sighs again, and she lifts her hand. "Don't make me feel sorry for you, Crulden. I'd rather hate you."
"But I like your smell better when you don't." I want her to put her hand on me again. I want her to touch me on places other than scars that have no sensation. I want to know what it would feel like if those light fingers brushed me…elsewhere.
I am a bad guy, I realize, because I do want more from her than just companionship. I want touches. I want her smiles. I want her scent full of something other than fear.
I need to learn how to get these things.
13
MINA
I'm not happy.
Understatement of the decade, of course. This is flying in the face of all my careful plans of being unobtrusive, of everyone ignoring me. Can't exactly ignore the pet slave of the favorite gladiator in the compound. But I'm a survivor, and I'll just have to figure out how to survive this.
Crulden says he's not going to rape me, but I'm not entirely sure of what he wants. I don't think he knows, either. I hate that I feel a twinge of pity for him, because it's clear that he's led a very sheltered, very shitty life. I wonder if he's ever been outside of a cage at all? The thought makes me sad, and I don't want to feel sorry for him. I want to hate him, but I'm already struggling with that. He's in a fucked situation, just like me. And he thought I was cold, so he gave me his blanket.
He's the first person on this planet that's given half a shit about me.
So I need to make the best of this, and not making him my enemy is the first thing on the list. I give him a faint, awkward smile and look at the cot. "So…I'm sleeping there with you?"
He nods. "But no rape." There's an eager look in his eyes, a hopeful sort of expression. "But if you touched me first—"
"Nope," I say flatly. "Not gonna happen." I hug the blanket tighter around me. "We'll need more bedding."
"They will give it to me," he says confidently.
"And I need more clothing, seeing as how you ripped my only piece off of me."
"It smelled like others. I didn't like it." His nostrils flare and his expression darkens.
I mentally file that bit away—scents are important to him. Got it. "Well it was all I had."
"They will get you more," he says, as if asking for favors is the easiest thing in the world for a slave.
I'm doing my best not to get frustrated at him, because he keeps watching me with that fascinated, rapacious look. Like he's hungry. It makes me a little nervous, but he genuinely seems to want to talk, so I'm going to keep talking. I can pull a Scheherazade and keep him entertained for as long as it keeps me alive. I can do whatever it takes. I just need the chance.