Page 14 of Cruel Master
Saldar can see in the dark, but that’s not who really has me. There’s no way this asshole is hiding night vision goggles under his mask.
I force myself to move, crawling slowly along the edge of the altar. There’s nothing dangerous on the floor, but sweat breaks out over my body anyway. What if this psycho has opened a trap door or something? What if he’s leading me into somewhere even worse?
Where is he? What is he doing? I strain my ears but can’t hear footsteps or breaths. He’s a silent ghost, and I don’t know which way to move.
When his deep voice rings out, I almost shriek. Only my fingers, pressed to my lips, keep me silent. “Kneel. Place your hands behind you, fingers latched together. Bow your head.”
Can he see me? Shit. Fucking shit. What if he does have night vision? What if he’s standing there, watching me crawl around like some prey animal, waiting to see if I’ll follow his commands?
My knees go weak, and the urge to snap back at him is strong, but maybe that’s what he wants. My fingers find the smooth, cool stone wall, and I start to edge along it, heading toward the door. I’m sure it’s locked, but what other options do I have?
A quiet clunk rings out, loud in the oppressive dark. What the fuck was that? Did he open something? Close something? Oh God, did he open the cabinet? I couldn’t see what it held, but it won’t be good.
“Last chance, Juliet.”
Christ. That was closer. Wasn’t it? The words echo weirdly in the stone room. My whole body starts to shake, and it’s hard to keep moving, but I do.
My fingers find stone. The opposite wall. I’ll—
He grabs my hair and yanks it tight. I scream at the sudden, ripping pain. My thick, curly hair is the perfect rope for him to hold me with. Flinging my head to the side does nothing but wrench my scalp.
I flail out, and my hand connects with something solid, but his grip doesn’t falter. Fighting blind, I’m useless. He wraps his other arm around my body, and all I can do is kick as he half drags, half carries me through the room. When he drags me onto the altar, face down, a fresh wave of blistering panic hits.
He’s going to torture me, then sacrifice me.
I try to rear up, but his solid weight lands on my back and pins me. I struggle as he grips my wrist, stretching it out, and—Christ, please no—something metal locks around it. He does the same with my other wrist, and I can’t stop him. I’m trapped, so completely trapped, and as he gives my ankles the same treatment, all I can do is scream.
I can’t move. My legs and arms are spreadeagled in a starfish, and I don’t have enough room to bend them. The hard stone digs into my hip bones. Panic constricts my chest. I have to fight for every rough breath. It’s dark. It’s dark, I’m trapped, and—
“Juliet. Breathe for me now.” Saldar’s voice is a deep rumble that resonates through my bones. He slides a hand down my spine, starting at the base of my neck and moving down. When he reaches my ass, I tense, but he just reverses direction, moving back up. It’s such a weird, almost gentle sensation that it distracts me enough to get my breathing under control.
After a minute, he stops. In the silence, I ask the questions I’m desperate to have answered, though this time, my voice comes out horribly meek. Something about being chained naked to a stone altar has that effect on a girl. “Who are you? Why am I here?”
There’s a long pause then his hand returns to rest, casually, on my ass. I tense, heart rate spiking again. How dare he touch me. Who gave him the right? I want to scream, but the logical side of my brain is starting to take over despite the cloying panic. I need answers, and screaming at him isn’t going to achieve that.
He pauses, as if waiting for my reaction, and gives my ass a little tap when he doesn’t get one. “Good, Juliet. You passed that test. You’ve earned some information.”
Is he trying to piss me off? It feels that way, so I keep my mouth shut. He moves his hand, sliding over my ass, between my cheeks, as though he’s exploring. His hands are bare, and the warmth of his touch jars with the costume.
I force myself to keep still. “You’re here to be trained. I’m your master, and you are my slave. When you learn how to serve me and I can trust you to behave, you’ll leave this room. Until then, consider it home.”
Not an answer. I still don’t know anything, but all the questions I have feel pointless in the face of that statement. I can barely speak past the lump in my throat. I manage, “Why?”
He pauses his hand, and thank Christ, because he was getting very, very close to the danger zone. If he sticks his finger in there, I’ll scream. Sensible or not.
“It’s what you want. You’re desperate to be owned, and I’m giving it to you. Don’t try to deny it. I know the porn you watch, the books you read. I know you. I’m going to make your dreams come true.”
Fuck.
Fuck.
He’s been watching me? Stalking me? Who the hell is he?
His hand disappears, and it’s almost worse. At least when he had his hand on me, I knew where he was. I stare into the darkness, willing my eyes to adjust, but there’s nothing to adjust to. The darkness is total.
He’s a complete fucking psycho—that much is obvious—but can he be reasoned with? “No. That’s not what I want. It’s just fantasies. Just let me go. Please.”
“You belong to me.”
