Chapter 2

***Bellatrix POV***

Torture

The cave was a literal hell, sitting on the craggy peak of a mountain, far removed from any sign of life. I had heard that Blackthorn had innumerable dens like this strewn over the world's most dangerous cliffs for dubious reasons, but I never imagined I'd find myself in one. Worse, at his mercy. The inside air was caustic, to the point of choking, and wetness seemed to soak into my lungs with each inhale. The harsh stone wall that rubbed against my skin was rough and spiteful to my aching, scorched back, which pained everywhere. There was no way out of this situation; I had to accept it and deal with it.

When a ray of sunlight broke in through a gap in the roof, scorching directly through the center of my head, I could only cringe. Those roaches had dutifully bound my hands and feet with silver chains to keep me in check. They took turns yanking on the chains, the metal biting into my flesh with such severity that I clamped my teeth hard to resist shouting and giving them the joy of watching me break.

I couldn't bear looking at my own body, let alone my wrists, which were obviously raw from wounds that would never heal without leaving scars. Blackthorn's mocking laughter was the worst; it didn't help that he remained hidden in a remote part of the cave, hiding like a predator loving the sight of his prey suffering.

Fresh pain shot through my legs again, burning hot and sharp as I remembered how he drove an iron stake through my thigh last night. Back then, I had let out a loud cry. My body could not have handled that much suffering. Remaining unseen and allowing his pawns to do his bidding was optimal for him. The feeling of what he may do next was far more terrifying.

*

As the hours passed into days, Blackthorn's torture tactics became more ingenious and brutal. From exposing me to blasts of sunlight, to gloating as he watched me blister and burn, to injecting me with tainted blood that nearly drove me insane, I was just hanging on by a thread by the time I got out.

*

"You're injured!" a stranger gasped, clutching my arm tightly and inspecting my sides. Panicked, I wrenched free and yelled at him, "Back off."

He did not appear to take my reply seriously. Instead, he lingered and inhaled forcefully before taking a step back, his brow furrowing and his eyes softening with worry. I didn't need pity, especially not from a human. Without further word, I tightened my shawl over me and nearly sprinted away. The pier was now about twenty steps ahead, and the morning dew was gradually melting into warmer air, indicating that the sun will appear soon. I needed to be on that ship before then.

"To Farçau!" A bald, stubby human male shoved by me to board the ship—my ship. The teen-like boy, whose coat I had taken, had stated shakily before I compelled him to forget ever meeting me that Farçau was the farthest way south of here. It looked like the ideal location, given that I needed to be completely separated from my family, whom I was escaping. I needed to leave for Farçau before daybreak; this was my only opportunity.

Seeing so many people flocking toward the dock, virtually rushing to get there, one could assume they understood what I knew. Did they? Did they have any knowledge of the whereabouts of the humans that went missing in these parts on occasion? If so, how much did they know? Did they know anything about us?

"Excuse me, but you can't get on that ship," shouted a familiar voice, clamping down on my arm. I spun around to take a look at the person who appeared to have a death wish for being in my way. It was the same man who had previously accosted me. It's a shame I couldn't appear any more stern than I would have liked, worrying that any change in my eyes might reveal my true identity.

"You can't go there," he said again, more firmly this time. "I won't allow it."

There were so many ways I could have confronted this foolish human and set things right between us, but the truth was that I didn't have any strength left. If only he knew how his delicious, grape-like patchouli body scent was affecting my senses. His prominent Adam's apple didn't help either, attracting my attention to his neck with each swallow he took, and he swallowed frequently. Something on my face must have given me away, as I suspected, since he let go of my hand as quickly as light. Could this person read minds?

"I'm only trying to help," he murmured gently, almost whispering, which confirmed my hunch that he could read my thinking. How could a human possess such a skill? I had only heard of a few vampires with the psychic ability to read minds, never the other way around.

"I recognize you," the human said, prompted. I gave him a blank look, said nothing, and turned away. "Getting on that boat will put the lives of so many people at risk."

Was he concerned about that? To be truthful, I couldn't guarantee that I wouldn't hurt anyone on the journey, but I'd never physically hurt or drunk from a human before.

"—including yourself!"

His speech had a caressing quality to it, which caught me off guard. Why would a human care about me, especially one who professed to understand who I was? I didn't notice I'd stopped until he stood in front of me again.

Sighing, he pointed to the sea without turning around. "Farçau is a full eight-hour sail from here," he told me. I was pulled to the deep ocean blue of his eyes when he said, "You think you can afford to risk that?"

I turned my head to the side, eyeing him up and down, trying to figure out what this weathered, rough-looking man wanted from me.

"Stay at my place until it gets dark, then you can leave," he finally said. "My name's Truman." He sounded as if providing that information would help me trust him.

Truman was not going away, I reasoned, as long as I kept moving towards the packed pier. So I settled in the opposite direction, forcing my fragile legs to take me back whence I had come. That was all I could think of to get rid of this nosy human for good. Once I had lost him, I would return to the path that led up to the pier.

"You made a wise decision by accepting my offer," Truman said enthusiastically after a brief pause. "My house isn't far. At most, 20 minutes. You will enjoy the view."

I simply tuned him out and intended to continue doing so until he spoke again.

"You'll need medicine to properly treat that wound."

His talk halted my movement as I turned to face him.

"You didn't know?" He went on, "Fortunately for you, I'm quite the master at patching up mysterious wounds."

I scoffed at his arrogance. "What makes you think you know anything about me?"

Looking confused by my question and perhaps thinking up a response, he took a step back. I was confident that this would prevent him from following me, so I continued walking.

"Why are you refusing my help?"

His words struck me hard. Was he genuinely asking that?

"I can take care of myself."

Again with the mind-reading. I turned to face him.

"Don't worry about me if that's why. I understand what I'm doing," he insisted.

Did he, though?

"Please allow me to help."

I stared at him long and hard, genuinely considering accepting his offer for the first time.