The Annihilator (Dark Verse #5)(26)

Sidelining the question for the moment, she entered the corridor and went down the short space, curious to see what she would find on the other side of the large door she could see at the end. With a click of the lock, the knob turned in her hand and she pushed it open, freezing on the threshold.
A room—no, a long hall—with windows on the wall opposite the door, lit up the space filled with things. So many things. Books on shelves lined one end of the hall. A solid wooden desk with a chair and multiple computers sat on the other end. In between, the area was littered with a canvas on an easel, a box of shiny crystals and shiny metal wires, so many things her brain couldn’t compute what they all were for.
“There’s something for you here.”
The voice came from her back, from a space away. She turned to see him standing, still shirtless, his muscular upper body exposed for her eyes, an expanse of honey brown skin and solid muscles and a smattering of dark hair. He stood with his hands in his sweatpants pockets, simply observing her observing things.
“There’s a white tablet on the table. That’s for you. You can spend your time in here deciding what you like,” he continued when she didn’t say anything. “Reading, painting, jewelry-making, watching TV, playing video games, doing things online—try everything and see what you enjoy. There’s also a little garden outside if you want to give it a shot, but you’ll have to wait a month or two for the weather to turn warmer. If you like nothing, we’ll add more options. It’s all yours.”
Throat tight, she stared at him, everything crashing on her, unable to understand how he’d known something she’d always wanted, a chance to explore what she liked for herself, control of the television remote, the outside.
“How... how did you know?” she stuttered, because there was nothing she had ever verbalized or expressed to anyone, innocuous and intense little things.
He moved forward then, stepping into her personal space, slowly, lazily almost, but sleek, his devilish eyes pinning her in place. One of his hands came up, holding her jaw like he always did, just as his thumb brushed over her lips. Her lips parted at the soft, almost tender touch, not used to feeling any sensation at all for months. He dipped his thumb in, just a little, and she stayed still, her heart pounding but not sucking on it, not responding at all. He took his thumb out, painting her lips with her own wetness, leaving them glistening, his eyes moving to her mouth, the pupil in the light eye expanding. She watched it, fascinated.
“I know you, flamma,” he reminded her. “The deepest desires of your heart, the softest secrets of your soul, the meanest moments in your mind. I know them all, I own them. Every desire, every secret, every thought.”
She couldn't deny that. And yet, the bitterness didn't abate.
“And I fit into your agenda of whatever you’ve been doing, isn’t it? I’m useful to you. That's why you came for me. That's why I'm here.”
He said nothing, just gazed at her steadily, and she didn't know if that was an affirmation or a denial.
She never knew with him.
It began to dawn on her, standing there in the doorway of his expensive house, locked in place by his firm grip on her face. She had just traded one kind of prison for another, a more dangerous kind, because she knew she was weak when it came to him, and though she was already broken beyond repair, he had the power to break her still.

Chapter twelveLyla


She retreated into the bedroom after her short tour, locking the door behind her, and went to bed to sleep. She was still groggy, tired, her body drained and her mind at capacity to deal with all the rapid changes. She had never been good with changes, always questioning things, questioning herself and her self-worth, whatever little of it she had.
And she needed space away from... everything. She needed the space to process her new state of being, process what she’d tried to do, process all the emotions seeing him again had roused within her. She needed... she didn’t know what she needed. Tears welled up in her eyes as she stared at the view through the window, at both the fact that he had given her this and the fact that she still didn’t matter beyond whatever her usefulness to him was.
She was vulnerable in every way to him, and it burned in her chest to realize it.
She looked out at the mountains, wondering if she had the courage to actually jump off the cliff to escape. Stealing the drugs and drinking that mix had been the lowest of her depression, a void she couldn’t have seen the end of as alone as she had been. And he’d brought her back from the jaws of death. She didn’t doubt he’d do it again if need be. Clearly, she was important to whatever his plans were, though she couldn’t imagine them.
But even as she hated him for it, she was secretly glad for his presence. With him, even with everything that he brought, she didn’t feel alone. It was odd how she had spent her life sharing her space with people and felt loneliest, but there she was alone and somehow not feeling as dejected. Knowing he was somewhere in the house made her feel... just feel. And it felt fucking good to feel again after going catatonic for so long.
She didn’t realize when she drifted to sleep, but when her eyes opened next, a lamp was on by her side and it was dark outside. A cool breeze drifted in from the open deck doors, and Lyla sat up on the bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, watching the dark silhouette of the man leaning on the railing in the cold.
Keeping the softest, thinnest blanket wrapped around herself, she padded out to him, drawn like moth to flame, a moth that knew it would burn but unable to resist the pull deep inside.