That pain in my chest grew to a deep ache. “No one should die by the hand of a Wraith.”

She lifted her head and a lump built in my throat on seeing tears tracking down her smooth cheeks. She laughed a humorless laugh and asked, “Not even Master’s whore?”

My eyes fell to her bracelet again. I hated hearing how sad she sounded. My fingers curled into a fist. I took three deep breaths. On the fourth, I forced myself to meet her eyes. “You’re not a whore.”

She frowned. “You don’t believe that. You think I belong to Master, that I want him.” Her bottom lip trembled when she added, “He hurts me, you know. He makes me bleed and bruises my face.”

I stilled. The flames of hatred circled my heart, heating its blood. Then her head tipped to the side. “But you do not,” she added almost mutely. “You do not want me, but you give me your release to save me from pain. You do not want me, but you cause yourself pain to save my life.” The blush on her cheeks turned to a scarlet red. “And when you take me, you do not hurt me. You are gentle, although you are big in size. You could end this game that Master is playing with your mind. You are kind, and soft … you give me your care.”

I had nothing to say in response. 152 glanced away to stare at the far wall. “You are the Arziani Pit Bull. You are feared. But to me, you are safety.”

A low growl slipped from my throat at her words. Yet again the unknown feeling settled within my heart, chasing away the heat. I tried to look away from this mona, curling against the wall, but I couldn’t. She had me trapped.

A cold snap of air drifted through the cell, slapping against my wounds. Hissing at the feel of the breeze on my torn and exposed flesh, I glanced down at my open sores and picked up the needle. I tried to angle my body so I could sew up this wound, but no matter how I positioned myself, I couldn’t reach.

“Fuck,” I spat, about to rip the damn thing from my arm, when I felt a small, soft hand cover the back of my own. I looked up. 152 was kneeling before me. Her blue eyes were huge as she nervously looked down at me.

Her hand jumped as it lay over mine, and I felt her fingers shaking. Her face was flushed. Inhaling deep, and with a strength I would never have imagined, she took the needle from my hand and held it in hers. Wordlessly, she moved around where I sat. Sitting on the floor, she leaned in to my wound and commenced threading the needle through my skin. I watched her hands as she worked quickly and gently. When I moved my eyes to her face, my heat rose.

She wasn’t a whore. And I felt my stomach cramp when I thought of her being Master’s. She wasn’t his. He didn’t deserve her.

The feel of warm water trickled over my arm. 152 was cleaning the wound she had been working on, the wound that she had now sewn shut. Her touch was so light it felt like it almost wasn’t there.

Without looking up, she moved to the wound on my shoulder and began to work. I couldn’t speak as I watched her. My pulse was thundering in my ears, my blood was rushing through my heart at a rapid speed. I had never been this way with a female. This close. Feeling these strange things. The idea had repulsed me. Nothing about this was repulsive.

As 152 reached the halfway point on my wound, her bottom lip began to tremble. I didn’t know why, but it made me suddenly feel cold. When a tear trickled down her cheek only to splash on her arm, I reached for her arm and stilled her hand with my wrist.

I wanted her to look at me. When she finally did, she whispered, “I do not like that you are this wounded.” She lifted her hand to her chest. “It pains me in here that you are hurt.” She blinked, her long dark lashes brushing her upper cheek. “That you are hurt because of me.” She turned her head away. “I made you weak, after all. Your greatest fear realized.”

I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t like to see her cry. My hand clenched and unclenched. I raised my hand, fighting against my instinct to stop, and placed it on her cheek. 152 froze under my touch.

I went to pull it away, feeling too much pain at the fact that she didn’t want my hand on her skin. But as my arm dropped, she quickly lifted her hand and laid it over mine. She was keeping it in place.

I breathed, and she breathed in unison as we stayed still in the moment. When her eyes met mine, she said, “I was the cause of your fall. I am a whore and made you submit.”

Clearing my throat, I rasped, “You’re more than a whore. You’re more than a mona.” I shook my head. “We all are. All of us slaves.”

“Slaves?” she questioned, her pretty face screwed up in confusion.

“The monebi, warriors, chiri. All of us are under Master’s control.”

She nodded at my words, but I could see she still didn’t understand.

“We are alike,” she said finally, and my heart melted when a small smile pulled on her lips. A smile. Something I had rarely seen given so freely.

“Yes,” I whispered in response.

“His champion and his whore.” This time her voice shook with sadness. “Not free.”

Not free.

152 sighed, and with her eyes narrowed, she continued, “I … I think I would like to be free.” Her hand slipped from her chest and lay over mine. My skin jumped at her touch. “Would you?” she questioned. “Would you wish to be free, too?”

I thought about what she had asked me. I had never wished for freedom before. I never believed I would get it. Never wanted it. “901?” she pushed. Something about her calling me by my number caused annoyance to spike in my blood. 152’s hand drifted slightly to my tattoo, and she asked, “Would you?”

Using my free hand, this time I laid it over hers on my chest. Her full lips parted slightly and she sucked in a gasp. “What is your name?” I asked, and saw her cheeks pale.

“My name?” I watched her as she thought hard. When her shoulders slumped, I knew she had not found an answer. “I can’t remember,” she said quietly. “I don’t know my name.”

“Neither do I,” I replied. “I know I’m Russian and I think I’m age around twenty-four.”

She flicked up her head and said excitedly, “I’m twenty-one.”

As I looked up at her slightly smiling mouth, the wall lamp on the far wall haloing her head, she looked perfect.

“Near my age.”

Her cheeks burst with redness and she ducked her eyes. When she looked back up, her face had become serious once more. Her gaze wandered to take in my cuts, slashes, and bruises. “You saved me,” she whispered. “You saved me from death.”