Alara

Die before you get captured.

The thick, heavy smell of smoke and roasting meat fills my nose. My body feels as if it has been stomped on by a dozen horses.

Zayen's words—once they've got you, they can do anything to you—repeats itself over and over in my head. But louder than his word, is my own, chastising me for my stupidity.

My body can not move, not only because of its numbness but because I have been chained with a cold material.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Tears threaten to break out of my closed eyes. Curiosity had gotten the best of me, and I had turned in the direction of whatever was chasing us.

As soon as I had, my balance was lost and I fell. We were so close to being safe.

But I had seen what was chasing us. I saw it as I laid on the grass near the hill, my body feeling like it was broken. I saw it as it lifted me and slammed me back against the dirt.

It wasn't a creature. It wasn't an animal. Or a monster.

It was a man.

A man who tied a cloth around my eyes and dragged me, with a painfully strong grip, across the grass until my body and brain went numb.

My limbs shift and pull against my shackles. They're tight, feeling like they're biting against my wrists and ankles. I can't move an inch. I am stuck against the wall, arms hanging up vertically to my shoulders. The position makes me feel unbelievably vulnerable.

The cloth over my eyes makes it impossible to figure out where I am. There is no chance I have of getting out of here—wherever here is. I am not a princess. I'm nothing. A nobody. There is nothing worth saving.

But my mother is worth saving. So I will try to stay alive, for her.

The cloth is pulled from my eyes. I barely have time to adjust to the light as I come face-to-face with the same man who chased and dragged me away. His body is more bear-like than human. There are dark markings, similar to henna but much darker, where his hair should be.

He could easily be mistaken for an animal, with his size and the terrifying expression on his face—and his green tinted skin.

If I could move back, if I could move at all, I would. My heart beats in my throat. My entire body is heavy, like it has been filled with stones.

It is a cavernous room. The walls are all jagged rock. There's barely any light, aside from a hole high up in the ceiling.

"Wha—" I have to stifle a sob. There is a question on my lips that I don't want to ask; that I don't want the answer to. "What do you want?" My lips shake as though I have been sitting in an ice bath for hours.

His eyes roam my face. Large hands, big enough to cover my entire face, reach out and brush dirt off my face. I flinch, my head twisting to the side. A shiver dances down my spine.

"Afraid." His voice sounds like how I'd imagine someone who hasn't spoken in years would sound. It is savage. His hand goes down to my throat and squeezes. It makes it impossible to breathe. I squirm. "Weak."

"Don't." My voice is strained. I'm not going to beg a man that seems to barely be able to speak.

He shoves my head back, knocking it against a ragged stone wall. "Don't tell me what to do!" My eyes squeeze shut as a sudden ringing fills my ears.

"What do you want?" I scream back, but it only makes my head hurt more. Please don't kill me.

Although I'm sure the rest of the group have left me behind anyways. They're probably closer to Diyar now, knowing that I won't last long here.

"Nothing." And that may be the most dangerous answer.

But everyone always has something that they desire. Not that I have anything to offer.

His face moves in close. He seems curious, like he has never seen anything like me. When his face dips closer to my neck, he breathes me in like I am a candle filled with scented oil.

He pulls something out of his pocket. A piece of wood, carved into a sharp edge. "You break easy?" The question makes me suck in a deep breath, but my lungs still feel empty of air.

This is what Zayen was talking about. That it's better to die than be captured. Now, this man, if I can even call him that, can do whatever. I have no power, nothing to bargain with, and no weapons.

I still have the cut on my neck from when I allowed myself to be captured before. There's a saying that life will keep sending lessons until you learn. This feels like a lesson, I just didn't know I would face it again so soon.

There is a response on my tongue again. No. But if I say that, he would want to test me. If I said yes . . . I believe he would try, anyways.

He grunts, waiting for a response. I simply tilt my chin up, not willing to back down.

He grabs the back of my hair with one hand, his fist pulling my head. The place where he had previously knocked my head sears with a blinding pain.

His other hand lifts his make-shift knife to my cheek. "Answer me."

Shedding tears is as pointless as screaming. "Unchain me and find out." I've managed to survive so far, under unlikely circumstances.

"That would be stupid."

That is true. I tilt my head to the side, and a few of my curls brush against my face. "Come on, at least one hand? You really think this tiny girl has a chance against you? Do you not think yourself good enough to win?" Hitting his ego could work.

"No." He grunts.

Or not.

I assess his stance. He is kneeling close to me, his hand still holding my hair back. But he hasn't noticed that the wooden blade he holds is pointed upwards.

It could be a risk. No, it is definitely a risk. But it may be the only chance I get.

I clench my core upwards, using the chains on my wrists as leverage, and knock the front of my hip up against the weapon in his hands.

It lacerates his skin and he gasps, immediately pulling it out. Seeing the gash nearly makes me puke as blood immediately replaces the space where the knife was.

He growls, his fist coming up fast and slamming into my stomach. It knocks every bit of air out of my body, leaving me wheezing. It rises again and I don't bother to ask him to stop. I bite down on my lip to stop making a sound from the blinding pain that it causes when he hits the same spot twice.

The force of it causes the chains on my wrists to tug upwards, nearly dislocating my wrists. Shuddering breaths leave my lips.

Physical pain is thankfully something I have not had a lot of experience with. Being someone from a small, poor village, I have had no reason to be in a fight. Most people attack when they want something. Which is why I don't understand why this beast of a man is doing this.

"Stupid!" He roars. His fist comes up again, and I brace myself. I knew injuring him was a risk. I'd do it again.

Closing my eyes and blocking out small stream of light, a soft gasp leaves my lips as his fist comes down, this time on my thigh. The pain makes me want to cry, even while knowing it won't do anything. I still wish to have something as an outlet or distraction.

My body remains still, eyes falling closed. Enough. I've had enough. I rest my head back, causing the place where it slammed against the wall to throb.

And it makes me incredibly frustrated to know that it's not in my hands to stop it from happening. I lost control the moment my balance had thrown me from the horse and I was captured.

A swift swooshing sound is followed by a disgusting squelch. It makes my eyes fly open, my heart jumping for a moment in fear of the unknown.

The man drops down to the side. As his head slides cleanly off his neck all I can feel is grateful that he didn't fall on top of me. Blood begins to pool into a puddle, and I can't shift away from it.

It is hard for my eyes to stray from the deep red that seeps out of the giant man's severed head, even as footsteps draw closer.

When I look up, I am regrettably relieved to see Zayen staring back at me. I can't believe the look in his eyes.

"Are you serious?" I say through gritted teeth. All I can feel is pain coursing through my body.

He states at me. The look—he seems attracted to seeing me in chains. I want to slap him, even though he saved me from further pain.

There is a puddle of blood nearly touching my leg and he has the audacity—"Get me out!" In the cave, my words seem to echo up to the small stream of light.

He walks to me, all muscles and height. His dagger lays at his waist, as usual, with his longer scimitar laying on the floor, coated in blood.

A part of me wants to reach out for him, to drag my hands across his broad chest and make sure he is real.

When he kneels, I meet his gaze. My lungs feel like they are finally able to function. My heart, however, seems out of control.

I can't believe he cared.

"Say please." His gaze trails to my bound wrists, then down my arms to my neck and collarbone.

I tug at the chains, causing them to ache deeply. My hands have begun to tingle with the lack of blood flow. "This is not funny! Get me out." Anger flares through me. He is taking this too lightly. "What, is this some kind of fantasy of yours?"

He doesn't respond. His gaze doesn't go lower than my upper chest, thankfully.

"My saviour, everyone," I say, even though we are alone. The thought crosses my mind again, that we are alone. He could do anything. He wouldn't, would he?

For some reason, he is able to read that. "You think I would harm you?" His gaze flashes with unsaid words, before he lowers his gaze.

I try to conceal my expression, my gaze lowering again to the pool of blood. It has stopped growing in size. I glance at the head that lies on its side. Dark, haunted eyes still open and staring at me.

A deep sigh is followed by Zayen trekking through the blood puddle and to the decapitated body. He feels up the body, checking pockets and crevices. "I told you—"

"Not to get captured. I know."

He looks up at me as he pulls out a thin silver chain with a set of keys. "Do you understand now?"

He then wipes his sword against the man's clothing, removing the blood, before sheathing it on his back.

"I fought," I tell him. Would he be proud of me for that?

"You need to fight better." I guess not. It's not like I needed approval from him.

"Did you not see how huge he was?"

"Size doesn't matter." It definitely matters. "The best way to win a fight is to not let your opponent know it's a fight."

I tug at my bindings, hoping that will indicate that I want to be let out. If that was not obvious enough already.

"Come on, please let me out. I'm tired and my body hurts." Like I have been dragged through the mud, which is quite literal.

I think he must hear from the tone of my voice how drained I feel. He shifts closer to me and begins unlocking the chains on my ankle. His eyes keep lifting to mine, gaging my reaction. "What did he want?"

The release of pressure on my ankles makes a small whimper leave my lips. I can't imagine how good it'll feel for my hands to not be hanging up on the wall.

"Why did you come?" I don't understand.

He shifts over to my side, getting so close that I can smell his oud. It's spicy and warm, the comfort of it makes me imagine what it would be like to lay at his side with his big arms around me. The warmth of his skin against mine would make me forget about the world.

I flinch back, shocked by my own thoughts.

One of my hands drops back to my side, numb. But I watch the shift in his face when his eyes meet mine, those warm brown eyes trying to read me. "Do you truly believe I would hurt you, Alara?"

Why is he not calling me Sariq, like he usually does? Is it a tactic to make me believe that I can trust him? Well, I don't.

That is not why I was flinching, but it doesn't matter. "You said it yourself, 'the best way to win a fight is to not let your opponent know it's a fight'. I will not let my guard down around you."

"If I wanted to hurt you, I would have just left you to die here. Use your—" He turns his face, trying to control his frustration. His jaw hardens.

It's hard to dismiss how striking he is. With his thick eyebrows framing those unfairly long lashes. His nose is masculine and structured, but then his lips are—no.

In silence, he returns to his task and unchains my other wrist. It flops back to my side like a dead fish. There is no feeling in my arms, which I hadn't realised until now.

"Come," he says, rising back to his feet.

"Laa." لا. No.

~~*~~

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