I staggered back toward the male, who was hovering yet again over Sapphira. Mustering strength I did not know I possessed, I hurled myself at him, pulling on his arm to stop his hand from resting upon Sapphira’s exposed thigh. “Stop!” I shouted, my voice grazed and raw. I had to stop him. I had to save her.
This time, when the male tried to throw me off, I held on with all of my might. My arms wrapped around him, and acting on pure instinct, I sank my teeth into the side of his neck. And I bit down hard. I bit so hard that the male staggered to the side and slammed my back against the wall. Breath whooshed from my lungs, and my arms fell from around his neck. I dropped to the floor, exhausted and depleted, drained from all the fighting. But I had to try. I had to get back up. I had to save her.
The door slammed open. My heart sank with pure fear before I even looked up. Because I did not need to look up to sense his presence.
“What the fuck?” he snarled, his deep voice sounding like daggers drawn, threatening to slice into my cold and broken skin.
“Stupid bitch fucking attacked me like some rabid dog.”
Meister’s feet pounded across the floor so fast that I curled in on myself, desperately trying to escape his wrath. But his wrath was not focused on me. I heard a shuffle, a pained shout and a struggle for breath. Meister had the other man up against the wall, his bulging arm braced at the base of the male’s throat. The male reddened as Meister placed his face close, teeth bared, lips pulled back like a hound escaped from hell itself.
“You touched her?” Meister hissed, spittle landing on the male’s face.
He shook his head in protest. Blood trickled down his chest from the bite I had taken from his flesh. I took advantage of the distraction to crawl across the floor. Sapphira’s arm was hanging from the bed. I reached out and took her hand in mine. She was so cold. Her fingers were so weak.
Sapphira . . .
I turned my head to see the male struggling to breathe, the tips of his feet kicking at the floor. His eyes stared straight into Meister’s, yet the contact did not cause Meister to flinch. His strong arms held firm as he bled the male of his life’s breath . . . as he watched the light fade from his eyes. When the male’s eyes had begun to frost with the imminent call of death, Meister leaned in close, his mouth to the male’s ears, and he said softly, delicately, “You touched her. No one touches her.” Meister’s head drew back, and he watched with interest as the male’s skin blotched with red. “I can’t let it happen, Dale. Even the best of soldiers must obey my commands. No exceptions. No weaknesses. Remember? We are at war, and I am the commander.”
In one last-ditch attempt to fight for his life, the male thrashed with the remaining stores of his energy. But his effort was futile. Meister’s unyielding grip held tight, and within seconds the male’s body slumped in Meister’s hold. His arms sagged, his feet dragged the floor, and his eyes never blinked again, forever frozen on his murderer.
As if discarding nothing more than a sack of dirt, Meister released the body to the floor. And then he turned to me. His blue eyes blazed with adrenaline, with the thrill of the kill. I begged my traitorous limbs to cease in their trembling. But it was no use; fear held me tightly in her embrace as Meister stepped toward me.
He was displeased. He was more displeased than I had ever seen before. I squeezed Sapphira’s hand tighter. Crying, I kissed the back of her hand, the skin broken under my lips. Then I let her go. I could not let Meister near her. I could not let him hurt her like he had done the man on the floor.
I forced my body to stand and edged my way toward the door. My eyes searched the room as I wondered idly what I should do, where I would go. How I would get Sapphira out.
Salt from my tears ran over my cracked, dry lips. Meister was unmoving in the center of the room as he watched me. I swallowed, trying to lubricate my swollen mouth enough to speak. I ran my gaze over the females I knew, whom I had once laughed with and shared food and drink. Their bodies, so hurt, poisoned with the strange liquid, glared back at me as if I were part of the devil’s worst ever joke.
“What is this place?” I managed to croak.
Meister’s nostrils flared, and the veins in his thick neck pulsed. He tipped his head to one side and ran his tongue over his bottom lip.
“These . . . these are my New Zion sisters.” My eyes drifted back to Sapphira lying on her small cot, and I felt my heart crack down the center. Her dress was still baring her modesty from where the now-dead male had been touching her young skin. Vomit crept up my throat as I thought of her being taken, as I thought of the man taking her. Her fourteen-year-old body.
Her dignity.
A whimper left my mouth as I tried to get to her, to cover her up. I wanted her to open her eyes and look at me, but the potion had pulled her from consciousness. I needed her to wake up and see me. To know I was here for her. That I loved her.
A firm hand seized my wrist, bringing me to a stop. Meister’s grip tightened, and I cried out; I could no longer bear the pain. He was silent as he twisted my arm. I dropped to my knees, tears falling from my eyes.
“Please,” I begged when I feared he would break the bone.
Meister glared down at me. My entire body shook. Slowly, ever so slowly, Meister crouched down until he was at eye level. I had always thought Meister was handsome. Yet it amazed me how a person’s polluted soul could seep from their heart and corrupt even the most beautiful features.
“I told you to stay beside your shack.” He ran the index finger of his free hand over my cheek, a soothing, calming gesture, the tenderness a sharp contrast to the pain at my wrist.
My eyes squeezed shut. When I opened them again, I repeated, “What is . . . what is this place?” I drank in the devastating sight of good females reduced to this pitiful state, the smell of male release and joining . . . the sense of helplessness and capture.
But Meister did not answer me. Instead, he brought his face to mine and regarded me with his unique version of adoration. His cheek rubbed against my own; his lips brushed past my lips. “I have been good to you, Liebchen,” he murmured, lovingly. “I have cherished you, cared for you, kept you away from all of . . . this.”
It took mere seconds for Meister to snap, to change from benevolent to malicious. His hands dropped from my face and wrist, only to reach out and fist within my hair. He wrapped his fingers around the damp strands and hurled me to my feet. I screamed as loud a scream as my weak voice could muster. My scalp was on fire as Meister wordlessly wrenched me from the room housing my sisters, my Sapphira. I tried to resist, I tried to get back to her, but Meister did not tolerate disobedience of any kind.
He would not let me go.