The click of heels sounded as the guards hooked chains to D-bolts in the ceiling Nick didn’t remember being there, then reached for his arms. As they attached the first chain to his left wrist, stretching his limb up and away from his body, he winced, the injury in his shoulder sending a sharp shot of pain across his muscles. They grasped his other arm and locked him to the chain, then closed the metal cuffs around his ankles, kicked his legs shoulder-width apart, and chained those to hooks in the floor as well.
Cynna appeared in the doorway to the room.
The pain dissipated as Nick focused on her. She was wearing the same revealing outfit she’d had on when she’d watched his fight in the training ring, and it distracted him from what was going on around him. Excited him. Sent a wicked thrill through the dark part of what was left of his soul.
“Mistress,” the injured guard said, standing straight. “The prisoner is ready.”
Cynna’s gaze flicked over Nick, over his bare torso and the small white towel covering his awakening erection, then up to his face to hover on the scar on his left cheek. Without sparing a look toward the guards, she said, “Leave us.”
Her voice was like sandpaper and velvet, a voice made for sin, just like her body. In her hands she held a jar.
Two females—no, nymphs—rushed into the room as soon as the guards left. One was blonde, the other with short dark hair. They were both petite, both submissive with their eyes cast downward, and both were wearing flimsy pale pink dresses made from thin fabric that barely hid their bodies from view. They were also wearing metal collars. Collars he’d seen on other submissives in the tunnels. Collars that marked them as sex slaves.
Nick’s stomach tightened. His gaze skipped past the females, toward the steel door, which was now closed, and through the small window to see who was watching.
Darkness reflected in the glass. But that didn’t mean they were alone. Zagreus was always somewhere watching Nick’s torture. Feeding off it. Waiting for him to break.
Turning to the dark-haired nymph on her right, Cynna handed the female the jar and said, “Use this. But do not touch him anywhere save where he bleeds.”
The nymph nodded and approached, her cheeks a deep cherry red, her breaths shallow. She unscrewed the lid and set it on the rocks at her feet, then gathered a scoop of whatever was in the jar and lowered to her knees in front of him.
Nick sucked in a breath. She was inches away, his groin hidden only by the small towel. Her fingers grazed the wound on his thigh, a tickling sensation that made his muscles tense, but the healing balm was cool where it coated the gash. He relaxed as she rubbed the balm into the wound, feeling the jagged skin already knitting back together, feeling his body healing faster than it would on its own, feeling a heat he didn’t expect warming his skin.
“Enough,” Cynna said. “Now the other one.”
The dark-haired nymph pushed to her feet, still didn’t look Nick in the eye, and moved around behind him. Again he felt her fingers gliding over his skin, and he tensed, then the balm slathered the wound in his shoulder, slowly warming his skin, repairing the damage and relaxing him from the outside in.
Cynna’s deep brown eyes remained blank as she watched the nymph work. No emotion crossed her face. No pleasure or excitement over what was to come, as Zagreus always showed. Nothing but emptiness. An emptiness Nick had gotten used to seeing on her flawless face.
Only…that wasn’t true. When he’d been in the ring earlier, when he’d dropped his weapon in defiance of Zagreus’s desire to make him fight, he’d seen something in her eyes then. Something that had looked a lot like panic.
“That’s enough,” Cynna said.
The nymph’s fingers lifted from Nick’s skin, and she stepped back. Moving around him, she knelt to pick up the lid, recapped the jar, then sank back against the far wall near the other nymph.
Cynna moved forward, her eyes never wavering from Nick’s, and the scent of jasmine hit him as it always did when she drew close, filling his senses, messing with his mind. She was tall for a female, at least five ten, and in those ridiculously high-heeled boots, only a few inches shorter than him. Today her blonde hair was swept over one shoulder, a blue streak near her temple contrasting sharply with her caramel skin. Her face was heavily made up, her eyes rimmed in thick black, making her look every bit the dominatrix. And though he knew he should be anxious over whatever she and Zagreus had cooked up for him next, he wasn’t. Because there was something about her that interested him. Perplexed him. Made him want to know more.
He’d never admit it, but the mystery of who she was and how she’d come to be here had saved him. Saved him from going mad or giving in to all that dark energy Zagreus was waiting to claim.
“You just…won’t…break.”
Her words were a whisper, a frustration, a surprise. She never spoke to him. Though he’d spent more time with her than anyone else in this hellhole, she never addressed him directly. She gave the commands to her grunts, and they did her dirty work. She never even got near him.