Folding my arms around my body, I watch the people watching me. It gets very boring very fast, but boring is my second name inside this cage. My annoyed brain takes turns telling me to growl at people, flip them off, and just close my eyes and pretend I'm home.
The problem is, when I tell myself to think of home, my mind doesn't take me back to my apartment in Myrtle Creek. I don't think of my massive mattress where I hardly ever had company, or my kitchen full of appliances I barely used. When I tell myself to think of home, my brain has other plans.
It takes me to the cabin in the woods, the bed barely big enough to fit the four of us. The old floorboards, creaking under the weight of Apollo's big body, and how his muscles curled and his sweat-covered skin glistened under the sun when he chopped wood. I remember the extra warmth of Ren's chest against my back, his arm draped around me, keeping me close, keeping me safe. And I remember Donatello's constant presence, how his eyes were always looking for me, how his cold fingers were always touching my skin.
When I think of home, I think of the moments of peace I had with those men, even if our situation was messed up. I didn't want to choose, and they didn't mind. They wanted me badly enough they were okay with sharing me.
A shiver of longing races down my skin. Just the memory of their touch urges warmth to coil between my legs. I keep my eyes closed, pretending I'm asleep, ignoring the chatter outside to soak in the memories. Memories are all I'll have of them from now on. Ren maybe still wants me, but maybe by the time I get out, Apollo will have explained how evil I am for being a Shadow Mage or something, and Ren will have given up too.
I flutter my eyes open. No matter. I've been alone before. This changes nothing.
People come and go and I'm lucky enough not to see Kayn. After what feels like forever, the people trickle away until I'm left alone once more. Just me, my memories, and my prison mates who don't speak my language. At least I'm not by myself for long.
His steps are quiet, but it's so damn silent here it catches my attention. I raise my eyes and find the hot viking from yesterday standing close, mere steps from my cage. The lights up above bathe him, and I can see how blue his eyes are, and fastened on me. I stand up, shifting my weight to stare at him straight on, tilting my chin up. Damn, the man ishuge.
"Hi," I risk, watching his reaction. He looks like the quiet, brooding kind, even with all the muscles.
His eyes seem to glitter brighter. "Hi," he replies, and his grave voice should not send hot shivers down my skin, but it does. Hell, the sight of his muscular forearms makes my uterus sing so loud it doesn't look like I was thoroughly fucked a couple of days ago. I watch his throat bob and my mouth waters, dying to race my tongue up his Adam's apple.
I swallow hard. We stare for another heated moment. He keeps his hands deep in his pant pockets, but I see the fine line of his hard cock against the sweatpants. Whoever came up with gray sweatpants deserves all the glory and prizes of this world.
"You came back," I say in a pathetic voice, rasping with need, and it takes me honest effort to drag my eyes from his hardness. His jaw clenches hard, eyes wide, and it looks like he's about to bolt again. Do I scare him this much? And who the hell is this guy? He walks around freely, but not like he owns the place. No, with his shoulders bunched and his attention snapping to the sides, it's like he lives here, but is not supposed to be down by the Ménagerie. "Do you work here?"
He nods once. "Tristan," he says, then his throat bobs. "That's my name. My name is Tristan."
I sink my teeth into my lower lip to keep myself from grinning. He's cute, all big and awkward, a light shade of pink covering his cheeks. I keep my hands out of my pants this time, hoping he won't run off again. Cute or not, Tristan has a free pass around this place, and he might be my way out.
"Do you live here, Tristan?" I try to coat my voice in a soft tone, the coy one I use when I want to distract men from poker games. "Or just work?"
"Both." He steps closer. "I mean, I live here, and work."
I cock my head. "How is that? You have a room or something?"
"I do. In the servants’ quarters."
Servants’ quarters. Like a mansion, or a castle. "So there's more to this place, other than these cages?"
He nods several times. "Yes. The Little Palace is massive."
Little Palace. Even if it's calledlittle, I'm sure it's several times larger than my Myrtle Creek’s house, and the place was above average. If it's a palace and has a servants’ area, maybe it also has a back exit. Some place unseen, half-hidden. Some place Tristan could take me to, and where I could escape from without being seen.
"How can it be so big and no one ever found it?" I say this out loud, but it's more to myself. Apollo mentioned how the Collector eluded him for years, and how hard it was to find any clue on the man. A palace can't be that hard to miss. Didn't anyone ever see this place and wonder who lived here?
Tristan ends the space between us, only the glass separating his body from mine. I have to crane my neck back to look at him. "Wards,” he says. “I'm no witch, and I don't know how they work, but they keep the place safe."
"Oh." My mouth goes round with the sound, and I see Tristan's gaze shifting. Heat crosses my chest, and I clamp my mouth shut. I'm supposed to use this desire arching between us in my favor, not allow it to take over my rationality. "Where are we, anyway?"
Tristan's brows climb his forehead. He looks away for a second then back at me, and he shakes his head. "I don't know."
I blink twice. "You don't know?" He shakes his head again. "How can't you know?"
A muscle on his jaw works. "I was brought here when I was a kid, through a portal, so I don't know how long we traveled."
A knot tightens in my chest. He was brought in as a kid? Was he kidnapped the way I was? I lick my lips, suddenly dry. "But when you leave, on your day off. Aren't there other cities close by?"
His face empties. It goes blank like a heavy cast sky. "I don't leave. There are no days off."
Something boils in my stomach. "So you're a slave." My voice rasps with rage, and this Collector guy just made me hate him more.