The scent of whatever is inside that trunk drives my body mad. My senses go wild, my blood pulsating underneath my skin, like little flakes of metal being drawn to a magnet.
"Hungry?" she baits me with a smirk.
I shake my head, even though my mouth salivates. I can taste the fresh scent of leaves and life, and my taste buds go crazy in anticipation.
"Are you sure?" She sticks her hand into the trunk and removes a small, leather pouch. "Because you look famished."
I shake my head again, but every bone in my body wants to rip that pouch out of her hand, even if it means stealing the knife off a nearby table and slitting her throat.
She unlaces the pouch and inches it toward my nose, watching my reaction closely. The smell is absolutely divine. I want to dive in, devour, feed the hunger pulsing inside me ...
Oh, God, I sound just like Lex when he was hungry for me.
The revelation calms me down enough that I can step back.
"That's not food in there."
"Maybe not for humans." She urges the pouch closer to my nose. "But for you, I think it might be really tasty."
I stab my fingernails into my palms. "No, thank you."
She scowls, lowering the bag from my face. "Fine. If you want to play this way, then we will." She chucks the pouch into the trunk and slams the lid closed. "I was going to make you all take the test, anyway. The others aren't marked with a number, but I won't take any chances."
Marching over to the entrance of the tent, she pokes her head outside. "Bring me the three who came with her."
She steps back inside the tent, letting the flaps close. "I'll admit, I was a bit jealous of you. The way the one guy--Blaise, I think, was his name--ran off, trying to lead us away from you and how the other two fought to protect you ... At first, I thought maybe it was because they were all in love with you. And maybe they are, but that's not the only reason they protect you, is it?"
When I don't answer, she snatches ahold of my arm and drags me toward the curtains. "I want to play a little game. Whether you turn out to be a hybrid or not, I want to have some fun. God knows it's been ages. And if you don't end up being a hybrid, I'll just use you to toy with that pierced guy of yours. I'll mess with him just like he tried to mess with us." She whisks through the curtains and shoves me toward a four-poster bed, the wood scratched and worn with age.
I land on the mattress with a bounce then hurry and flip over.
"I heard that he challenged Wrath." She strolls over to another wooden piece of furniture ... a dresser, I think, and glides the top drawer open. "And even though I doubt Wrath will need help killing the stupid bastard..." She glances over her shoulder at me with her brows raised. "That is, unless it turns out he's a hybrid. Then maybe Wrath will end up dead." She measures my reaction, which I hope comes off as indifferent, and then rolls her eyes. "Anyway, if I've learned anything, it's that a good fight between men usually happens when a beautiful woman is involved." She rummages through articles of clothing piled in the drawer. "I'm making sure we have that so the fight between my Wrath and your pierced friend will be good and bloody and gory, just how I like it." She turns to me, holding a stack of clothes. "Even if it turns out you're a hybrid, I might hold on to that information until after the fight. No one is going to want to fight over a hybrid--well, at least not my Wrath." Not waiting for me to answer, she throws the clothes at me. "Now get dressed."
I expect her to leave, but she takes a seat in the chair, crosses her legs, and sits back.
I unfold the clothes she gave me and try not to pull a face. I've never seen such flimsy fabric. Does this even cover up anything?
"Hurry up," she orders, thrumming her fingers against the armrest. "I want you ready to go when they get here."
Forcing down the vomit, I push to my feet and slip off my boots. With fumbling fingers, I remove my jacket, shirt, and pants, but keep the gloves on. Then I put on the red dress.
The fabric is soft like velvet and slides over my thin frame. Long in the back and extremely short in the front, it makes me feel too exposed. The top section isn't any better, either, with an open back and slits running along the side.
"You have a lot of scars," Zinnia remarks. "That doesn't make sense. Hybrids are supposed to heal without scarring.
"That's because I'm not a hybrid." My fingers tremble as I zip up the zipper on the dress.
She purses her chapped lips. "Where were you born?"
I rack my mind for a lie to feed her. "The d-docks," I stammer the first place that pops into my mind.
"Really?" She pushes to her feet and yanks off my fingerless gloves. "And where are the docks located again?" She tosses the gloves on top of the dresser. "I forget."
"In lakes and in the ocean." I internally cringe at my off balance tone.
"And how did you escape the docks?" she asks, collecting a basin and washcloth.
I recount the story Ryder told me. "I jumped off and swam to the shore."
"How very brave of you." Her derisive grin suggests she's toying with me, playing a game like the visitors used to do with me.
She sets the basin and cloth down on the bed. "Funny. Your friend, the one with the blond hair, told me the exact same story."
"W-w live there together," I sputter in a panic.
"He never mentioned that. In fact, I think I remember him mentioning he escaped alone," she says. "So, my bet is one of you is lying."
"When did Ryder tell you about the docks?" That doesn't make sense. Blaise said Ryder hardly told anyone.
She soaks the cloth in the water. "He can be quite chatty when he's all doped up." She wrings out the cloth, her eyes narrowing on me. "I really do hate liars. I think they should be punished. But the question is, who was lying? Him or you? My bet is you."
Guilt clutches at my throat. There's no way I can let Ryder go down for this and get punished.
"Me," I confess. "I don't know where I was born."
"I figured you were the liar. Most people under the influence of dreamland don't lie. In fact, they can be pretty truthful." Anger sparks in her eyes. "Too truthful sometimes. It takes the fun out of my game when they don't want to play with me." She begins cleaning the dirt off my arms, scrubbing so harshly my skin turns red. "I can't figure you out. You scar, yet the place where the dart struck your neck healed within seconds. You're from the channels, but you don't know if you born there. But all hybrids are born there. Maybe you're lying. Maybe you were born there. But if you weren't, then what are you?"
"I'm human." Liar. You're not even close, and deep down, you know it.
"Doubtful. You heal too quickly." She moves the cloth to my neck, and I focus on her knife collection spread out on a trunk, anything other than her touching me. "We'll soon find out if you're one of them. If you are, then I'm going to tear you apart."
"And if I'm not?"
"Then I'll tear you apart and feed you to the Deorum." A merciless smile spreads across her face. "No matter what you turn out to be, your outcome will be death." She rolls her eyes at the sight of the tears pooling in the corner of my eyes. "Death isn't as bad as everyone makes it out to be. The world is only for the strong. If you're weak, you'll get broken again and again. It's just how things work out here. It's why our kind thrives in the murder and chaos--because we understand that, in order to survive their evil, we have to be equally as evil as the Grim." She drags the rag down to my collarbone.
"You don't seem strong, but the other hybrids didn't seem strong, either. It was all an act, though." She stares off into empty space, her eyes overflowing with undiluted pain. "I'll never make that mistake again. The sacrifices make sure of that."
Her gaze cuts to me. "At first, I questioned how you got into our camp. If you are a Nameless, how did the Deorum betray us and let you in? But you're different from the other ones. Maybe that's why." She dunks the cloth into the basin again. "Or maybe you're something else. Either way, I'll be doing the world a favor by eliminating you. The last thing
this world needs is another strange, unknown creature wandering around. It's what started this whole mess. A single creature that selfishly dropped from the sky and brought an army of Grim with them. Just one creature started the destruction of mankind."
Her words slice through me. An unknown creature started this whole mess? No one seems to know what I am. What if ...? No. It can't be. I'd remember something like that. Or would I? I'm only beginning to realize just how many memories I've forgotten.
"Oh, yeah, I forgot most don't know about the legends." Zinnia grins, misinterpreting my horror-stricken face. "Sucks to be you. Knowledge is power, something the station doesn't understand. They're so dead set on trying to find that object that supposedly contains the world's history because they think it holds the answers to the Grim. If they'd just believe in our legends, their lives would be so much easier."
So many questions burn at the tip of my tongue. What was this creature that caused the destruction? How did it cause the destruction? Where did it come from? And where is it now? But when I open my mouth to ask, she places a finger to my lips.
"Nope. I never tell outsiders our secrets, especially ones who could be hybrids." She goes back to cleaning me.
With every swipe of the damp cloth, my stomach churns. I don't know how many times I've been touched without permission, but it's definitely been too many. I want to shove her down and run, but I keep thinking of Blaise, Ryder, and Reece and how they've never abandoned me, even when things got intense.
After Zinnia finishes washing me, she adds a few silver cuffs to my neck and wrists. Then she combs my hair and puts a mess of braids down one side. By the time she's finished, I feel like a doll all over again.
She drops the brush onto the bed and steps back, admiring her work. "I think that should do. You look good enough to get some male testosterone flowing. Although, you look like you could use some food and water." She reaches back behind her, picks up a tin cup and a bowl, and thrusts them at me. "Eat and drink up."
I recall Blaise's rules of survival, particularly the one where he told me never to eat or drink anything I didn't prepare myself.
"No, thanks. I'm not hungry." But my stomach grumbles in contradiction.
She snatches the cup from me and shoves the brim against my lips. "You will do what I say and will be grateful for every bite of food and every sip of water. We don't usually offer our prisoners such luxuries, but I'm making an exception right now so you don't faint before I have my fun." She tilts the cup and forces the water into my mouth.