Chapter 5

Elowë's POV

The red was gone.

His eyes—they were amber again. Normal. Like nothing had happened.

I blinked. Stared at him. Had I imagined it? Maybe it was the lighting in this place. The dim, colored lights that made everything look wrong. Maybe I was so terrified my brain was just making things up.

But no. I knew what I'd seen. Those eyes had been red. Blood red. And for just a second, I'd felt something. Like a jolt.

His body had gone rigid when it happened. Just for a moment. His hand had tightened on my waist and his whole frame had locked up like he'd been hit with something. And his face—god, his face had looked shocked. Actually shocked.

Like whatever just happened, he hadn't expected it either.

Then his hand moved.

Slid down from my waist. Lower. His palm was hot against my skin, burning through the thin scrap of fabric barely covering my hip. His fingers spread, gripping, and then they kept going. Down to the curve of my ass.

Oh god.

I jerked back. Tried to. His other arm was still around me and I couldn't move. Couldn't get away.

"Wait—stop—"

His grip tightened. Not painful. Just firm. Immovable.

My hands pushed at his chest, but it was like pushing a wall. He didn't budge. Didn't even seem to notice I was trying.

I can't fight him. I can't. He's too strong and I'm—I'm nothing. I'm wearing scraps of fabric in a locked room and nobody out there cares if I scream.

The reality of it hit me like ice water.

This is happening. This is really happening.

I'm going to get raped.

My eyes burned. My throat closed up.

His hand slid higher on my ass, fingers digging in slightly, and something in me just broke.

I squeezed my eyes shut. Tears spilled over, hot on my cheeks.

"Please." My voice came out small. Broken. "Please don't."

More tears. I couldn't stop them. They just kept coming, sliding down my face, and I hated it. Hated how weak I sounded. How pathetic.

"Please," I whispered again.

For a second, nothing. His hand stayed where it was. His arm stayed locked around me. I could feel his chest rising and falling against mine, could feel the heat of him seeping into my skin.

Then he let go.

Just like that. His arms dropped and he stepped back.

I stumbled slightly, catching myself. Opened my eyes.

He was standing a few feet away now, adjusting his collar. Smoothing down the front of his jacket.

I stared at him. Couldn't process it.

He actually stopped.

"If you keep crying," he said, his voice almost gentle, "the people outside will think you're not fulfilling your duties properly."

I blinked. "What?"

"Your duties." He raised an eyebrow, his gaze traveling over me slowly. Deliberately. "A whore's duties. Make the client happy. Take the money. Keep your mouth shut." His lips curved slightly. "Don't cry. Don't make a fuss. And certainly don't refuse."

My stomach lurched.

Whore.

He just called me a whore.

How did this happen? How did I go from my hotel room to this?

I wiped at my face with shaking hands. Tried to breathe.

Crying won't help. He's right about that. Crying won't get me out of here.

But what will?

I was locked in a room with a man who could move faster than I could see. Who was strong enough that my attempts to push him away were laughable. And outside that door was a whole club full of people who'd watched me get dragged away and hadn't lifted a finger.

He glanced at his watch. A casual gesture. Like he was checking how much time he should be waiting for something to happen.

My heart sank.

Or maybe he's just seeing how much time he has before—

No. Don't think about that.

I needed to do something. Anything. Sitting here waiting for him to decide what happened next wasn't an option.

Buy time. Just buy time. Maybe someone will come. Maybe there'll be a chance to run.

I wiped my eyes again. Took a shaky breath.

"What was that?" My voice came out hoarse. "Just now. Your eyes..."

He looked up. His gaze sharpened, locking onto mine.

My pulse jumped but I made myself keep talking.

"Your eyes changed color. They were—" I hesitated. Red sounded insane. "Is that some kind of new contact lens technology? I've never seen anything like that before. The way they just—"

He didn't answer. Just watched me with that same unreadable expression. Like I was amusing him.

Like I was a joke.

Heat crawled up my neck but I pushed through it.

"You don't seem like the kind of person who'd come to a place like this." The words tumbled out faster now. Desperate. "I mean, you look like—" I gestured vaguely at him. At the perfectly tailored suit, the way he carried himself. "You look like you don't need to pay for..."

I couldn't finish the sentence. It felt too crude. Too real.

His mouth curved into something that might have been a smile. Might have been a smirk.

"You're very articulate," he said.

I shook my head quickly. "I'm not trying to flatter you. I just—I need to know. Why am I here? I don't remember anything. I was in the hotel room. My friend and I were supposed to go hiking the next day. I went to bed and then—" My voice cracked. "A blank. I only remember waking up in that strange room after that. Someone threw these—these scraps of fabric at me and dragged me here and I don't—"

My hands were shaking again. I clasped them together, squeezing hard.

"I don't remember anything," I whispered. "I don't know what happened."

Something shifted in his expression. Just slightly. His eyes narrowed, and for a moment he looked almost thoughtful.

Then he spoke. Quietly. Like he was talking to himself more than to me.

"The Ash-bringers must have erased your memory."

I froze.

"What?"

He didn't repeat it. Just kept looking at me with that distant, calculating expression.

Erased my memory?

The words didn't make sense. Couldn't make sense.

That's not possible. People can't just erase memories. That's—that's science fiction. That's not real.

But even as I thought it, something cold settled in my chest.

Because what if it was real? What if that's why I couldn't remember? Why there was just this blank space between going to sleep in my bed and waking up in that horrible room?

What else can't I remember?

My breath came faster. Shallower.

"What are you talking about?" I managed. "Erasing memories—that's not—you can't just—"

He tilted his head slightly. Still watching me. Still not explaining.

Another question I can't understand. Another thing that makes no sense.

What is happening to me?

"Who hit you?"

His voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. Flat. Almost casual.

I blinked at him. "What?"

"Your face." He gestured vaguely toward me.

My hand went to my cheek automatically. The left side of my face was still throbbing. Still swollen where the server had slapped me.

And just like that, everything came crashing back.

Waking up in that room. The awful clothes. Being dragged through the club. The slap. The way everyone had just watched. The way no one had cared.

Being shoved in here. Being grabbed. Those red eyes.

All of it. Everything that had happened in the last—god, I didn't even know how long it had been. Hours? Less?

It all piled up at once and I couldn't hold it back anymore.

The tears came again. Harder this time. My whole body shook with them.

"I don't know." The words came out choked. Broken. "I don't know anything. I don't know why I'm here. I don't know what happened. I don't know what you people did to me—"

"Please! Can you tell me anything?"