Page 29 of Savage Desires

"W-where?" I force the word from my damaged throat.

He grabs a glass from the bedside table and helps me drink. The cool water is a balm to my throat. It still hurts like hell, but it's no longer dry.

"Where are we?" I say hoarsely.

"Somewhere safe."

"You saved me…"

"I would do anything for you, my beauty."

I try to sit up, but this time, the room spins. Kisten helps me, plumping the pillows behind me. He's so gentle, touching me like I'm delicate and could break at the slightest touch.

"Careful, love. You're probably going to be dizzy for a while. I'll get the doctor so she can look you over now that you're awake."

A frisson of fear runs through me at the thought of him leaving me. I feel safe with him. What if he doesn't come back? I'm more scared of him walking away now that I'm supposedly safe than I was of walking on stage to be sold. I knew what to expect with the auction. I had a plan to fight back. I had accepted my fate and was ready for death. Now I don't know what's happening next, and I'm freaking out about it.

My breaths come faster, and I recognize the first signs of a panic attack. I haven't had one in years. Not since the first week after I was taken. Training myself to become numb to what was happening to me didn't take long. Compartmentalization became my salvation. My body still responds appropriately to pain. I feel and react to it, but my mind detaches from reality.

Kisten cups my face in his big, warm hands. "Breathe, beauty. You're safe. I promise."

I believe his words, and I feel safe with him, but if he leaves? I can't handle it. I don't want him to disappear, and even if it isn't rational, my mind is convinced that if he leaves me now, he'll be gone forever.

"Don't leave me," I whimper, my voice is rough, and it hurts to speak.

He brushes my hair away from my face. He looks at me with understanding. "I'm not going anywhere," he reassures me.

He pulls out his phone and sends a text.

"The doctor will be in soon. I'll be right here," he says, indicating the chair a few feet away.

I grab his arm so he can't walk away. I gently tug him until he sits on the edge of the bed. I grip his hand, not wanting to let go yet. I have questions I want to ask, and I want to say so much, but I don't know how to find the right words. Especially when he's looking at me like I'm something special. Like I mean something to him.

It fills me with unfamiliar warmth and a great deal of confusion. I don't understand why he cares about someone like me. I'm nothing. A damaged slave. None of this seems real. I can't help but wonder what his angle is. Or is he just a good man?

No, there's an air of danger surrounding him. He isn't someone to mess with. The way he handled all those men at the mansion proves that. I'm sure the world sees red flags and warning bells where he's concerned, but I don't see any. All I see is safety. I feel protected in a way I haven't felt since I had my dad watching over me. I definitely don't feel anything paternal when it comes to Kisten. In fact, it's the opposite. I'm attracted to him. I haven't felt like this since my teenage crush on Gus Greenwood in the ninth grade.

The way I feel when Kisten is around is so much more than that. I don't feel like giggling and doodling our names together in all my notebooks. This is so much deeper than that—stronger than anything I've ever felt for anyone.

It scares me.

These feelings are disproportionate to the time I've spent with him. My fantasies while in the dark have tricked my mind and body into feeling things I shouldn't for a man I don't know. I know nothing about him other than his name and that he runs in the same circle of people who participate in the auctions. He was at Mecca, too.

He could be evil to his core, just like the rest of them, and I wouldn't know. If that were true, would he have stopped the beating at Mecca? Would he have paid ninety-three thousand dollars for me just to free me? And he freed the other women that were sold, too. None of that seems like the actions of an evil person.

Before I can analyze it further, the door opens, and a woman strides into the room. She's tall for a woman with dark brown hair pulled into a severe bun. Her eyes are warm, with slight wrinkles at the corners as she smiles gently at me.

"So glad you're awake. How are you feeling?" she asks.

"My throat hurts," I say, my voice ragged.

Her smile falls. "I'm sure it does. I need to take a better look at things now that you're awake. Is that okay with you?"

I want to say no. I've spent years having strangers' hands on me. It shouldn't bother me, especially since it's a woman and a doctor. Kisten seems to trust her, which says a lot because I get the feeling he doesn't trust easily. The doctor misreads my hesitance as my being uncomfortable with Kisten.

"Kisten, could you step outside while I examine my patient?"

"N-no! Stay. Please," I say loudly. My throat aching from forcing the words out so fast and loud.

---