Page 30 of Captive Souls

It warned against taking the path of instant gratification because it was often the path of destruction.

Even without a Tarot card, I understood that giving in to any kind of carnal desire I felt for Knox would lead me to ruin.

And yet…

I’d always felt an affinity for that card. Especially given the battles I’d fought in the past. It had brought shadows to light, understanding them so I could release their hold.

The Devil was also about sexuality. About being unashamed about cravings that society scorned or shunned—providing everything was consensual and everyone was of age. But again, this card represented how exploring such things was walking ona narrow path. If not with someone safe and respectful, pain and devastation would ensue.

Again, this was all too chilling and much too accurate for my situation, even for me. Rattled, I’d buried the cards in my bag then stared at the wall until I couldn’t stare anymore.

I was not a person to sit idle. So I’d tidied. Cleaned. Straightened up the rustic cabin as best I could.

The furnishings were sparse, linens mostly threadbare, but the table was made of solid wood, the rug covering smooth wooden floors. In the tiny linen cabinet I’d discovered old lace curtains that had once hung on the windows. This place had fallen into disrepair, but it was built well, to withstand. And small touches like the lace curtains, the fading paint on the shutters, the rugs, the overgrown garden, told me that at one point, people had lived here and been proud to call it home.

Now this was little more than a cage. But I could rectify that. Turn it into something a little better, do the previous owners a favor. I was relieved to have a task, to do something other than gaze at the door, waiting for Knox to return.

When Knox finally came in, I instantly retreated to the bathroom, telling myself I was there to clean it, not escape him. I mentally said that as I scrubbed behind the toilet with an old toothbrush I found in the back of the cabinet.

When I emerged, he was once again cooking, the telltale smell of meat wafting through the cabin. Disgusted, I’d pursed my lips, stomped into the cabin to snatch a piece of quickly staling bread, careful not to look at him before retreating outside to eat before going to bed.

I didn’t fall asleep for a long time. Couldn’t. Not with him there. It was barely possible to breathe through the thick air.

Eventually, my body succumbed, the exertion of the run, the adrenaline and the scant amount of food I’d consumedexhausting me. I woke early again, donning running clothes. Knox didn’t chase me that time.

Which was good, I reminded myself.

I especially reminded myself that the little urge inside of me didn’t exist. The urge that wanted to be chased, wanted that fear and desire mixing inside of me, wanted to go back to yesterday, to the most alive I’d ever felt in my three decades walking the earth.

The plan was to talk to him as little as possible. Give him the silent treatment, be an overall bitch to him. I didn’t consider myself a bitch and didn’t think it was an okay thing to be—though too many women were labeled that way by men for merely being assertive and not fawning all over them—but I thought etiquette dictated that you could be a bitch to the man holding you hostage.

Again, that had been the plan. But I wasn’t practiced at being a bitch. So I kind of forgot my plan. I didn’t forget about my captivity, mind you. Just the vow I’d made to myself. I liked being alone, was happy with books, cooking, being in nature, meditating, reading Tarot, tending to my small herb garden on our rooftop.

But it was hard to do a lot of those things in a small, one-room cabin with a statuesque man quietly emanating various degrees of menace.

It made me uneasy. And very scared.

But I didn’t want to show my fear. Something told me that he was used to that, Knox.

I assumed he had plenty of people submitting to his will, his commands, doing everything in their power to avoid him. And yes, ancient survival instincts and general common sense were telling me to keep as far away from him as possible and to keep our interactions to a bare minimum.

But there was something more than common sense, something borne out of my penchant for romance books and affinity for the villain as opposed to the hero.Beauty and the Beastwas my favorite Disney movie, after all. I liked the beast, I liked that he could’ve ripped Belle apart at any moment. And aside from the fact that it would’ve made the movie a lot less child-friendly, it wouldn’t be as appealing to young girls.

We want to tame the beast. We want to know its talons could rip us apart, but instead, they stroke our skin. That their teeth could chew our flesh, but instead, their lips go to our most intimate and vulnerable of places…

“Here.” I kind of yelled the word as I placed a steaming mug of tea in front of Knox. In the short time we’d been in each other’s company, I’d noted that he drank it often. Not coffee—we didn’t have any coffee. Tea. An interesting choice for a man like him.

Tea, a delicate, mindful drink that required care, ritual. Or at least the way I drank it.

I’d likely put too much thought into it, since there wasn’t anything else to drink but tea. It could’ve been borne from necessity, nothing else.

He looked up from the book he’d been reading, the battered paperback so worn the title wasn’t legible. I’d tried to crane my head to find it in the interior, but I never got close enough to it—to him—and he didn’t leave it lying around.

It was likelyHow to Dismember and Dispose of a Body in Less Than Twenty Minutes.

He closed it as I got close, not marking where he’d left off. I didn’t see him look to memorize the page number either.

Interesting.

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