Page 10 of Silent Lucidity

She cast a fleeting glance toward the wall; there was a secret door there that was used to dispose of the pets who didn’t survive Cullion’s discipline. She’d gone through it once and followed it into a tunnel outside the manor before she was seized by the guards and dragged back inside, kicking and screaming. She’d been so damn close…

Somewhere out there, somewhere in this impossibly large city, there was a human embassy. She’d overheard talk one of the times Cullion had taken her out. There were representatives from Earth here. She just needed to get to them.

One day, she would use that secret passage again. One day, shewouldbe free.

Abella lowered herself onto her knees and bent forward. She pressed her forehead to the cool stone and flattened her palms to either side. The floor was icy against her bare skin, and another shudder crept up her spine. She still felt the guards staring at her, their gazes thick with curiosity, lust, and anticipation, contrasted by Cullion’s palpable disgust.

She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing everything around her would disappear, wishing she could open her eyes and find herself back home in her bed having just woken from a vivid but harmless dream.

Wishing she could open her eyes and find herself on stage, dancing with that mysterious stranger.

The fabric of Cullion’s robes rasped against his legs as his footsteps moved away from Abella. She swallowed thickly when she heard the of wood against metal, and another shiver coursed through her. Her palms dampened with sweat.

“You have disappointed me. Again,” Cullion said as he approached Abella from the front and walked around her, like a shark circling its prey. “It was I who rescued you from those who stole you from the backwater planet that spawned your kind. It is I who provides for you, shelters you, feeds you, clothes you, pampers you. Everything you have, you owe tome. All I ask in return is obedience. Even a creature so simple as you should understand that.”

An airy whistle was her only warning of the coming blow. Fire flared across her back with acrackas the cane struck her—it was one of his favorite implements despite its simplicity. She recoiled, body tensing, fingers curling, but forced herself to maintain her position.

Abella pressed her lips together to hold in a cry; she refused to give him the satisfaction. Pain spread outward in a wave of heat as the point of impact tingled and went numb.

Cullion continued pacing around her. “I will not permit your depravity to tarnish my reputation. You aremine, and you will behave accordingly. Were you purposely making a mockery of me tonight?”

Abella kept her lips sealed. She knew this game of his well by now—whatever her answer, it would be wrong. His polished boots halted at the edge of her vision. She drew in a slow, deep breath, willing her trembling to cease.

The silence between blows was always the most frightening part of the whole ordeal.

One of his feet shifted forward, and the cane slice through the air to strike her back twice more. Abella blanched, whimpering as air fled her lungs and tears flooded her eyes. She breathed in and out, breath quick and shallow, and pushed through the agony. Her mind turned toward her years as a dance, of the grueling practices and demanding routines that had left her muscles burning and her feet aching. That pain had made her stronger, better. It had never broken her.

Nothing would break her.

Not this planet. Not her enslavement. And most certainly not Cullion.

“Rather strong-willed tonight, are we?” Cullion asked, stepping away from her. “That can easily be remedied. Get the electrolash.”

The heavy footsteps of one of the vorgal guards moved away, paused for a moment, and returned to stand behind Abella.

“Twenty lashes,” Cullion said, walking away from her. “Then take her to the isolation chamber and lock her inside. We will allow her to reflect upon her lessons—and her wounds—for a time.”

She finally allowed herself to look toward him, toward his damned polished boots, and glare with more hatred than she would’ve thought possible to fit in one person’s heart.

Cullion stopped a few meters away and turned toward her.

An electric, crackling sound from behind her was followed by the hissing thrum of an activated electrolash.

This wasn’t her first time. Unfortunately, knowing what to expect wouldn’t diminish the pain.

She pressed her forehead against the cold floor and gritted her teeth as the first lash struck her flesh with a searing sting that locked her muscles. It was followed by another, and another, and another; she quickly lost count. This time, Abella couldn’t hold in her cries, couldn’t dam the flow of her tears, but she would not beg for mercy. She would never beghim.

I—

Crack.

—am not—

Crack.

—an animal.

Crack.

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