Page 9 of Silent Lucidity

He was…dangerous.

Abella slid her hand down her face until her fingertips settled on her lips. He’d kissed her. Twice.

She still felt an echo of the warmth of his mouth on hers, of his body against hers, and his tantalizing, masculine scent lingered in her nose like a ghost from the recent past. Her tongue slipped out to slide over her lips; she savored the hint of spicy sweetness he’d left on them.

It had been the first time she’d danced with anyone since her abduction. It had felt wonderful, exhilarating, freeing. It had felt like…

Being home.

Tears stung her eyes, and she quickly blinked them away.

The stranger hadn’t spoken a single word; he’d only stared at her with those mesmerizing eyes as though she were the only thing in the entire world. She didn’t even know his name.

And I’ll never see him again.

She’d known what would happen when he came onto stage, knew the consequences would be severe, but it hadn’t mattered. Every second in his arms had been worth it. Their short dance meanteverythingto her—it was the only time she’d felt like herself, had felthappy, since she was brought to the Infinite City four years earlier.

While she was lost in her thoughts, the hovercar had ascended and entered the express tunnels that allowed traffic to move freely through the city. She was aware of other vehicles zipping around them, of lights, metal, and concrete blurred by the speed of Cullion’s hovercar, but she paid attention to none of it. She only realized they’d reached Cullion’s manor when the vehicle came to a halt and the outer protective field dissipated.

Abella dropped her hands to her sides and clenched her fists. The cab doors hissed open.

“Bring my pet to the discipline chamber,” Cullion said from outside her field of view.

One of the bodyguards stepped in front of the cage, detached Abella’s leash from the cage’s exterior, and deactivated the energy field. He tugged on the leash. “Let’s go.”

Abella gritted her teeth as she unfolded her body and climbed out of the cage. The flashy collar around her neck weighed her down; it was a constant reminder of what she was here—an animal, a pet, a creature undeserving of respect or dignity.

She’d fought often in the beginning and had attempted numerous escapes, but each act of opposition had brought with it more severe punishments, more intense pain. To maintain her sanity, she’d had no choice but to comply with Cullion’s rules and orders, but she always kept her eyes open for opportunity. Though four years of slavery had left her with little hope of reclaiming her freedom, she refused to give up.

The vorgal stepped back to grant her a sliver of space, remaining about as close as he could without touching her. Abella kept her eyes downcast as she followed him toward the manor’s entrance.

Cullion seemed to have spared no expense in the construction of his home. Like many of the buildings nearby, it stood in defiance of the structures overhead that blocked out whatever sunlight this alien world had to offer and kept the Undercity in perpetual night—but its defiance was only an illusion. Cullion did not rail against the status quo because he was empowered by it.

The manor was a bastion of wealth and luxury that went far beyond what Abella considered tasteful, existing only to stroke its owner’s ego.

Its architecture was unlike anything she’d ever seen—the closest she’d seen to it were the ancient, ornate temples and ruins in southeast Asia back on Earth, but it was still comparing apples to oranges. There was nothing subtle or artistic about Cullion’s manor or the surrounding homes; they were designed to flaunt power and privilege. Everything seemed to be either trimmed with shining, exotic metals and gems, or crafted from carved, polished wood and stone, all of it alien in origin.

Some people might have found the display awe-inspiring and intimidating; Abella thought it gaudy and classless. None of it seemed to belong in the Undercity, where everything else was metal, concrete, and vibrant neon.

But wasn’t that the point? Beings like Cullion felt theydidn’tbelong down here—they were too good for it. They wanted to be in the city above the surface, dwelling in one of the sanctums controlled by the Consortium. That he was unable to enter the sanctums save when invited for business infuriated Cullion like little else. Abella found quiet glee in that.

Only the alien species comprising the Consortium—a near-mythical group of six races, the members of which Abella had never seen during her time here—were permitted to freely enter and dwell within the sanctums.

The vorgal led her through the large entry doors—constructed of thick metal disguised as wood—across the ornately decorated foyer, and into a long, darkly-furnished hall. She knew what awaited her at its end.

Her every step was a struggle; it felt as though her feet were made of stone. She kept her eyes down, tracing the glittering, golden veins webbing the marble-like black floor with her gaze. The décor around her became a blur. She wanted nothing more at that moment than to separate her mind from her body so she wouldn’t feel what was about to come.

Every little hair on Abella’s body stood on end as she was led through the doorway at the end of the hall and to the center of thedisciplineroom. The air within bore a unique chill, and, though she didn’t look up, she felt the stares of the guards and servants gathered inside settle upon her with immense weight. Cages and varied instruments of pain filled her peripheral vision.

“Remove her clothing,” Cullion said.

The vorgal guard untethered Abella’s leash from the collar and stepped behind her. His hands were dispassionate and rough as he unfastened her belt, releasing it to fall down her legs and hit the floor with athunk. The delicate fabric of her skirt pooled around her feet along with it. He unhooked the clasps on her top a moment later, forcing it off her arms and dropping it to join her other clothing on the floor.

A shiver coursed over her from head to toe, raising goosebumps on her chilled skin. It was humiliating, degrading, an attempt to strip her of what dignity she had left, but she clung to her pride with an iron grip.

He will not break me.

“Kneel,” Cullion commanded.

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