Page 49 of Marked By the Dark Lord
If I’d thought my father considered me a freeloader, Mrs. Johnson was on another level. Then, of course, there were the other kids, who took their cues from Mrs. Johnson. They’d learned that violence against the weak was the way to go.
By fifteen, I had fulfilled my father’s prophecy. Living on the street, trading whatever I had, sometimes my body, for money or food to survive. Nobody liked to think about that aspect of society. It made their skin crawl.
Well, fuck them. I had lived it. They could go back to their precious ivory towers and pretend like it didn’t exist. Like the world was somehow better than that. I knew it wasn’t, and I had the mental scars to prove it.
I would have the physical ones, too, except my body healed everything in time. There were men who would pay extra knowing you could take it, that the evidence of their darkest desires would never be permanent.
A tear rolled down my cheek, sadness for the girl in the past. She, at least, had been free.
The laugh that exploded from my lungs caught me completely by surprise, forcing me to swiftly smother the sound, even as my body shook. It doubled, then doubled some more until I was heaving, barely able to breathe. Tears streamed down my face.
Perhaps cackling was the better term for what I was doing in near silence. But it didn’t matter.
The irony of it all was lost on me somehow. I was “free” living on the streets, perhaps. But my “punishment” at Korr’ok’s hands was anything but that. I was living a life of absolute luxury compared to before. The bed under me was softer than anything I had slept on in years. I had a real pillow. Meals whenever I wanted.
And I was getting ready to abandon it all.
Outside, the sounds of Korr’ok moving had ceased well over an hour ago after he’d retired to his room, announcing he was heading to bed. The last time I had left my room, ostensibly to “get a snack,” the light had been off under his door, and no noises could be heard from within.
It was time.
Pushing aside my melancholic thoughts of past and present, I slid from the bed as softly as I could and padded to the door, doing my best not to make a sound. Thankfully, the smooth stone floors of the Black Tower wereexcellentfor not conducting sound. It was the only thing that gave me a chance.
The door was unlocked. It took me nearly five minutes of painstakingly slow movements to open it without so much as a squeak. Every fiber in my body screamed at me to open it and run as fast as I could, but I knew that wouldn’t be the way to do it. I had to move cautiously, carefully. Once I was out of his earshot, I had to move like I belonged.
Like I wasn’t terrified that my head would be ripped off if Korr’ok caught up with me. That would be the hard part, but I had to try. I couldn’t stay there forever. I just couldn’t.
After another five minutes of armpit-drenching patience to close the door, I was off, making my way toward the stairs that would lead me out. Out of the oppressive building, out of that wild place, and out from under the thumb of the hottest man I’d ever met.
Once free, I would find a way to remove his hold over me. Someone had to be able to detect whatever he’d put in my chest and remove it. Or maybe I would just hop on a bus and move away forever. It wasn’t like I had anything tying me down. Niagara Falls was home, but if it was home or prison, well, that choice was clear.
The never-setting sun caused me to squint as I exited the tower on the ground floor, my quads aching from the descent down the many stairs. Ignoring it, I headed for the gates. And freedom.
Breathe, Mila. Just breathe. You can do this. You’re allowed to be here. In fact, youbelonghere. Look at everyone else coming and going. You’re just another one of them. Don’t look at the guards for permission. Just walk past, blank-eyed stare. Your mind is elsewhere because this is a regular occurrence for you.
The minotaurs let me pass without so much as a huff or grunt. I fought back a shiver. I wasn’t done yet. Not by a long shot. I had to get up the ramp and into the caverns behind the Falls.
“Easy does it,” I murmured, shoulders rising and falling as I took a deep breath, taking a roundabout way to the edge of the city.
I wasn’t running. Wasn’t escaping. I was simply making the journey to the other side, that was all. That was what I needed everyone around me to believe.
At the bottom of the ramp, a trio of human-looking beings gathered and started up. I hurried, catching up just enough to walk behind them, hoping I wouldn’t stick out. I was wearing the same clothes I’d worn to the bakery. Pants. Shirt. Low-cut boots. Nothing that called attention.
As we hiked, the back of my neck burned. The urge to turn around grew stronger. I wanted to know if I was free. If I’d made it.
“Don’t do it,” I hissed under my breath.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing,” I replied, giving my head a quick shake.
Other than a raised eyebrow, there was no response. We ascended the ramp and, one by one, slipped into the crack that would take us out of there. Finally, it was my turn, and I walked forward, head held high.
I’d made it. We exited into the caverns and went our separate ways without a word. I hiked for the exit, eager to put as much distance between myself and my hometown as I could.
I’d always wanted to visit Vancouver. Perhaps it was time I went cross-country. Mind made up, determined to start fresh, I put a smile on my face and picked up my pace. I was finally free.
Up ahead, the rock wall began to glow, reflecting light from around the corner.
