Page 42 of Surrender
Betrayal?
Well, perhaps a mix of both.
“Merokk.” She breathed his name as a plea. A plea for mercy.
Not taking his dark eyes off her, he fetched the leather strap off the wall, then strode directly for her. Her guts turned to water and her legs trembled, barely holding her upright.
She swallowed hard and blinked against the tears burning in her eyes. Should she drop to her knees and beg for forgiveness? Should she try to explain what happened, that she’d had no choice? Before she had a chance to decide, he grabbed her by her upper arms, his fingers digging painfully into her flesh.
His nostrils flared and he growled, his clenched teeth flashing as the terrifying noise resounded in the room. He gave her a quick but hard shake.
“I’ve just learned that the real Betsy Carson has been located in Vermont and arrested on charges of treason.”
She stared at him but couldn’t summon a response.
“Your real name,” he demanded. “What is it? Who are you?”
She felt the blood drain from her face. “I-I can’t…” Her voice trailed off and she swallowed hard. “Please, Merokk. Please.”
“Your name!” This time, he shouted and gave her another hard shake.
She opened her mouth, but the words wouldn’t come out. His eyes flashed and he proceeded to drag her toward the bed. Despite her struggles and protests, he easily bent her over the edge and swung the leather strap across her bottom. She cried out as the sting seared her cheeks, even through the layers of her panties and her dress.
He stepped back and she sank to the floor, turning around to peer up at him. He stood above her like a conquering giant, the strap dangling from his hand.
“Tell me your name now,” he said, snapping the leather against his thigh, “and tell the truth, or I will hold you down and whip you until my arm grows tired.” His fingers tightened on the strap.
“Fiona,” she whispered. “My-my name is Fiona. Forgive me for deceiving you, Merokk. I did it for my mother—so she could be safe after the war. Please understand I had no choice.”
As he stared down at her, his grip on the strap loosened, and the fury in his eyes gradually dimmed. He backed away from her and paced the room a few times, occasionally uttering sharp words in the Kall tongue. She didn’t need to understand his language to know he was cursing.
She remained crouched on the floor beside the bed, watching the emotions play across his face. The dark fury began to fade from his eyes, only for anguish to take its place. He looked devastated and God, how it broke her heart.
Without warning, he emitted a deep growl and tossed the strap across the room. It hit the wall with a thump and dropped to the floor. She brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around herself, a full body tremble causing her teeth to chatter.
He spun on his heel, facing her. Unable to hold his eyes, she lowered her head, though she felt the heat of his gaze. She trembled harder when he approached her rapidly, his bootsteps echoing in the vast room. Her breath caught and she flinched when he knelt in front of her.
After he remained still for a long moment, he suddenly reached for her, grabbing her by her upper arms again. Except this time, his touch was much gentler. She dared a fleeting glance at him.
To her great relief, he was inhaling slow, deep breaths and appeared as though he were trying to calm himself. But the glimmer of hurt remained in his eyes, and witnessing his sorrow left her gutted.
Her fault. She’d done that. She’d betrayed him.
She might not have had much of a choice, but she’d still done it, and her motives, no matter how well-intentioned, likely wouldn’t ease his pain at this moment. Yet she had to try. Had to attempt an explanation.
“I’m so sorry. I-I wanted to tell you the truth,” she said, her voice cracking. “I considered it several times, but even though I’ve grown to trust you, Merokk, and care for you, I couldn’t take that risk. My mother—she’s sick and she needed treatment.”
His eyes flashed with a crazed wounded look, and her conscience bled with guilt. She could only imagine the internal conflict he was enduring right now. For months, he’d called her by the wrong name. He’d believed her to be another person entirely. If she were in his place, she would feel utterly broken.
He released her arms and shifted to cup her face, his eyes softening a shade. “What is wrong with your mother?” he asked, and the concern evident in his voice nearly caused her to break down in tears.
“She has something called early onset dementia. It’s a condition that usually afflicts elderly humans, but she’s only in her fifties. When she’s not properly medicated, she imagines things, hallucinates, and can become confused and agitated very easily.”
“Is this disease terminal?”
“Yes, but they have medication for it that can improve her quality of life and even prolong her life. If she takes her medication regularly and gets enough sleep, she does fairly well, though she still occasionally has lapses and must be watched carefully. But in the camp—you see, we were living in one of the refugee camps—there wasn’t enough medication to go around. Well, there wasn’tanymedication to go around.” She paused and drew in a deep breath. “I’m so sorry I lied to you, Merokk. Truly, I am. But I love my mother and I would do it all over again, if only it meant she would be safe. It wasn’t just the lack of medication in the refugee camp, but it was the Kall warriors who patrolled the camp.”
He tensed. “What do you mean?”
