The Captain's Slave part 25

Previously…

"The hell it does," I snap. "Move aside, please. Because I'm getting in that tent one way or another."

I have a bad feeling about this; instinct tells me to get the hell inside.

"I'm sorry," he says, crossing his arms over his giant chest. "But that's not happening."

I ignore him, stubbornly side-stepping him. But then the General does something that I've never expected. Something that would put Malik into another fit of rage.

He puts his hands on me, grabbing my biceps in his giant hands and dragging me back to where I was. His hold warm and strong–just like Malik's, and yet so unfamiliar.

He pins me to the ground, keeping me away from the tent to protect Malik's precious secret.

Presently…

I am feral as I fight War's embrace.

In my grunts and struggle, I gather the attention of the camp. I can feel the respect that I fought so hard to earn from the Entertainers begin to quiver–slip through my fingers–and I realize that I don't give a fuck.

Everyone can watch me as I wreak havoc, even Malik's ex. The beautiful entertainer that I overheard as she talked with Malik outside the tent one evening and warned that I wouldn't fit into the camp.

She whispers with her friends, judging me, but they don't understand what I'm going through.

Malik is secretly meeting with a woman who has expressed her interest in him. And as much as I want to trust him, having War restrain me isn't a good look. It infuriates me. It makes me assume the worst.

I thought Malik and I were partners. That he could trust me with anything. He told me about the withdrawal symptoms, and we were working through it–struggling, yes, but I slept next to him every night, praying for him and hoping for a better future.

And now this.

There is no beating War's strength. He has me pinned down, urging me to calm down. But it's too late. The entire camp is gathered around and watching the chaos unfold. And I'm too emotional to come to my senses. So I thrash and grit my teeth, struggling to no avail.

"Malik!" I call his name, knowing that he can hear me.

But he never arises from the tent. My heart hurts because he has never done this before. He has always answered my call.

I eventually sag against War, working to catch my breath. And I stare at the tent in utter defeat. Because I know that whatever is going on inside will change everything. I want to put a stop to it, but War and Malik have made me powerless. They have shown me who truly rules this camp.

It feels like an hour later, the tent flaps are pushed apart, and a healer steps out. The same one that has been treating Malik's withdrawal symptoms. He wears an apron around his waist, and some blood is smeared on it. Seeing it feels like a punch to the gut.

Finally, War releases me. I run past the healer and dash into the tent.

My eyes fasten on Kitto first. She's behind a metal desk, a similar apron wrapped around her. Her hands are busy cleaning residue off the table.

And then I find Malik. Limp and unconscious on a table. His chest is painted with red swirls–likely what I confused for blood on the healer's apron.

"Malik," I call his name and tug his hand. Tugging again when he doesn't awake. An odd thing since Malik is such a light sleeper.

It quickly becomes clear that he's not going to wake up anytime soon. My worry turns to fury, and I glare at Kitto as War and the healer duck inside.

"What is this? Why won't he awake?"

"It was his choice, Grace," says War. Looking at me pitifully. It only makes me angrier because I hate pity.

I reach for Malik's neck and search for a pulse, and I find it. Strong and steady as it always is.

"Malik!" I try again. Feeling like an utter wreck. Ready to lose my mind.

"He won't awake. Not for some time," comes the healer's raspy voice.

"I don't understand. Why not! Please, someone, help him!"

War steps in, setting a hand over Malik's shoulder and looking at me calmly. "I am sorry that I had to put my hands on you, Grace, but Malik asked me to keep you out of this tent no matter what until this was done. He has begun a journey to restart his body. To clear it from the poison. It will be like he never once took numbing medication when he awakens."

"But–but when will he awake? How long will this take? I want to speak with him, please. You must understand."

"We don't know," replies the healer. "I've only done this procedure once. It took the previous master a few months to awake from his slumber. It may take Malik years to find his way back to us. I am sorry that I don't have the answers you need."

I want to rip my hair out. I had no idea this madness crossed Malik's mind. He didn't tell me; he just jumped into this suicide mission. How could he risk himself? How could he leave me for months?

If he had, I would have begged him not to risk it. But clearly, he got desperate. Because he knew the jealousy madness would've kept driving us apart.

Guilt snares around my neck, and my knees sway. I did this. I pressured him to resolve the problem, and Malik isn't a passive man. He took action. The only one he could think of.

"Why did you do this?" I whisper to him, touching his warm cheek. Wishing he would just look at me and answer.

Having to wait months–years–sounds like an eternity.

"I'm sorry," whispers Kitto, reminding me of her presence in the dim-lit, herb-scented tent.

My eyes fasten on her, and I must bite my tongue to control my anger because I shouldn't take it out on anyone but myself.

I fucking drove Malik to the brink of death. I should have been smarter. Researched my own solutions with the healer rather than leaving it up to Malik. And I feel utterly devastated because it feels like I stole life from him. He's going to be here for ancestors-know how long.

"Why are you here, Kitto?" I ask her, unable to keep the snark out of my voice.

"I–I wanted to earn my keep around camp. I volunteered to shadow the healer."

That's right. She's got some experience with medicine. It's why her slaver found her so valuable.

That explains her presence in this tent and why I heard her speaking with Malik. I had gone into a jealous frenzy for no reason. Doubting Malik once again. Repeatedly questioning him, which is why he's here now. Lying on this table.

"How do we wake him? There must be a way," I say, sounding desperate as I swipe a tear off my cheek.

War shakes his head, but I'm not taking no for an answer. I refuse to cross my arms.

"Empty the tent, please," speaks the healer.

"I'm here if you need anything. So is Joan," mutters War on his way outside.

Kitto doesn't meet my gaze anymore.

The healer crosses the distance to stand beside me, staring at Malik.

"He did it for you, Grace. He wanted to become stronger mentally and physically for you. Don't feel guilty. Feel honored."

"How could I honor this?" I ask, staring at the giant man sleeping before me. Defenseless because of me.

"It's what he would have wanted."

"Well," I grit, swiping at my face again. "Now we're addressing what I want. And I want him to wake up. I don't care if he is still poisoned by the numbing medication when he returns. Tell me what I have to do."

He looks at me, surprised. "I–I truly do not know. Though some books and scrolls may have–"

"Point the way," I demand. "I'm going to read until my eyes go blind if I have to."

He blinks, hesitating. "I can't make any promises, Grace."

"That's fine. I don't need promises. I need those books."

I set my hand over Malik's heart, feeling it beating strongly.

"I'm here. I'm not going anywhere," I tell him.

And I swear I feel his heart rate spike. He can sense me. Even this slumber can't keep us apart.

READ PART 26>

A/N: Smut next chapter!