Page 185 of Caged

I hunch my shoulders toward my ears, and I curl in on myself. I wrap my arms tight around my middle, protecting my stomach the way I learned years ago. I can hear my heart pounding, and my already dry mouth fills with the metallic taste of terror.

The longer Vae stays silent, the worse it gets.

My stomach rolls. My lips tremble. I’m going to pass out.

There’s movement in my periphery.

Vae’s hand. Rising.

I flinch so violently that I almost fall off the chair. I squeeze my eyes shut tight and curl in tighter, wishing I could just disappear. I know it’s best to relax. Just let it happen. Stay still and take my punishment so it ends faster.

But I never mastered the ability not to react when I know pain is coming.

I wait for the blow to land, barely audible whimpers of fear morphing into keening Omega whines.

Please, let it be over quick.

The pain never comes.

Instead, there’s a soft thud.

I crack one eye open and see Vae’s hand. It’s resting on the edge of the table, palm flat, fingers spread.

He… he didn’t hit me.

Cautiously—so, so cautiously—I lift my gaze. Vaelenor’s other hand is in his hair, running it through his messy auburn locks. Pushing them back, out of his face.

He hadn’t been about to hit me.

He was just… frustrated?

I let out a shaky breath. My muscles unclench slowly, one at a time. I place my hands on my thighs, but I don’t relax. Just because he didn’t hit me this time doesn’t mean he won’t eventually.

I let myself be tricked into believing there’s kindness in this male once.

I know better, now.

Emotion flashes across Vaelenor’s face so fast I nearly miss it, but it looks like… regret?

Horror?

Then it’s gone. And once again, I wonder if I imagined it.

He looks strained—like he wants to say something but won’t let himself voice it. His hand flexes around the edge of the table, and he takes a small, deliberate step back. When he finally continues his list of rules, his voice is rougher than before.

“You will be questioned every day. I suggest you get used to telling the truth or come up with more believable lies. When you’re not meeting with one of us, you’ll work. Cleaning, laundry rotation, whatever other soul-sucking bullshit we want you to do.”

He clears his throat again. Looks away. A muscle flutters along his jaw, then he refocuses on me.

“You will do what we say, when we say it. If I tell you to clean my weapons, you clean them. If Silas tells you to scrub the floor with a toothbrush while we walk across it, you keep your mouth shut and scrub.”

His voice is steadier, now. More sure of himself.

“If we demand it, you’ll serve us our coffee with a smile and a ‘Yes, sir’ like a good little Omega. Clear?”

I nod.

“You’ll report to your room by 10 p.m. every night for your suppressant shot, unless specifically stated otherwise.”