Page 61 of Dance With the Devil (Dark-Hunter 3)
Chapter 12
Zarek tossed the phone down and stared at Astrid sleeping on his coat. He needed to rest too, but couldn't quite manage it. He was too wound up to sleep.
After closing the trapdoor, he moved toward her pallet.
Memories surged through him.
He saw himself on a rampage. Saw faces and flames. Felt the rage of his anger sizzling through him. He had killed the very people he was supposed to protect.
Had killed...
Evil laughter echoed in his head. A flash of lightning filled the room.
And Ash...
Zarek struggled to remember. Why couldn't he remember what had happened in New Orleans?
What had happened in his village?
It was all fragmented and nothing made sense. It was like thousands of puzzle pieces that had been tossed on the floor and he couldn't figure out what went where.
He paced the tight quarters, doing his best to recall the past.
Hours went by slowly as he listened for any telltale sounds of Thanatos approaching. Sometime around noon exhaustion overtook him and he lay down beside Astrid.
Against his will, he found himself gathering her into his arms and inhaling the sweet, fragrant scent of her hair.
He snuggled against her, closed his eyes and prayed for a kind dream...
Zarek stumbled as he was jerked forward and secured to the whipping post in the old Roman courtyard. His tattered, threadbare peplos was ripped from him, leaving his entire body bare to the three people gathered there to punish him.
He was eleven years old.
His brothers Marius and Marcus stood in front of him with bored looks on their faces while their father uncoiled the leather whip.
Zarek was already tense, knowing all too well the stinging pain he was about to receive.
"I don't care how many lashes you give him, Father," Marius said. "I'm not sorry for insulting Maximillius and I intend to do it again the next time I see him."
Their father stopped moving. "What if I told you this pitiful slave was your brother? Would you care then?"
The two boys burst out laughing. "This wretch? There is no Roman blood in him."
His father moved forward. He buried his hand in Zarek's hair and pulled his head up so that his brothers could see his scarred face. "Are you sure he's not related?"
They stopped laughing.
Zarek held himself completely still, unable to breathe. He'd always known of his parentage. He was reminded of it every day when the other slaves spat in his food and threw things at him or hit him because they dared not take their anger and hatred out on the rest of his family.
"What are you saying, Father?" Marius asked.
His father shoved Zarek's head against the post, then let go of him. "I sired him on your uncle's favorite whore. Why do you think he was sent to me as an infant?"
Marius curled his lip. "He is no brother of mine. Better I should claim Valerius than this scab."
Marius approached Zarek. He bent down, trying to make Zarek meet his gaze.
With no other recourse, Zarek closed his eyes. He'd learned a long time ago that to look his brothers in the face would mean an even harsher beating.
"What say you, slave? Have you any Roman blood in you?"
Zarek shook his head no.
"Are you my brother?"
Again he shook his head.
"Are you calling my noble father a liar then?"
Zarek froze as he realized he'd been tricked by them again. Panicking, he tried to pull away from the post. He wanted to run away from what would come over this.
"Are you?" Marius demanded.
He shook his head.
But it was too late. The whip cut through the air with a frightening hiss and bit into his back, slicing through his bared flesh.
Zarek came awake shaking. He struggled to breathe as he scrambled to sit up and look about wildly, half-expecting one of his brothers to be here.
"Zarek?"
He felt the warmth of a tender hand on his back.
"Are you all right?"
He couldn't speak as old memories flared inside him. From the moment Marius and Marcus had learned the truth until the day Zarek's father had bribed a slaver to take him, his brothers had gone out of their way to make Zarek pay for the fact they were related.
He had never known a single day of peace.
Beggar, peasant, or noble, they were all better than him.
And he was nothing but a pathetic whipping boy for them all.
Astrid sat up and wrapped her arms around his waist. "You're shaking. Are you cold?"
Still he didn't answer. He knew he should shove her away from him, but right then he wanted her comfort. He wanted someone to tell him he wasn't worthless.
Someone to tell him that they weren't ashamed of him.
Closing his eyes, he drew her to him and laid his head on her shoulder.
Astrid was stunned by his uncharacteristic actions. She stroked his hair and rocked him slowly in her arms. Just holding him.
"Will you tell me what's wrong?" she asked quietly.
"Why? It won't change anything."
"Because I care, Zarek. I want to make it better. If you'll let me."
His tone was so low that she had to struggle to hear what he said. "There is some pain that nothing heals."
She laid her hand against his stubbled cheek. "Such as?"
He hesitated for several heartbeats before he spoke again. "Do you know how I died?"
"No."
"On my hands and knees, like an animal on the ground, begging for mercy."
She flinched at his words. She hurt so much for him that she could barely breathe from the tightness in her chest.
"Why?"
He stiffened and swallowed. At first she thought he would pull away, but he didn't move. He remained there, letting her hold him.
"You saw how my father got rid of me? How he paid for the slaver to take me?"
"Yes."
"I lived with that slaver for five years."
His arms tightened around her as if he could barely stand to admit that to her. "You can't imagine how they treated me. What I was forced to clean up.
"Every day when I woke up, I cursed to find myself still alive. Every night I prayed to die while I slept. I never had a single dream of escaping that life. The idea of running away doesn't occur to you when you're born a slave. The thought that I didn't deserve what they did to me never entered my mind. It was what I was. All I knew. And I had no hope of anyone ever buying me to get me away from there. Every time a customer came in and saw me, I heard their sharp intakes of breath. Saw the blurry shadows of their horrified sneers."
