Riot
Page 54
“Moy voin,” I whispered, throat tight. Ilya’s drying skin bumped in the cool breeze that drifted around his dark cell. A tear ran over my thumb on his cheek. I wiped it away with a brush of my hand. A lump built in my throat at seeing a big male so broken. “What is it?” I asked, and searched his gaze for an answer. “Are you in pain? Do you hurt?”
He lightly shook his head. Ilya glanced away, then looked back in my eyes. His arms lifted and he placed one hand on the side of my neck. I momentarily closed my eyes at this feeling. His other hand skirted down my cheek. My eyes fluttered open under his touch. When he knew he had my attention, he rasped, “I thought I was going to lose you.”
A pit caved in my stomach, hollow and deep. “No,” I replied, but his eyes dropped and more tears fell.
I couldn’t stand this sight. Couldn’t stand this strong male feeling so torn. I opened my mouth to speak, when his gaze glazed over and he said sadly, “First he makes you want them. He makes you need them in your heart. Then he takes them away, he takes them away so that you’ll do anything to get them back.” I held my breath as the words kept pouring like razors from his mouth. “He uses your need for them to break you, to do anything he demands … then the minute you fail, the minute you don’t do what he demands, he hurts them. He hurts them and makes you watch. Keeps you behind heavy bars where you cannot help, where you must watch and feel every hit like it was you that was receiving the pain.” Ilya’s hoarse voice cut off. He cleared his throat, then finished, “And finally, when you’re desperate, when you’ll do anything just to touch their face or hold them in your arms, he will end their life—slit their throat, put a bullet through their brain, stab them in the chest … and he makes you watch. Keeps you helpless, and through their death, takes your soul as his own.”
Ilya’s fingers chased the tears on my cheeks. I hadn’t even known I’d been crying. “Please,” I cried, and shook my head.
When I looked back into his eyes, he said, “He will take you from me, moy prekrasnyy. It has already begun. He gave you to me.” Ilya stared at my face like he would never see it again. He studied my features like they were the most important thing in his world. Sighing, he added, “You became my heart.”
Ilya’s eyes squeezed shut and his heart contorted with pain. When they opened, he said, “He made me want you like I have never wanted anything else. Even my freedom doesn’t compare. If I had to fight every day for the rest of my life here in this pit, I would do it gladly to have you with me.” He swallowed, and his expression turned to one of grief. “But he won’t do that. He wants me to pay for years of disobedience—by losing you. He will keep you away, or at the very worst…” He trailed off, then rasped, “He will kill you. Like he did 140’s female. Like he did with 667’s female today. The champion had not meant to kill so soon; it was instinct. He struck out in the way we had been trained to defend our whole lives.” He shook his head. “But it did not make a difference. Master killed 667’s female without a second thought. I watched from the waiting cell, and in that second, I saw the male die too … only his heart still beat and he still drew breath.” Ilya swallowed. “But he was dead. I saw it in his eyes. There was nothing left to live for, so he attacked.”
Ilya stepped closer to me, his body tired from the mixture of the drugs and the physical toll of the fight. He stared at me and I stared at him. I watched a large tear slip from the corner of his eye and roll down his cheek. “Master has already hurt you. He made me watch. His only move left is to take you from me for good.” He winced at the thought. “To kill you … and that would kill me.”
“Ilya.” I choked on a sob when I heard the truth of his confession.
He froze, then with a hazy confusion in his eyes he, questioned, “Il … Ilya?”
My stomach flipped when I realized what I had just revealed. Ilya’s hands tightened on my face. His fingers began to shake. Inhaling to calm my nerves, I said, “Ilya … it is your name.”
Ilya’s bowed head lifted and he searched my face for reassurance and an explanation of what I’d just revealed. I wasn’t sure. “What?”
I nodded my head and smiled through my tears. “You heard me correctly.” My hand drifted down off his cheek to run over his tattoo. I traced the numbers 901, then said, “You are Ilya Konev. You are from Russia. You were taken from an orphanage as a child by the Wraiths and brought here. You are twenty-four years old. I don’t know more than that, but…” I laughed, unable to hold back my happiness. “You have a name. You are someone, moy voin.”
“Ilya … Konev…?” Ilya whispered, the words unfamiliar on his lips.
“Yes,” I replied, and my smile grew wider.
Ilya’s skin bumped even more as the temperature in the room dropped. Releasing him, I reached for a towel for each of us. When he took hold of my wrist, I turned to see him looking at me, his expression still one of deep surprise. “You…?” he questioned. He looked at the back of my neck, where my tattoo was placed, and asked, “Do you know your name?”
Standing straight, I answered, “Inessa. My name is Inessa Belrova. From Russia. I also was taken by the Wraiths from an orphanage.”
Ilya was silent in response. I could see this information had cost him more energy. Taking his hand, I brought him to stand beside the towels and quickly dried his wet skin. He stood there watching my every move. When I had dried myself, I walked us to the narrow bed and sat down on the edge. Ilya immediately followed my lead.
He still watched me. He was watching me with such intensity that I felt a self-conscious blush travel up my neck and bloom on my cheeks. I ducked my head, escaping his rapt attention, but he captured my chin before it tucked against my chest and guided it to meet his eyes.
“Inessa,” he said quietly, like my name was a prayer on his lips. My heart skipped a beat, my lips parting in response. This close I noticed flecks of gray in his blue irises. “Inessa Belrova,” he murmured, adding my surname.
Shifting his body beside me, he pushed my hair from my face. Inessa and Ilya.”
I closed my eyes, savoring the sound of our names being uttered side by side. I squeezed the hand that still lay in mine. “Say it again,” I asked.
He lightly shook his head. Ilya glanced away, then looked back in my eyes. His arms lifted and he placed one hand on the side of my neck. I momentarily closed my eyes at this feeling. His other hand skirted down my cheek. My eyes fluttered open under his touch. When he knew he had my attention, he rasped, “I thought I was going to lose you.”
A pit caved in my stomach, hollow and deep. “No,” I replied, but his eyes dropped and more tears fell.
I couldn’t stand this sight. Couldn’t stand this strong male feeling so torn. I opened my mouth to speak, when his gaze glazed over and he said sadly, “First he makes you want them. He makes you need them in your heart. Then he takes them away, he takes them away so that you’ll do anything to get them back.” I held my breath as the words kept pouring like razors from his mouth. “He uses your need for them to break you, to do anything he demands … then the minute you fail, the minute you don’t do what he demands, he hurts them. He hurts them and makes you watch. Keeps you behind heavy bars where you cannot help, where you must watch and feel every hit like it was you that was receiving the pain.” Ilya’s hoarse voice cut off. He cleared his throat, then finished, “And finally, when you’re desperate, when you’ll do anything just to touch their face or hold them in your arms, he will end their life—slit their throat, put a bullet through their brain, stab them in the chest … and he makes you watch. Keeps you helpless, and through their death, takes your soul as his own.”
Ilya’s fingers chased the tears on my cheeks. I hadn’t even known I’d been crying. “Please,” I cried, and shook my head.
When I looked back into his eyes, he said, “He will take you from me, moy prekrasnyy. It has already begun. He gave you to me.” Ilya stared at my face like he would never see it again. He studied my features like they were the most important thing in his world. Sighing, he added, “You became my heart.”
Ilya’s eyes squeezed shut and his heart contorted with pain. When they opened, he said, “He made me want you like I have never wanted anything else. Even my freedom doesn’t compare. If I had to fight every day for the rest of my life here in this pit, I would do it gladly to have you with me.” He swallowed, and his expression turned to one of grief. “But he won’t do that. He wants me to pay for years of disobedience—by losing you. He will keep you away, or at the very worst…” He trailed off, then rasped, “He will kill you. Like he did 140’s female. Like he did with 667’s female today. The champion had not meant to kill so soon; it was instinct. He struck out in the way we had been trained to defend our whole lives.” He shook his head. “But it did not make a difference. Master killed 667’s female without a second thought. I watched from the waiting cell, and in that second, I saw the male die too … only his heart still beat and he still drew breath.” Ilya swallowed. “But he was dead. I saw it in his eyes. There was nothing left to live for, so he attacked.”
Ilya stepped closer to me, his body tired from the mixture of the drugs and the physical toll of the fight. He stared at me and I stared at him. I watched a large tear slip from the corner of his eye and roll down his cheek. “Master has already hurt you. He made me watch. His only move left is to take you from me for good.” He winced at the thought. “To kill you … and that would kill me.”
“Ilya.” I choked on a sob when I heard the truth of his confession.
He froze, then with a hazy confusion in his eyes he, questioned, “Il … Ilya?”
My stomach flipped when I realized what I had just revealed. Ilya’s hands tightened on my face. His fingers began to shake. Inhaling to calm my nerves, I said, “Ilya … it is your name.”
Ilya’s bowed head lifted and he searched my face for reassurance and an explanation of what I’d just revealed. I wasn’t sure. “What?”
I nodded my head and smiled through my tears. “You heard me correctly.” My hand drifted down off his cheek to run over his tattoo. I traced the numbers 901, then said, “You are Ilya Konev. You are from Russia. You were taken from an orphanage as a child by the Wraiths and brought here. You are twenty-four years old. I don’t know more than that, but…” I laughed, unable to hold back my happiness. “You have a name. You are someone, moy voin.”
“Ilya … Konev…?” Ilya whispered, the words unfamiliar on his lips.
“Yes,” I replied, and my smile grew wider.
Ilya’s skin bumped even more as the temperature in the room dropped. Releasing him, I reached for a towel for each of us. When he took hold of my wrist, I turned to see him looking at me, his expression still one of deep surprise. “You…?” he questioned. He looked at the back of my neck, where my tattoo was placed, and asked, “Do you know your name?”
Standing straight, I answered, “Inessa. My name is Inessa Belrova. From Russia. I also was taken by the Wraiths from an orphanage.”
Ilya was silent in response. I could see this information had cost him more energy. Taking his hand, I brought him to stand beside the towels and quickly dried his wet skin. He stood there watching my every move. When I had dried myself, I walked us to the narrow bed and sat down on the edge. Ilya immediately followed my lead.
He still watched me. He was watching me with such intensity that I felt a self-conscious blush travel up my neck and bloom on my cheeks. I ducked my head, escaping his rapt attention, but he captured my chin before it tucked against my chest and guided it to meet his eyes.
“Inessa,” he said quietly, like my name was a prayer on his lips. My heart skipped a beat, my lips parting in response. This close I noticed flecks of gray in his blue irises. “Inessa Belrova,” he murmured, adding my surname.
Shifting his body beside me, he pushed my hair from my face. Inessa and Ilya.”
I closed my eyes, savoring the sound of our names being uttered side by side. I squeezed the hand that still lay in mine. “Say it again,” I asked.
