Slave to Passion by Elisabeth Naughton Read Free Book Online

don’t care about my victories. They’d just as soon see me dead.”
    That was true, but she grasped on to another truth. One he likely didn’t know. “The females… They root for you. For the sahad who wears the fire opal.”
    His cold stare burned into her from across the space. So unfriendly, so calculating, she was afraid he was debating whether to kill her now or let her live a few more measly minutes. She balled her hands together in her lap. Tried to keep them from trembling. Tried like hell to be strong, as Malik had told her to be.
    “I don’t believe you,” he finally said, his low voice cutting through the silence, sending a shiver down her spine. “You don’t have the slave marking.”
    She didn’t. And he obviously didn’t realize she just hadn’t been branded yet. Which meant she was right. He didn’t know what she was.
    A tiny flicker of hope burst to life in her chest as her gaze lifted from those massive hands at his sides, up his bare arms and shoulders, and finally to his chiseled face, illuminated by the flickering candlelight. If he didn’t know she was a slave and instead thought she was a highborn who’d volunteered to be his reward, he’d likely be gentler with her. Maybe he’d even let her live.
    That hope spread like wildfire all through her body. It wasn’t the best solution, but it was better than being brutally raped. She’d survived Zayd’s temper tantrum. Yeah, her skin still burned from the beating, but she now knew she could survive anything this Marid did to her, so long as he didn’t kill her. Because she wanted to live. Now more than ever. It might be years—even eons—before she found a path to freedom, but she was determined to do just that. Screw her parents who’d sold her into slavery and already forgotten her. She was the only person who cared about her. And it was far past time she stopped worrying and started strategizing.
    Slowly, she pushed up from the stained mattress and stood in front of him on legs she hoped he couldn’t see trembling. This close, every flexing muscle beneath his skin, every ounce of waiting power was visible. And she could smell him. Not disgusting and revolting as he’d been before, but clean, male, strangely…enticing.
    She gave herself a mental slap. Yeah, at first she’d been mesmerized by his show in the arena and, like other females who’d watched his fights, couldn’t deny he was the perfect male specimen, all sculpted lean muscles and brawny sinew. But she wasn’t attracted to him. He was simply the first hurdle on her path to freedom.
    “I’m not a slave,” she lied, praying he’d never learn the truth. “And I volunteered to be your…prize.”
    His eyes narrowed once more, but she didn’t let it deter her. This was the only card she had to play, and she’d bluff all the way to her grave if she had to. “I thought I made it perfectly clear yesterday that I don’t want you.”
    Fear flashed through her when she remembered his hand around her throat. Fear she hoped didn’t show in her eyes. Thankfully, the bruises were small and, in this light, probably not even visible. Steeling her nerves, she moved a small step closer, even as the heat of his body encircled her and that intoxicatingly fresh scent she now knew was all him left her light-headed.
    “Your wants are of no concern,” she said. “And you’re lucky the highborns didn’t kill you for the way you treated me last night. They’re giving you a second chance. It goes without saying that a gift like this can’t—and won’t—be refused…slave.”
    She didn’t miss the sharp burst of anger that rippled through his eyes at her use of the word “slave.” But she also saw the bitter bite of truth when he realized she was right.
    Fear and hope swirled together in her stomach. The trap was laid. Now she just had to go in for the kill.
    Could she do this?
    Her nerves jangled. Her stomach tightened with indecision.
    For life? For freedom…?
    Yes.