He walked to the food and dropped to sit in the floor. Without pause, he dived into the pile of food. I watched as he raced through his meal. He had so much food that my mind boggled. I had only ever been fed the tiniest of meals. My stomach growled as I watched him wolf his food down.
901 paused when this sound filled the large room. I blushed in embarrassment when he flicked his harsh eyes my way, a strand of his blond hair falling over his forehead with the quick movement. I didn’t know why, but that fallen piece of light hair made him look almost … approachable?
For a split second, he did not look like the hardened warrior I knew him to be.
901’s cheek twitched in annoyance as my stomach growled again. Dropping his food, he cursed, “Whore.”
Without thinking, I snapped my head up and responded, “Yes, I am a whore. One who wishes she wasn’t handed off to you.”
As the words left my mouth, my eyes widened. Lifting my fingers to my lips, I paled. Out of the corner of my eye I caught 901’s head tip to the side. When I looked up, his angered expression had disappeared, replaced by one of shock.
I replayed his words in my head, then my response. I racked my brain, searching for the answer. Because it wasn’t the native language of Master or the guards. It wasn’t the native language Maya spoke to me in. It was another. A language I knew, one that felt as natural as breathing but one that I had no idea of how or why I could.
I swallowed, shaking my head in confusion at what I had spoken, when 901 said gruffly, “You speak Russian?”
“I am Russian,” I replied automatically. I shifted on the spot, my hand covering my mouth in shock. I dropped it, and whispered, “I am Russian?” My eyebrows pulled down in confusion. I looked up to find 901 watching me—very carefully. Only this time there was something else flickering in his unyielding gaze.
Acceptance.
“Russian,” I hushed out. I inched forward and asked, “What is Russian?”
901 angled his body to face me. Lifting his hand, he tapped it over his chest, right over his heart. “This is Russian. I am Russian.”
He stilled, then used his hand to point between us. “You and I, right now, are speaking Russian.”
It took me a moment to realize that I was still speaking to him in this not-so-strange language. Then, as if plunged back into a dream, I pictured the scarred male from my visions—speaking to me in Russian. You are more than a number … He had spoken to me in Russian. I will free you from this life, I promise. Just hold on …
The male had held out his little finger, and I had linked mine within his. I promise, I had replied. Then everything went dark.
I blinked away the dream. Addressing 901, I said, “A male I dream of spoke to me in this language. He told me he would come for me. He told me he would free me.” A surge of emotion welled within me. I held up my little finger and I choked out, “He held my finger and made me promise.”
“Who was he?” 901 rasped.
“I don’t know.” I tapped my head. “I see him in my dreams, but I don’t know who he is.”
901 was silent for several minutes as he stared at the wall beside me, lost in his thoughts. I sat back, tucking myself in the corner of the cell, trying my hardest to remember something, anything. But nothing came.
“It’s a country,” 901 said, breaking through my silence.
I looked up at him. His eyes remained straight forward. “What?”
901 blinked, then faced me. “Russia. It’s a country. We are in Georgia. He pounded his fist over his heart again. “Russia is my home. I am Russian.” He spoke the words almost like he was trying to convince himself about what he was saying …
As if he was also trying to make himself remember.
My stomach flipped, a mixture of sympathy and excitement. 901 then held out his finger. Pointing to me, he said, “You are Russian, too. The way you speak the words … it is not learned. It comes from your heart.”
Leaning forward, I asked, “What is it like?” I glanced around the cell. Thinking of the Blood Pit, I wondered out loud, “Is it like the Blood Pit?”
901 frowned and shook his head. He regarded me strangely. “No, it’s a country. The Blood Pit, here, is a place. A place Master created.” He gritted his teeth and hissed, “This is hell.”
I flinched at the harsh tone of his voice. I lowered my eyes and admitted, “I don’t know what you mean. I don’t know about anything outside of these walls.” I tapped my head. Catching 901’s attention, I added, “In my head, I see some things not of this pit.” I licked my bottom lip and continued. “I hid under a bed, the room was cold … but they found us.” Tears filled my eyes. I could feel the sadness and fear I felt at that moment like it had just happened yesterday.
“Who found you?”
My stomach dropped and my face paled. “The Wraiths. They came and took us.” Letting a teardrop fall, I added, “And I waved. I waved to a boy who tried to get me to stay with him.” Taking a much-needed deep breath, I asked, “Was that Russia? The place where the Wraiths came? Was that in Russia?”
“Yes,” 901 replied. I watched the thick muscles in his neck and shoulders tense, and he confessed, “I was taken by the Wraiths, too. From Russia.”
My heart pounded so hard I heard its pulse in my ears. “You were like me,” I confirmed, and shuffled closer still. “And I was like you.”
901 stared at me. He didn’t respond. He didn’t utter a single word. He simply stared until he reached for a chunk of bread on his plate and handed it to me. I took it and sat back against the wall.
We ate in silence. I watched him as we did. 901 didn’t look my way. When the growling in my stomach stopped, I leaned back against the wall and asked, “You don’t want me with you, in here, do you?”
901 froze. I waited for several seconds before he shook his head and answered, “No.”
I felt my heart deflate at his honest reply.
“Females make the warriors in this pit weak. I don’t want to be weak, and I don’t want to fuck you. I don’t want anyone. I don’t need anyone.”