“Maya,” I whispered, hating that this was her life.
Squeezing my hand, she slipped from the door and I followed behind. The hallway was unusually quiet. Keeping my feet as light as possible, I walked fast behind Maya. I kept my eyes alert, but there was barely a sound as we made our way to the champions’ quarters.
Ilya’s cell was dark when I approached. Maya opened the lock with the keys from her dress and she silently opened the door. A faint creak filled the barren hallway. I stilled, praying a guard had not been nearby. But there was nothing. Just silence.
I slipped through the doorway. Maya stood awkwardly behind. I reached back and pressed my hand against her scarred cheek. Her dark eyes looked up at me. “Go,” I whispered, but she shook her head. “Go,” I repeated. “Do not risk your life for me. I will say I left of my accord if caught.”
It appeared that she wasn’t going to move, but when I dropped my hand, she nodded in defeat and disappeared from the hallway. Steeling my nerves, I moved into the shadows of the room. I squinted my eyes, adjusting to the lack of light. One lamp was dimly lit on the far wall, blanketing the cell in a hazy yellow glow.
A quiet groan sounded from the direction of the far wall. I moved closer. On the floor sprawled a bloodied, naked Ilya. I rushed forward and bent down beside him.
My hands hovered over his huge body. I didn’t know where to touch him. I didn’t know where he was hurting. Sensing I was here, he rolled painfully onto his back. His blue eyes blinked up at me. His left eye was bruised and swollen. Dried blood stuck to his skin, and his hair was matted with blood and sweat.
Ilya inhaled, wheezing as he did so. My stomach dropped at how broken he appeared. This huge male, the undefeated champion, was now vulnerable. He stared at me. I wondered why, when his hand lifted and brushed down my cheek.
I lifted my hand and laid it over his to keep it in place. “Moy prekrasnyy?” he whispered, barely making a sound.
“Yes,” I replied, and leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead. This close I could see that the pupils in his eyes were dilated. “They drugged you,” I said, scanning his body to see where he was most injured.
Ilya moved his free hand to his chest, and I saw a small insertion. “They shot you with a drug pellet?” I asked. I suddenly frowned, wondering how I knew that the Wraiths did that. The vision of a young boy being shot with one came to mind. A black-haired boy. The one from my dreams.
“Yes,” Ilya rasped out, pulling my attention back to him.
Ilya’s hand twitched on my cheek, and he looked me straight in the eyes. “Last night … when you didn’t come to me.”
“He has forbidden any more contact with you.”
His jaw clenched. Ilya looked away, and I saw handprint bruises on his neck. My stomach lurched at how close he had come to death. I shifted to my feet and reached for his hand. Ilya threaded his fingers through mine, trusting me completely.
I helped him up and led him to the shower. I turned the handle and the spray came on. I shed my dress and proceeded to wash him down with soap. My hands ran over every inch of hard muscle; Ilya’s huge body was still uncoordinated with the aftereffects of the drug. I pressed kiss after kiss to his back and his shoulders, then moved to stand at his front.
Ilya’s head was bowed, and he watched me as I washed him. My hands smoothed over his torso and broad chest as Ilya’s fingers stroked along my dampening hair. I smiled peacefully as I washed the blood from his chest, his number tattoo coming into view. My heart raced as I thought of his name, of how to tell him that he had a name. Ilya took a long, deep breath, and I quickly looked up. At first I believed it was simply the water from the shower cascading down his face. But when I truly looked into his eyes, when I saw the gutting expression of sadness and defeat on his face, I knew that it wasn’t.
He was crying. Ilya, the Pit Bull, the champion of the Arziani death-match pit, was breaking down.
Reaching behind him, I switched off the shower. My stomach sank. Ilya’s eyes were downcast, and his arms hung weakly by his sides. Rolling onto my tiptoes, I placed my hands on his cheeks. Ilya blinked and met my eyes. When he did, my heart splintered at the tears trickling down his pale cheeks. His blue eyes were dulled with pain, the whites bloodshot from his sorrow.
“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.”