By: Skye Warren
She doesn’t remember her past, only her training. She can’t talk, not that a good slave should speak out of turn. None of that matters when she wakes up in the warm, rustic room. Her new master is distant but kind. There’s only one problem: he doesn’t want her.
Longing for the shackles of safety, she pulls from the last dregs of her will to prove her worth as a slave. It seems to be working. He responds first to her body and next to her submission. The secrets of his past haunt the cabin, fraying the tightening bond between Master and slave, but it is her own memories that may finally unravel it.
WARNING: This book contains explicit scenes of sex, including dubious consent and captivity situations. The BDSM does not conform to literary conventions, making it sometimes more realistic, and other times not. This is a work of fiction not appropriate for anyone uncomfortable with these situations or anyone under the age of eighteen.
Even the earth conspired to keep her. Branches grabbed at her skin like talons; the beach was quicksand, dragging her down. Hope was too abstract to compete with the sound of men shouting behind her. Even her fear was drowned by the ragged beat of her heart.
“Melody!” The voice sounded closer than the thrashing of leaves and branches.
Run, run away, don’t look back.
Her eyes, already stunted by lack of food, filled with grit and precious moisture. If she made it to the water, she could float away. Even if only to drift down to the bottom, entombed in sand castles and chained by seaweed. They would take her prisoner; they would keep her safe.
A battered person was cracked soil, but dreams were like weeds. She could survive this. That was the goal she set for herself, huddled in the cold, damp cell. She had clung to it as they touched her, beat her. Trained her.
The line of frothy water was in her sights but disappointment seared her. She was too far away, the sand too thick.
An extra burst of energy propelled her two more stumbling steps. Her legs gave out. She clenched and released fistfuls of sand, not even sure she was actually crawling forward.
Coolness lapped at her fingertips, surprising her. Her mind, tired and rusty, turned that information over. She had made it. Water. Safety? No, freedom.
A slow, steady thwapping noise drew her gaze upward. A small green boat bobbed in the shallow water. Gentle waves flicked its hull, almost soothing, like the caress of a flogger. The rhythm thrummed through her. Even without the sting of impact, her mind began the slide.
No. Subspace meant security but not today. Right now it meant death, and she refused to die.
She blinked away the salt in her eyes and clawed through the water to the boat. With a strength that surprised her, she climbed over the edge, tumbling into the grimy bottom. It rocked gently with her weight then settled back into the gentle bob.
The boat wasn’t tied down anywhere, but there wasn’t an oar. Not that she had the strength to use one or a place to go.
Never mind. Her wish had been granted. She would drift out to sea, like a message in a bottle.
Her head lolled against the rim of the boat. She breathed in the pungent smell of earth and moss. Her last thought before she drifted off to sleep was fanciful. She imagined a giant plucking her from the water, unfurling her like a scroll, and reading the lines slashed into her skin.
She wondered what they would say.
About the Author
Skye Warren writes unapologetic erotica, where pain and sex and love collide. She has been called "a true mistress of dark and twisted erotica" and her dark erotica series has reached the bestseller lists at Amazon and been a Night Owl Reviews Top Pick.
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