Read Online Jaded by Anya Bast - Free Book Online Page A

wanted to feel this way again.
    He held out a large hand. “It’s all right. I know I probably frighten you, but you have nothing to fear from me. I only want to help. I’m the one who found you in the alley, remember?”
    She didn’t believe him and she didn’t fear him. The hell she’d been through had burned all the fear from her. She wanted to die She had nothing to lose, so she feared nothing now. No, she hated him. Never had an emotion burned so pure and clean inside her.
    He pulled a chair up to the side of her bed and sat down. She spit at him, but he only calmly wiped it away and continued to speak. “I found you in the alley and brought you to my home here in Milzyr and called a doctor for you. See? I mean you no harm.”
    That’s what she’d thought about Ivan too. But all men meant harm. Anything else that came out of their greasy mouths was a lie.
    “My name is Byron. What’s your name?”
    No response.
    He pushed a hand through his hair. “All right. I’ll leave you alone. Give you some time. Maybe when you’re ready, you can tell me your name. I can notify your family that you’re safe. You must have someone in the world who cares for you. Let me know when you’re ready to send word.”
    Nothing. She only stared at him as though she could kill him with her eyes. How she wished she could.
    He got up, giving her a last concerned glance, and left the room. Finally . Her anxiety eased.
     
     
    Time passed. Her wounds healed. The months spent in the bedroom of Byron’s home renewed her body, but not her mind. She barely suffered the doctor’s hands on her for the next four months while her broken limbs repaired themselves. Sometimes, when she simply couldn’t help herself, couldn’t stand one more moment of his touch, she fought him.
    Her silence continued, although Byron visited her daily. He came and read to her, tried to entice her into playing strategia with him, brought meals to her and coaxed her to eat. He never unlocked the door, fearing, she supposed, she would escape into the night . . . which she would. He never allowed anything in the room that he deemed useful in a suicide attempt either. Every day she prayed the doctor would forget his bag of sharp instruments, if just for a few minutes, or that Byron would allow her to sleep on sheets that she could use to hang herself. Something .
    She’d wished for death the way she’d once wished for love.
    Early on, he sent a woman named Roxana in to help her bathe, take her measurements, and be her companion. Lilya never spoke to her either. And though she could bear a woman’s gentle touch more than a man’s, she hated it. Roxana, a sturdy dark-haired older woman, seemed unaffected by her rejection of her. The woman spoke to her in low tones of the recent news from the city, the goings-on at Belai Palace, and of Roxana’s family that seemed to constantly vex her. Lilya watched her with fascination. She seemed like such a happy woman.
    Every day Byron asked her name and every day she refused to answer. He never gave up on her and she hated him for it.
    One night when she was almost completely well, she discovered a knife had been left behind from her dinner. Her fingers closed around the cold, smooth silver handle and she examined the sharp blade with fascination.
    Finally. Relief was only a cut away.
    This knife could remove all her pain. A sharp slice and all the memories that gave her nightmares would vanish. Her blood on the floor and her worthless self would disappear just like that. Her blight on the world gone. No one would be able to treat her like she was disposable again. No one would be able to hurt her.
    She set the tip of the knife to the base of her wrist and watched numbly as it bit deep into her skin. Fire raced along her flesh as she dragged it upward, her blood welling hot on her skin and dripping down to plop onto the thick carpet.
    The door burst open and Byron was there, ripping the knife from her fingers and pulling