His scent had gone sour with the stink of fear, something Werren found fascinating. “She cannot go anywhere, and if she tries to hurt someone, the men will kill her.” Unless she kills them first.
“You’d better go talk to her,” Clemens said. “Explain how we do things, and what Dutch expects from her.”
“I have no authority to speak for the master in his absence.” Werren regarded him. “I believe that is your place, Mr. Clemens.”
“Don’t play your mind-fucking games with me, whore.” He gave her a push toward the stairs. “Tell her how it’s going to be. Otherwise she’ll be hanging from the mast in shreds at dawn.”
As Werren descended the narrow staircase, she considered using her gift once more to disguise herself. Altering physical appearance was the most difficult illusion to maintain, however, as movements and speech constantly demanded thousands of tiny adjustments of the facade. Places and things required much less of her gift, usually no more than a single flick of thought. In this instance, however, her actual appearance might be more effective in convincing the lady to listen.
Werren found Samantha kicking at the base of the cage with her boots, alternating left and right as she worked at creating a gap between the bars. The scent of blood and copper made Werren’s stomach clench, and she saw the raw wounds the detective had inflicted on her wrists while trying unsuccessfully to free them from the manacles.
“If you will stand still,” she said, causing Samantha to do precisely that, “I will remove the shackles.”
“Go to hell, you fucking bitch.” She resumed kicking the bars.
“I regret deceiving you as I did,” Werren said, raising her voice to be heard over the racket. “I had no other choice but to carry out my master’s commands.”
“You can drop the pathetic human act now,” Samantha said, wedging her boot against one bar and trying to push it out with no success. “I know you’re Kyn.”
“Like you,” Werren said. “But you are of this time. How did your master change you without killing you?”
Narrow hazel eyes glittered. “Let me out of here and I’ll tell you all about me, my master, and our secrets.”
She sounded pleasant, even sincere, but Werren knew better. “Dutch will have all of his secrets once he brings him under his control. You cannot escape. The men will not permit it, and when you try, they will hurt us both.”
Samantha stopped kicking. “Do you really believe I give a rat’s ass what happens to you?”
“No. Not now, not when you’re this angry. But I can explain myself, my lady. Once you hear what has been done to me and the others, you will understand how desperate our situation is.” Despair made her go to the cage and grip the bars. “Please, allow me to—”
A bloody hand shot out and gripped her by the throat, cutting off her voice. “Open the fucking cage. Now.”
“I cannot.” Werren felt the other woman’s nails stabbing into her flesh, drawing blood, and her gift exploded out of her, transforming her into a snarling beast.
Samantha held on. “Sorry, no sale this time, sister.” She tightened her grip. “Drop the illusion, or I’ll rip your throat out.”
Werren forced back the roiling power pouring out of her and resumed her honest appearance. “What do you want, my lady? You hurt me, but I am like you. A prisoner.”
“Funny, but I don’t see your cage anywhere.” She dug her strong fingers in deeper. “Who are you? The truth this time.”
“No one of importance.” Werren tasted her own blood on her tongue, and with it the temptation to goad Samantha into killing her. She was so weary of the nightmare of her existence, and death would be her only release. The women she left behind, however, would suffer—including this one, who had yet to understand the horror that awaited her. “My name is Werren Reed, and I have been a prisoner here for a very long time.”
“Why? What did you do?”
The same two questions she had been asking ever since Dutch had taken her. “My master purchased me from my mother’s employer. I have been his slave ever since.”
The hand tightened. “Slavery isn’t legal.”
“It was when he took me,” Werren said simply. “He kept me in his bed for weeks, using me for sex and slowly draining me of my blood. I prayed for death, my lady.”
Something flickered in Samantha’s angry eyes. “You’re still breathing.”
“Not by any choice of my own. When I died from the blood loss, I thought, ‘At last, it is finished. I am free of him.’” She curled her fingers around one bar. “I woke up in a cage much like this one, naked, helpless, hopeless, and there I stayed.”