I pulled Zaal further into the body of the house. Just as he seemed to let himself relax, the sound of the front door opening echoed off the wooden walls. Savin and Ilya walked through.

Zaal tensed.

My head whipped to my byki.

Savin and Ilya drew their Glocks.

“Guards,” Zaal snarled, pushing me back against the wall. His huge body blocked mine from Savin and Ilya. His body crouched in preparation for a strike.

“What the fuck?” Ilya cursed.

When Zaal heard Ilya speak, he tensed. All I could see was his back. Every muscle was braced for the fight. This was the Zaal that Luka had brought to the house weeks ago. This was the violent monster Jakhua had created. The stone-cold killer. The product of over-experimentation.

“Guards,” he snarled again.

“Zaal!” I called out. My voice seemed to have no impact on his rapidly rising anger.

“Talia. Are you hurt?” Savin asked.

“No! Don’t hurt him!” I called from behind Zaal. “He thinks you’re Jakhua’s guards!”

I carefully moved to the side of Zaal and placed my hand on his back. He tensed and his crazed, still-blinking eyes darted to me. His face was flushed, and it was clear to me that the brightness of daylight was adding to his agitation.

He gripped my wrist and pulled me to his chest. His strong arm wrapped around my waist and he shouted, “Mine!” to Savin and Ilya. I saw Savin’s face tighten in alarm. But hearing the protective, possessive word slip from Zaal’s lips had my thighs clenching and my heart soaring.

I wasn’t afraid.

“Miss,” Ilya warned, motioning for me to step away.

I held out my hand to my byki, and ordered, “Leave.” They stared at me like I’d gone insane. “Leave!” I shouted. Zaal’s grasp on me became too tight. He was losing it. I could feel it in his shaking limbs and erratic breathing.

“What?” Ilya exclaimed. “We can’t do that, miss. He could kill you!”

“You can. He’s safe, but he thinks you’re guards. The guards Jakhua employs. I’ve let him out because he’s safe.” Ilya glanced back at Savin. “Please, leave…” I begged.

“Fuck!” Ilya snapped. Lowering his gun, he turned to face Savin. “Outside,” Ilya ordered, before looking back at me. “You have five minutes to explain who we are before we come back in. And if he comes at us again, I’ll blow his fucking head clean off.”

When the door slammed shut, Zaal let out a frustrated growl and dragged me across the floor. He slammed me against the wall. His face was contorted in rage, his jade eyes lit with fire. “Guards,” he hissed. “Master’s guards. You lied.…”

“No,” I whispered. His eyebrows twitched. “My guards,” I explained, then pushed, “They’re my guards.”

Zaal stilled. A frown pulled on his red face. “Your guards?”

I nodded. Timidly lifting my hand, I pressed it against his cheek. As soon as my palm met his face, tension left his shoulders. I’d observed that when I did this, it soothed him. “You were freed from your Master weeks ago. You were brought here to safety.”

He blinked and searched my gaze. “To you.” My stomach flipped at the want in his eyes. He thought I was his safety. That he was brought here to me.

“No, Zaal. For you. You’re free. Nobody owns you now.”

Lips parted, Zaal inhaled a shaky breath. “No Master?” he asked in bewilderment. I shook my head for emphasis.

His head lifted to look around the hallway. I could see the confusion racking his brain. “I’m free?” he asked again.

“Yes,” I whispered, my fingers stroking over his cheek. He let out a deep exhale and straightened. I watched with bated breath as he placed his hand on his arm, on the tens of scars, and then slid his fingers to the shackle wounds on his wrists and ankles.

I watched as those fingers traced the permanent red circular marks, and I watched as he lifted his head. Zaal met my eyes with unshed tears in his. “I am free.”

The sight of those tears dropping over his dark stubbled cheeks was my undoing. “Zaal,” I croaked through a thick throat.

I wanted to tell him who he was. Where he’d come from. I wanted him to tell me what had been done to him for years, for decades. I wanted to tell him what Jakhua did to his family. But he was, in many ways, just a child.

He couldn’t understand. He was like a caveman, seeing the world for the first time.

I took his hand and, meeting his eyes, said, “Come with me.”

Zaal tightened his hand on mine. I led him from the hallway into the large living room. He stopped at the doorway. Zaal drank in the large area filled with plush furnishings, the large feature windows overlooking our beach.

He swallowed hard.

I began pulling him toward the kitchen. Zaal stopped dead as he looked at the appliances, the countertops. I watched him and tried to imagine what this was like—seeing everything for the first time.

I couldn’t. I couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

“This is where the food is prepared,” I said. I moved to the fridge. “Are you hungry?”

Zaal pressed his hand against his stomach. “I am always hungry,” he replied. “Master feeds me very little. I have to earn my food.”

I stared at him in silence. “How?” I whispered, unsure whether I really wanted to know the answer.

“Killing,” he said, as if it was an ordinary everyday activity.

I swallowed and stepped forward. “Do you kill a lot?”

Emphatically, he nodded his head. “It is all that I do.”

Blowing out through my mouth, I pointed to the fridge. But Zaal’s attention kept drifting to the windows overlooking the beach. I leaned back against the fridge and watched his eyes try to interpret the scene.

Quietly, I moved beside him, and placed my hand on his arm. He tensed and whipped his angered face toward me. I stilled, and he seemed to remind himself I was no threat, his expression softening. “Would you like to go outside?” I asked nonchalantly.

He blinked, then blinked again. But he shook his head. His gaze drifted to the window. Taking his hand, I led him to the window. Releasing my hand, he edged forward and pressed his hands to the glass.

A warm feeling stirred in my stomach as he stared out of the large pane of glass. His eyes were flitting over everything in sight. Perhaps he was committing it to memory?

Did he think he would be captured again soon? That he would never see this sight again?

Zaal looked out for minutes, in a happy silence. I wanted to give him more. “Zaal. Come with me,” I prompted, and led him up to a bedroom. Luka and Kisa had been staying in this room. Luka still had some hooded sweatshirts hanging in the closet. Zaal stood in the center of the room. His eyes taking in the furniture; the bed, dresser, everything.

Choosing the biggest hooded sweatshirt I could find, I walked to Zaal and unzipped the front zipper. “Put this on,” I instructed.

Zaal looked at the sweatshirt and then at me.

I couldn’t help but smile at the lost look on his face, over something as simple as a sweatshirt. A wisp of a laugh slipped from my mouth. Suddenly, I found rough fingers stroking my lips.

Zaal was staring at my lips in fascination. “What is this called in your language?” he asked.