Free The Healer's Warrior by Renee Lewin Page A

head against the wall to focus on Tareq. She was very dizzy and her head was throbbing. “I will not be used up by you!” she retorted. “If I am weak, I cannot heal you to take the lives of more innocent people, I cannot work as your slave, and my body will waste away so that there will be nothing for you to appreciate!”
    Tareq hated nothing more than to be thought of as one in the same as the King and the depraved men in his father’s court, men who treated the less fortunate like animals and who had no issue taking women against their will. His hands clenched into fists at his sides.
    “If that is what I wanted from you, believe me, I could have had you long ago at the Coast, but I am not someone who gets any enjoyment out of taking what I can be eagerly given. I have no lack of propositions, Jem’ya, and I am a man accustomed to getting what I want, when I want it. And what I want is for you to eat , Jem’ya!” His lips quivered with anger. “I will not watch you waste away and die! If you do not eat, then I will see to it that your mother and father, your entire village, does not eat either!” He bent, picked up the food tray and dropped it beside her on the bed mat. “So, Mahsalom ,” he sneered, “do not let another meal go to waste.”
    Jem’ya looked at the plate of hot, flavorful chicken tagine and couscous. Her mouth began to water and the wrenching pain in her stomach was like being kicked repeatedly in the side. How many days had she gone without food? She could not focus her mind to remember.  All she knew was that Tareq could determine the fate of her family, so it was useless to be uncooperative. Worn down from anger, hunger and hopelessness, Jem’ya began to cry. Defeated, she picked up a clump of the food between her fingers and brought it to her mouth. Slowly she chewed the first bite.
    As Tareq watched her eat, his mouth relaxed. When she swallowed the food, he exhaled, releasing some of the tension in his body. “Your plate should be empty when I return,” he instructed. Jem’ya glanced at him with moist eyes, silent. Tareq left, locking the door behind him.
    As soon as Tareq was out of sight, Jem’ya pulled the warm tray onto her lap and stuffed her mouth full of the chicken and couscous. She ate quickly, swallowing sometimes without chewing, and gulping down water to moisten her throat. In two minutes the plate was clean. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and massaged at her full belly. Her body and mind were immediately energized from the meal. Her stomach, however, continued to ache, painfully stretched by the meal after days of contracting around emptiness. Once her stomach began to relax, she stood and paced the room to stretch her legs.
    Six days of her life had been spent caged in the cellar of Tareq’s palace. Jem’ya wondered how Tareq could claim to be sorry, yet keep her imprisoned. He was a mad man. One moment, he was calm and soft spoken, and in the next he yelled threats at her.
    Tareq’s madness had bleached the substance from her life. It perverted her past, robbed her of hope for the future, and made the present dark and empty. The memories of her family were now tarnished by the murder of her brother and the slaughter and servitude of her tribe. Her life was like a pitch black hallway. She did not see an end to the current circumstances, and if in the end she regained her freedom and saw her family, she did not know if she could ever be truly happy again.
    The foggy recollection of the dream she had earlier and the memory of waking up in Tareq’s arms disturbed her. She had found solace and safety in the arms of the Tareq in her dreams. When she awoke actually cradled in Tareq’s arms she was revolted. How could her sleeping mind create such fantasies about Tareq despite the true nightmare? Well, in a sense, she’d had plenty of practice. It’s what she’d been doing from the moment she developed feelings for him months ago. She had never