She was shaking like a leaf the first time they came for her. These men, with their blank faces and hollow eyes, reminded her too much of her dead and unmourned husband. These two weren't the ones that killed the men of her group, including Ed. Those monsters laughed as they filled the air with bullets, uncaring who they slaughtered and deaf to the cries for mercy. These two were quiet and gentle as they lifted her to her feet and led her and another toward the door and out into a misty early morning.

Carol shied back as the pale light stabbed at her eyes like dull needles. It had been days since she'd been locked in that cellar. The air was dank and thick; the only light what filtered in around the rough boards of the door. She squeezed them shut and kept them that way, letting the feather light touches on her arms guide her steps. She winced as Lily's muffled sobs climbed the scale to throat rending moans. The woman hadn't quit crying since they'd been taken. Carol did what she could to offer comfort but the woman was inconsolable. Her Meghan had been lost in the battle. The girl was only nine years old but that meant little to the bullet that took her life.

Carol offered up a silent prayer for both mother and daughter. She'd always wanted a child but Ed didn't. He was unfailing in his assurance that she would be as bad of a mother as she was a wife. He used his fists as much as his words to drive the point home. It was better, she decided long ago, that she'd never gotten pregnant. No child could grow up happily around Ed Peletier.

They were led into a large room and made to stand in a cleared space before a stage of sorts. The only seat was a broad, carved wooden chair sitting front and center. The back, etched with whorls and intricately incised squares, rose to a peak. The seat was blood-red, buttery soft and pliable, and looked to be made of worked leather. Her fingers twitched in an errant wish to run her fingers over the chair, test the grain of the wood, see if the leather was as soft as the dull sheen promised. Carol clenched her fists at her side and bit down on the inside of her cheek until her mouth filled with coppery warmth. Stop it, she berated herself fiercely, or your foolishness is going to get you killed.

She saw a lanky, dark-haired man mount the dais confidently and make his way to the throne like seat. He watched the two women with vague interest, his pale eyes missing nothing as he looked them over. "Welcome to Respite," he drawled in slow, languid tones. "I'm Phillip Blake, the leader of this settlement. I wanted to meet you and familiarize you with our rules so that there's no misunderstanding."

He rose to his feet and strolled toward them like he had all the time in the world. Lily received a dismissive glance, the man's thin lips tightening as she hunched her shoulders and started crying again in earnest. He paused in front of Carol, eyes narrowing at her steady look. One hand lifted to touch her cheek and she forced herself not to flinch. A low laugh escaped him and he never took his eyes away from hers as his fingers deftly unbuttoned her blouse and let it fall open. Only when the last one let go did he look down at the acres of creamy flesh now on view. "Everybody has a job to do here that depends largely on what they have to offer," he announced as he unhooked her bra and coldly contemplated her breasts. "For this place to work, it is necessary for that rule to be obeyed implicitly. Do you understand?"

Carol's mouth was suddenly as dry as a desert but she forced the words out. "I understand."

Phillip Blake's lips quirked into a humorless smile. "Do you? Do you really? I could put you anywhere. What, do you think, would be the best place for you, blue eyes?"

"I don't know," Carol offered hesitantly. "The kitchens or maybe the laundry. I took courses to try to be a nurse. I could help with that."

Again, he gave her that pitiless smile. "I could help with that," he repeated softly. "You're a little mouse, a brave one, but a mouse nevertheless. I believe we can come up with something better than kitchen or laundry duty. Something special just for you." His eyes wandered over her shoulder and he gestured imperiously. "Dixon, come up here."

Carol bit back the urge to vomit as the heavy tread of booted feet came to a stop behind her. She didn't dare look around; instead she kept her eyes fixed firmly on Blake's smug expression. "You need somethin?" A rough voice demanded in a furious tone. "I was going out on a hunt before it gets too late."

Blake's face didn't alter. He waved the man's ire aside as if it were nothing. "That can wait. I need you here for the planning session for our next run. I also wanted to commend you for your actions during the last one. Merle tells me that you're responsible for the success at Kenneshac Memorial. Those medical supplies alone are worth their weight in gold. It warrants some considerations for you." Blake made another of those lofty gestures and was handed a gleaming crossbow complete with a full quiver of bolts and a Buck knife in a worked leather sheath. At last, Blake turned to Carol, his smirk widening to a grin. "For a job well done."

The as yet unseen man sounded like he was choking from the noises that suddenly erupted from behind her. He swallowed a few times, cleared his throat and then began again. "Mine to keep or mine for the night?" Carol caught a glimpse of bare arms, shaggy hair and a lean physique as the man called Dixon stepped forward to take the weapons. A shaft of fear arced through her when she realized he was really asking. Her startled look swung back to Phillip Blake, who now openly wore his amusement.

"Oh, I think you can keep her. There are plenty of others to go around so take this one with my compliments, my friend. Enjoy her. You've earned it."

The sob built, gathered steam and threatened to tear her throat assunder but Carol forced it back. She wouldn't cry now. She wouldn't give the bastard the satisfaction. Later but not now. Blue eyes, the same shade as the forget-me-nots that bloomed by the porch in her former life, burned into her. He shouldered the crossbow and tucked the knife into his belt before rough fingers ever so gently cupped her elbow. "Let's go," he grumbled curtly. He gave one brief nod to Blake before leading her away. Only when they were outside did he look at her again and then he swore foully under his breath. "Fuck, cover up before you start a damned riot. I don't wanna have to fight because one of these fuckers thinks you're open for business."

Her fingers fumbled with her bra and buttons as she hastily did up her shirt. "Thank you," she whispered brokenly, her limbs threatening to dump her into the dirt at his feet as the true extent of her situation became clear. She was his. Handed over like some sort of bauble for a job well done. His…and there wasn't a thing she could do about it. He swore again and then took off at a fast walk toward the barracks.

"Where are we going?" Carol had to hurry to catch up, only to rock back on her heels as he came to an abrupt halt and swung around to look at her.

"Taking you back for now," he grated. "Back to where you was before. I gotta go hunt or there won't be any fresh meat for dinner. That asshole can say good job but one slip and he'll take it all back. I ain't in the mood to have my ass kicked or to see you staked out for anybody that wanders by to take a turn. He'll do it just because he can if I fuck up. God dammit! Should have lit out and never come back like I wanted to but I listened to Merle. Can't change it now. Done is done."

Carol froze, her eyes wide and staring as his words sank in. "You're going to leave me here? What if he changes his mind before you come back?" She blanched at the thought, nausea slamming into her like a clenched fist. She clamped her hand over her mouth and bent double, gagging helplessly.

The man made no attempt to help, watching impatiently until she straightened and wiped her mouth on the tail of her shirt. "I'll put the word out that you ain't to be bothered. Merle will back me or I'll put a bolt in his ass. Hell, he'll do it just to piss the rest of these assholes off." He stomped off, the crossbow swaying against his broad back, and didn't look back to see if she was following.

She waited a few beats before trailing after him, torn between the urge to flee and the urge to sit down in the dirt and weep. Instead, she attached herself to his heels and followed him back to the cellar. He jerked the door open and motioned for her to go inside. As she slipped past him, she glanced up and her gaze caught on those unfathomable blue eyes. "What's your name?" She mumbled, stopping just long enough to see if he would answer.

"Daryl," he finally returned after staring at her for an interminable moment. "Daryl Dixon. Remember what I said. You keep low and stay quiet. I'll come for you as soon as I get back."

"I will," she promised because that was the only thing she could do, the only choice she had left if she wanted to survive. He gave her another little nod before easing the door shut behind her.