Page 59 of Touched By Death

I think back on the angels who exited Eden with me—the few who succumbed to the darkness. Locked in the deepest parts of the cellar beneath the academy, they slowly wither away, trapped in an endless nightmare with no escape. No longer angels, but pure demons.

The thought of my son losing control because he’s deprived of half of his hellfire sends cold shivers splashing down the length of my spine. Who would’ve thought the female angel I warned him to stay away from is the key to the throne?

Chapter Twenty-One

AURELIA

The soapy water in the metal bucket sloshes over the sides when he drops it to the stone floor.

Crouching down in front of me where I huddle in the corner, he dips his hand into the water and picks up the sponge. After squeezing out the excess water, he grabs my chin. Despite my futile attempts to wrench free, he swipes the sponge through the tears and dirt on my cheeks. His calloused fingers add more bruises to my already sore skin, and I whimper as he angles my face up to wipe the column of my throat. Bites and more bruises decorate the tender skin. He’s deceptively gentle while wiping off the excess blood before dipping the sponge into the bucket. He wrings out the excess water and sets to work again with soft swipes that are at odds with the violence he’s unleashed on my body since I entered this nightmare.

When I whimper again, he pauses at my collarbone, those dead eyes watching me from behind the mask. I want to rip it off him.

Abandoning the sponge in the bucket, he leans in close to my neck and slides his wet hand up the inside of my thigh. The cold bite of his mask makes my skin crawl as he whispers, “Mine.”

Everything about him repulses me. Hell has opened my eyes to a lot of horrors, but nothing holds a candle to this.

Speaking of candles, a group of pillar candles sits in the corner. Gone is the lone flame. Four of them flicker wildly, placed on a metal tray. My favorite pastime when I’m alone is to watch the wax drip down the sides in a race for the bottom.

When he picks the sponge back up, the water sloshes again. With his eyes on me, he palms my leg and slides the wet sponge over my shin. He takes his time, removing every piece of dirt and grit. And for some sickening reason, it brings tears to my eyes. This act of kindness threatens to obliterate the walls I’ve erected since my entrapment. I don’t want to feel. Numbness has been my ally. Yet this…

“I love my marks on you,” he whispers in that familiar voice I can’t place while swiping the sponge over a sore bite mark on my thigh. “A day will come when you do, too.”

“Go to Hell,” I snarl, stiffening when the sponge travels higher, tracing the hem of my skirt.

“We’re already here, remember? Besides,” he murmurs as the sponge disappears beneath the fabric. “I don’t need you to like my touch. It makes no difference.”

“Why are you doing this?” I hate the shaking in my voice. “You don’t want me. I’m no one.”

“On the contrary…”

The sponge is right there, sliding over my sore, swollen folds. I screw my eyes shut.

“You’re everything.”

I try to shut my legs, but he pries them open. My heart begins to thrash inside my chest when I look down to see the flames engulfing his hand as it hovers over my thigh.

“Deny me again, and I’ll burn you,” he threatens, making me whimper with icy fear.

As he leans in closer, I hold my breath. “There’s something about your fear that’s tantalizing.”

Cold water pools beneath my ass, and I’m both grateful and disgusted.

Grateful because he’s washing himself off me.

Disgusted because he’s touching me.

“Let’s take this dress off.”

“Please, no,” I beg, but it falls on deaf ears. Rough hands pry it off me, tearing the fabric in the process. When I’m naked, he brings a small flame to life at the tip of his finger and brings it close to my nipple.

I press back against the cold, damp concrete wall at my back.

“It doesn’t matter how much I hurt you,” he says absentmindedly, watching the flame create shadows that dance over my breast, like beasts chasing one another. “I can never get enough.”

“You said he wants me. Who were you speaking about?”

Snapped from whatever sinister daydream held him captivated, he stares at me from behind the mask. I hate that I can’t see his hair beneath the hood that obscures him from me. “He took everything from me.”

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