Page 92 of Deadmen's Queen

“I’m sorry,” I pleaded. “Please…”

“You don’t know… what I did for you when he came back…”

I froze. “When who came back?”

“Blackwood. He saw your mother and thought it was you. He went down pretty easily though.”

“No,” I whispered. “You’re lying…”

“I lost my temper. He thought you were theirs and you’re mine. So much blood…” he murmured.

Tears fell down the sides of my face. Oh God, Tristan…

“You didn’t…” I said. “Please… is he alive?”

He didn’t answer, but he reached down and took something from the bucket. I felt a damp cloth moved across my stomach and down each thigh. A cold, sticky substance dripped down between my legs as he brought the cloth up and over my breasts. The smell hit me, and I looked down at his hand. His fingers were red, covered in blood from the cloth he was holding and I cried out. He dropped the cloth back into the bucket, leaning down to pick up a second, saturated. He brought it down between my breasts, pushing it between my legs.

“What the fuck? What is that? Stop, please!”

He ignored me, dragging the cloth over every explored inch of my skin, painting me red.

“You let him inside you,” he murmured. “Now his insides are all over you.”

I retched, turning my head to the side. He held my hair back, but there was barely anything in my stomach, and my muscles began to hurt as my body convulsed.

“I was disappointed when the poison didn’t work,” he said, almost conversationally. “But taking him out this way was more enjoyable, and now I get to paint you like this.” He sighed, looking down at me. “You look so beautiful covered in his blood, Paige.”

I let out a sob that turned into a scream. I lost it, yanking on the cuffs as I rocked from side to side, kicking out at him, trying to pull free even though I knew it was pointless. Tristan’s blood was drying, clinging to my skin, and the thought that he was gone filled me with so much pain and rage I wanted to kill this man myself. I wanted to tear him apart with my bare hands.

His laugh echoed through the room, sending shivers of dread rocketing down my spine. It was a sound akin to ice cracking on a frozen lake, dangerous and unhinged.

“So much fight in you,” he murmured, admiringly. “Doesn't it feel good to let it out?”

I didn't answer, my only focus was ripping my wrists free from the cold steel that bound me. But the more I struggled, the tighter they seemed to hold. Blood began to trickle down my wrists as the metal cuffs cut into my skin.

He watched closely as beads of crimson dripped onto the bedspread, fascination sparking in his eyes behind his skull mask. He reached out and delicately traced a droplet with his finger before lifting it to his face and sliding it under the mask to his mouth.

“Delicious,” he murmured.

“You’re a monster.”

“Yes.” The word was soft and carried an odd note of satisfaction. “And you’re mine.”

He climbed up on the bed, straddling one of my thighs, pinning my leg to the bed. I sobbed helplessly beneath him. My world had been torn apart in an instant. Tristan was gone. My funny, caring man with his sexy smile and his huge heart. I’d never see him again.

“Paige, stop.”

Hatred burned in my chest like a molten ball of fire. Gasping for breath, I glared up at him, my eyes promising revenge.

For a moment he was silent, just observing me with a twisted smile on his face that made my stomach roil with dread. Then he began to unbutton his trousers.

“No,” I whimpered. “Please don’t…”

“You did it for them, now you do it for me, whore.”

I closed my eyes, feeling the light and the hope drain out of me as he continued his vicious onslaught. He talked the whole time, telling me how special I was, how much he loved me, but I knew he was insane. This wasn’t love. Maybe once I could have confused abuse with love, but not any more. Bast, and Tristan and Nate, they loved me and they had taught me what love was. This wasn’t it.

“Remember this feeling, Paige. This is your life now,” he said softly. “Every scream you let out, every tear you shed… they belong to me.”

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