Page 39 of Taken By Touch and Torment

The other slaves were shoved forward, some clearly drugged or loopy from blood loss and venom.

My chest rose and fell rapidly, my nude body on full display. This was another moment I was caught between the ugly truth and a beautiful lie. The traumatized, terrified victim and the cunning, fearless seductress.

The slaves formed a half-moon around me—six women and two men. Lana’s eyes flashed pity, while a few of the women appeared to be looking forward to hurting me. Mairin seemed torn, slipping in and out of lucidity. One of the human men was Cassius, Rosalind’s lover. He was another sympathetic one, though his eyes showed the telltale signs of elixir, glazed-over and pupils wide.

The vampires gave instructions, smiling and laughing and clinking drinks. I could see underneath their joviality to the churning darkness of their shadow selves, festering at my direction.

“Go on, Cassius,” Evangeline purred.

At the sound of her voice, Cassius flinched and moved immediately. In his hands, a whip. I trembled; my entire body tensed.

The sound of the crack was like lightning to my ears, and my scream was soon to follow. A searing line bloomed across my thighs, the flesh I’d learned quickly was far more sensitive than my ass. Tears sprung to my eyes beyond my conscious control.

How was it that when Rune had inflicted pain, it had felt good? Was there something wrong with me that I’d once yearned for violence, for torment and denial?

With Rune, everything sinful had ascended to divine. But perhaps that had all been a delusion, the same as our love.

Tears slid down my cheeks as Cassius whipped me twice more. I felt small and stupid as I fought against the leather straps, any attempt to get away, to hide my thighs from this agony.

A woman was shoved forward.

“Hit higher!” someone snarled as the crowd leered.

One vampire became so overwhelmed with lust that she grabbed the second male slave and began to grope him, sinking her teeth into his neck.

The slave held a riding crop, and she, unfortunately, appeared to be one of the humans that still had it out for me. Her lips were turned up, her features smug and dark eyes frigid. I thought I remembered her name being Harley. Her long black hair swayed as she approached.

Obeying instructions, she aimed higher than my thighs, smacking left of my belly button. I cried out, again attempting to curl in on myself, but halted by the cuffs. She quickly struck again on the exact same spot, a smirk forming as I cursed in my next outburst.

I couldn’t have attempted to wield my weapons of desire now, no matter how powerful I’d become. The seeds that I’d already rooted were the only defenses at play, as sharp stabs of pain ricocheted beneath my skin.

“Hey,” Brennan roared. “Not on the stomach, you dumb bitch.”

The critical lord from before raised a black brow with a high arch.

Brennan crossed his arms. “Humans have sensitive organs that are not always mendable. I, for one, don’t want to break our toy before she’s been sufficiently played with.”

Aw. How sweet.

It was abundantly heartwarming that my vampire overlords cared about sadomasochistic safety protocol after long days of slaughtering mortals for sport.

Harley was one of the few slaves still wearing more than lingerie, her red dress only slightly torn as it clung to her curves.

She grinned as she stepped forward and reared her arm back. The leather end of the crop fell hard against my right breast, and I screamed again as I writhed.

“Now make it even,” a lord commanded.

She hit my left breast, and humiliation burned my cheeks from this public violation, pain lighting up my every nerve. I couldn’t think straight, couldn’t find my footing. I began to detach, my grip on desire’s reins slipping.

“Draw blood, Lana,” Liza said, licking her blood-red lips.

Lana appeared, a silent apology in her eyes as she took Harley’s place. Her shoulders were sunken, her own breasts displaying dried blood and bite marks. Her purple lingerie was merely straps of fabric accentuating her breasts and pussy, not offering an inch of coverage.

In her hands, a paddle studded with tiny metal spikes. My head dropped, and I stared at the floor. I no longer saw opportunity in the eyes of the crowd, my seeds of destruction. I only saw shame and sick enjoyment, the eternal reminder that my body had never been my own.

She struck a thigh, and I shuddered, the harsh sting penetrating through my dissociative blur.

I remembered swinging out by the woods, gazing up at the stars. I held that image as I allowed all things buried to rise again, all wounds to reopen. I was swept away in a wave of numbness, unable to endure the crushing weight of every bad thing that had ever happened to me.

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