Page 94 of Taken By Touch and Torment

I was reminded of Sadie’s words I’d tried desperately to forget. She claimed Scarlett was more than a survivor, and that there was a way to rescue her while maintaining her position as an asset. A weapon. An object, just as she’d been traumatized to believe she was her entire life.

My eyes flew open. “I will not allow you to throw your life away,” I hissed. “You deserve to live for yourself, after everything you’ve endured.”

She crossed her arms and opened her mouth, but I cut her off.

“It has been one day, my love.” I dragged a hand over my face as I struggled to hide the frustration from my voice. “You have to stop running. When you don’t face the past—when you shove it inside a back room and slam the door on it—it will always escape to ruin your present and future when you aren’t looking.”

“Is that what you did?” she asked. “Threw your life away? Used your trauma as fuel to fight a war instead of truly confronting it?” Her eyes darkened. “Stop projecting yourself onto me.”

I shook my head. “No, baby. You have it all wrong.” I reached for her clenched fist. “It was only because I made peace with the past that I was able to forge Valentin’s future.”

I watched as Scarlett’s anger reached its peak and then washed away. Her hand relaxed under mine. There was still a spark of defiance, an unwillingness to hear what I was saying. I intuitively knew she’d only decided to hide her thoughts away rather than change them. And I couldn’t let it provoke my anger or my fear of losing her again. I couldn’t drive her away and out of my reach.

She glanced at the musicians. “It doesn’t sound the same as it did before.” Her gaze fell to her food, grief in her blue depths.

I wanted to pull her into my lap. I wanted to hold her tight enough to erase what had happened to her. But that was the same poison I needed to help her remove from her mind—the inability to accept reality and live life on life’s terms. We both needed to make peace with the unspeakable in order to feel safe again.

I read her body language, the way she was closed off. She’d reached a limit, exhaustion weighing her shoulders down. When she began to make herself smaller in her chair, hide her mind away from my prying gaze, I knew it was time to leave.

“And it never will,” I said, and her heartbroken eyes snapped to mine. “Nothing will ever taste, sound, feel, or look the same. It’s not supposed to.”

Her sorrow at my words broke me. She stared at me, waiting, nearly begging with her eyes for me to give her the answer she wanted to hear. But I couldn’t.

“You’ll adjust, Little Flame. And one day, you’ll wake up and realize that after you’ve given yourself ample time, healing, and grace, it will all taste, sound, feel, and look better than it ever did before.”

38

SCARLETT

In the middle of the night, I woke up to the sound of my own screaming. Rune’s face was inches from mine, and I scrambled away, off the side of the bed and to the corner of the room. I pulled my knees to my chest and buried my head.

“Please, please, please,” I sobbed, snot dripping down my nose. “Don’t.” I imagined a blade sawing through my ligaments, and I prayed for Durian to come, to make Rune disappear.

My eyes were shut tight, but I felt the gentle stroke of a hand through my hair.

“Thank you, Master,” I choked, relieved as I sucked in air.

The touch halted, and I slowly opened my eyes and looked up.

Rune stared back.

I shrieked, backing up so quickly that I slammed my head against some sharp corner. A stab of pain erupted at the back of my head. My vision blurred, my body unable to sustain this level of terror as it slowly lost all sensation.

Rune cursed, and it didn’t make sense—because the Rune who hurt me didn’t speak, other than that time he told me I was dead to him. He didn’t react this way. He was cold and uncaring.

“You’re safe, Little Flame,” Rune said, his voice trembling, his face racked with horror. He hesitated, holding himself back and away from me as my confusion slowly morphed into understanding.

My eyes darted around. I wasn’t in my slave chambers. I was in Rune’s bedroom. The Rune who tortured me didn’t call me Little Flame.

I met his gaze and rubbed the back of my head. “I’m sorry.”

His face was utterly tortured for another second before he erased it all, replacing his crumpled features with calm and warmth.

He crouched down in front of me, and I nodded at him, giving him the unspoken permission he needed. Rune scooped me into his arms and brought me back to bed, holding me sideways in his lap as he leaned against the headboard. He gently stroked the back of my head, and his shadows crawled over me in smoke form.

“You’re safe,” he whispered. “You’re okay.”

I cried softly, my poor body confused by the conflict between my memories and my reality. The trembling was slow to ease.

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