Page 4 of These Dangerous Fates

His kiss is gentle, just a soft brush of his lips against mine. It hurts almost more than his fists, because it reminds me of everything I’ve lost, everything I thought I had. With a surprising amount of courage, I push him away.

“No. Don’t do that.” My voice wobbles, and I swallow, drawing on every ounce of strength I possess. “Don’t act like that. I can’t handle it.”

His smile turns cruel, and he steps closer to me, pushing me against the door, and I know I’m in the exact position he wants me in. Helpless and at his mercy.

“Is this what you want?” he whispers in my ear as his hand encircles my throat, squeezing painfully. “You like the pain?”

No. I hate the pain, but it’s better than the false sense of love that threatens to tear down the walls I’ve built around my heart. This I can endure. I know I’ll survive his violence. I’m strong enough for that. For now, at least.

His fingers loosen enough for me to gulp down a breath of air before he tightens them again. He kicks my feet apart with his foot and shoves his thigh between my legs. A whimper tries to climb up my throat, but I bite it back. Giving him any reaction will only make it worse. The doorknob digs painfully into my back as Sam presses his body tight against mine.

I get in another breath before his mouth crashes against mine. It’s rough and bruising. The iron tang of blood blooms on my tongue as his teeth scrape my lip, before he shoves his tongue into my mouth. I fight the urge to gag and instead kiss him back, because I don’t know what else to do, and if I don’t, he’ll make it hurt even more.

With his hand still around my throat, he drags me to my bed and shoves me down. My stomach swoops as I land on the mattress, both from the movement and the fear of what I know is coming. In rough, jerky movements, he removes my clothes, tossing them to the floor carelessly. And once I’m completely bare to him, he steps back to admire me. Nausea roils in my stomach, the threat of vomiting very near the surface as his eyes travel over my naked body. Those eyes are now almost black with power and lust, the green of his magic barely visible. Every instinct in me screams to cover myself, but if I do, he’ll hurt me.

He unbuttons his shirt, slowly shrugging it off his muscular shoulders. “Hands above your head. Legs spread. Eyes closed,” he commands, his voice thick with eagerness and desire. Hesitating at his belt, he waits for me to comply with his orders.

My arms tremble as I lift them over my head, squeezing my eyes shut at the same time. Knowing what comes next, my breath stutters and catches painfully in my chest when I shakily spread my legs for him. Heat burns my cheeks, embarrassment making me flush. The biting pain of his magic wraps around my wrists and ankles, holding me in place. If I open my eyes, I know I’ll see green bands shimmering over my skin. It would be beautiful if it wasn’t so awful.

Fabric rustles as Sam removes his shoes and pants, then the bed dips at my feet. He crawls toward me, the heat of his body hovering over mine makes my skin crawl, but he doesn’t touch me yet. The anticipation of where his touch will fall is torture. My muscles are tense to the point of aching, and my breath is rapid and uneven. His fingers finally brush my skin as he grips my thighs and spreads my legs further apart, baring me completely. I’m unable to hold back the whimper that escapes my throat, and shame burns through every part of my body.

The bed dips more as he places his hands on either side of my head. He holds himself still for what feels like hours. My heart races with the fear of the unknown, and a fine sweat coats my skin. I can sense his gaze on my breasts as my chest heaves, gulping in air.

Despair washes through me. I just want this torture to end. I want him to get it over with. Of course, he knows that, so he takes his time. He lets the anticipation build and my anxiety grows with each second I have to wait. The jittery, nauseous sensation in my gut intensifies, and I have to replay my mantra in my head. I can do this. I am strong. It will be over soon.

Finally, the mattress shifts again, and this time the drawer next to the bed opens and closes. The pop of a cap echoes through the silence, then the wet slide of lube being applied. That’s all the warning I get before Sam forces his cock inside me with quick, rough thrusts.

My attempt at keeping the scream inside fails. The Sam I had once known and loved is gone, replaced by a violent, possessive monster. The monster that beats and rapes me. Tears leak from the corners of my eyes, somehow making their way past my tightly shut lids.

Each thrust of his cock is like fire burning through me. I feel dirty and used. His fingers on my hips are like a brand, like he is claiming me as his. Bile burns the back of my throat and I fight the urge to vomit. My body is being shoved toward the head of the bed with each hard thrust. Soon my fingertips graze the headboard.

Sam’s rough breathing surrounds me. Sandalwood mixed with male sweat, shoves up my nose. I’ll never be able to smell sandalwood again without the memories of him forcing himself on me.

Just when I think I can’t take anymore, he pulls out. I get a brief moment of relief as he removes his magic from my legs and flips me over roughly. He lifts my hips and forces his cock inside again. The blankets muffle my screams and I bunch them in my fists as his hips pound faster and harder. The sound of flesh against flesh is loud while my tears are silent as they soak the pillow and I pray for it to end. I pray for all of it to end.

Sam’s body stiffens, his fingers somehow tighten even more on my hips, and he grunts his release. He stays like that, his cock softening inside me, before he pulls out and flops on his back. Sweating and panting, his face is a mask of male arrogance. It makes me sick. His magic disappears from my wrists and I curl up in my bed, as far from Sam as possible. Aching and throbbing, my tears stain my pillowcase as I wait for him to fall asleep.

When his breathing slows and deepens, I climb out of my bed and head to the bathroom, locking the door behind me. With the shower on and heating, I stare at myself in the mirror. This reflection is one I have come to recognize all too well. Puffy amber eyes, red from crying. A handprint marks the column of my neck, and fingerprints are already turning purple on my hips.

Steam from the shower soon wafts through the room and fogs over my reflection, erasing the image I couldn’t bring myself to look away from. Stepping into the shower, I hiss as the water scalds my skin, even as I welcome it. If I could make it hotter, I would.

This is the only time and place I let myself fall apart. With my knees drawn to my chest, I sit on the floor of the shower and cry. I let all my hurt, anger, shame, and fear run through me and down the drain. I let the sobs wrack my battered body, wishing I could just shake into a million pieces to be washed away. The heaviness in my chest suffocates me. I don’t remember the last time I was able to take a full breath.

Somehow, I’ve endured this for the past two years, but I’m starting to fall apart at the seams. I’m not sure how much longer I can do this. The fog I surround myself in isn’t enough anymore. It gets worse each time, harder to detach myself from what’s happening to me. A small piece of my soul gets chipped away with each fist that lands on my skin and each thrust of his hips against mine. How much longer until there is nothing left? What will I be when he has completely destroyed every piece of who I am?

Once the crying stops, I stand and wash. I wash my body three times, but it’s never enough. I’m still dirty. I can still feel Sam’s hands on me, his cock inside me. By the time I’m done scrubbing, my skin is raw and pink. Only then do I get out and dry off, wrapping my towel around me like a cloak of resolve. Inhaling a deep breath, I fortify my strength and courage before walking back to my bed, and the monster sleeping in it.

* * *

Allie eyes my neck with a frown. The handprints from Sam are barely noticeable under the layer of makeup I caked on, but her eagle eye spied them immediately. Thankfully, she says nothing, but her look is enough to send shame coursing through my body. My shoulders curl inward and I pull my hair over my shoulders, hoping to hide the marks better.

I’m spared further embarrassment when a server appears and leads us to a table at The River’s Edge, an upscale cafe along the river Altair. A cobblestone patio decked out with wrought iron seating arrangements and potted fruit trees runs right up to the edge of the river. The gentle burble of the water over the rocky shore sets the backdrop, with hidden speakers softly piping in the latest hit songs.

“So,” Allie says once we’ve taken our seats. “Connor called me last night.”

My head snaps up from my menu. “He did?”

She nods her head and brushes her blond hair over her shoulder. “He did.”

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