Page 82 of Stroke of Shadows

“You stupid bitch. Do you not think I already know you’re not a virgin? That you allowed a man to defile you?”

Harper’s breathing increased, her face screaming as he’d struck across her cheek. She dropped to her knees, her palms slapping the floor before she felt the back of her dress being ripped.

“Why do you think I’m allowing you to get married? I’ve always known you were a whore.”

“I didn’t allow anything,” she sobbed, the first cut of the knife against her skin forcing a scream from her throat. “I never allowed—”

“Quiet!” Angel barked, his fingers caressing along the slice he’d just made. “You know you must accept your punishment in silence, otherwise the Gods will not forgive your sins.” He waited for Harper to calm, for her breathing to settle before he cut her again.

This time, there was no sound. No cry or scream. Ten cuts exactly, each a little deeper than the last. Her arms were shaking by the time he’d placed the knife back in its display on the wall, her blood staining the metal.

“You have no idea the disappointment of finding out you opened your legs so easily. I didn’t believe it, not until I saw the pictures.” Angel’s anger vibrated the air between them. “I’m thankful to the Gods that they forgave you for your behaviour. Luckily, you continue to be the perfect vessel.”

A hot tear hit the back of her hand, Harper’s hair creating a protective curtain around her face. “You knew?” She tried to keep calm, but the first tear turned into two. Then three. “You knew Wyatt let his friends rape me?”

She’d been tied down while Wyatt watched, laughing, recording. It was the threat he always used against her–that he’d tell Angel. As part of her role as the vessel, she was to remain untouched as a woman so she could take the pain against her skin in atonement for her family’s sins. If Angel knew she wasn’t untouched, it would’ve compromised her position in the family. It was the only thing that kept her useful. Kept her alive.

“I saw how men looked at you, how you encouraged their lecherous intentions. You asked for it.” Angel knelt by her head, brushing the hair from her face. “I killed his friends when I found out, and it’s why I sent Ivan.”

Harper let out a sound between a sob and a laugh.

“I sent him as a test, and you failed.” Angel straightened to his full height, tugging at the sleeves of his jacket casually.

“I didn’t—”

“Once you allowed Ivan to penetrate you, I knew you were weak. Pathetic. But what more could I expect from a woman?” His upper lip sneered. “I forgave you because the Gods did, despite not being untouched.”

“Why?” Her voice cracked. “Why would you let him do that to me?”

Angel frowned. “I did nothing. You deserved to be punished, and I found you were much more agreeable after Ivan’s visits.”

She’d fought him the first time, and even the second. But after a while she’d learned it was useless, and the more she struggled, the worse the pain was.

“He hurt me, and you encouraged it.” Harper sucked in great lungfuls of air, easing the nausea bubbling.

Her uncle had just admitted he was the one who’d sent his own man to rape her as a punishment. To destroy her slowly with each visit. She should be screaming, but instead she felt… nothing. Empty.

Angel yanked her to her feet, her heels falling off from the movement. “It seems you need to be reminded of the consequences of your actions. Follow me.” He reached for her hand, pulling her across the room until he stopped in front of a painting of the city, the artist creating a nightscape over tower bridge with a million glittering stars. It was one of the pieces in his study that had been there for as long as she remembered, the artist unknown.

Releasing her hand, he pressed three fingers to the painting, and with a click, a part of the golden frame opened to reveal a keyhole. Without a word Angel slipped the golden key he always kept beneath his shirt inside, the bookshelf directly to the right swinging open with a slight whine.

Before she could study the secret door, she was dragged inside the small room; the walls covered in pictures, paintings, artefacts, as well as a few glass displays. Lifesize dolls sat along a shelf, their bodies wrapped in the most expensive silk, not too different to her now ruined dress. Their faces were painted to perfection, but there was something off about their skin. They were waxy. The slight sheen almost sickening, and then Harper realised why the sight of them made her feel so uneasy.

They weren’t dolls at all. They were once living women.

Harper dropped her gaze to the floor, squeezing her eyes shut.

She’d seen similar dolls at the gallery before, wrapped up carefully in their boxes, ready to be sent to their buyers. She’d never thought much about it, not realising until now that they were connected to the shipments. This was what he was doing with those women he was transporting. They were collectables. Possessions.

Angel forced her head up, his fingers pressing so hard against her jaw she thought he may break it. “Look at how lovely they are, just sitting there. Forever young and beautiful.”

Their smiles were forever sewed into place, their eyes replaced with glass ones infinitely unseeing. They were even posed in the same way Harper was taught to sit, with their backs rigid, shoulders straight, and their hands clasped in their lap.

“Is that how you want to be?”

Harper tried to shake her head, but his grip was as unmoving as concrete. “No.”

“Are you sure?” Angel jerked her head to the side, forcing her to look at another glass case. “It would be so much easier for me if you were as silent as them. As obedient.”

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