Page 40 of Anorthic Anarchy

And I lose it. The pain becomes unbearable when I feel my heart constrict with agony. Sobs wreck my chest as everything I had hoped for is crushed before me. I don’t think I’ve ever cried so hard, and I wail into the night like a banshee of despair.

Somewhere in my huffing and shaking, my body lifts off the ground and into the master’s arms. I grip his strong neck on one side and push my face into the other as I weep all of my sorrows into his skin. By the time we make it back to the lawn, the sways of his steps lull me into a soothed trance. My anguished cries soften into sniffles.

Everything is dark inside my mind, and I can’t see any way out of it.

Dull numbness coats my emotions.

Sev meets us at the back door. “Sir, do you need help?” He runs down the steps toward us and opens his arms for me, but the master turns slightly away from him.

“No! I’ve got her. Reform the line that was destroyed and tell Dilan to prepare a hot bath in my tub. Quickly.”

I barely heed the words, feeling as if my head is filled with cotton. When we reach his room, the master sits me on his bed and slips my dress up my hips.

I’m not in my body anymore. It’s like watching everything happen to someone else. Maybe he’s going to use my hole again. It doesn’t even matter anymore. I’m just a womb now anyway.

“Lift your arms,” he commands, and I obey. After he pulls off my wet clothes, he shirks his own pants and picks me up. My knees lay over his strong forearm.

“The bath is almost ready, sir. What happened?” Dilan rushes out from the bathroom where he carries me. As carefully as he can, he places me in the tub, but his muscles shake with exhaustion as he does so. The clawfoot porcelain bath is large, and the water helps to bring me some comfort.

“I’ll explain in the morning. She’s hurt, so I need to tend to her.”

Dilan stands in the doorway with a curious look on her face. “Is that all, then, sir?” Her eyebrow arches high as she asks her question, but master ignores her, and she shuts the door softly when she leaves.

I realize I’m not just trembling from my whimpers, but from the cold as well. As the steam seeps into my pores, I can think more clearly. The master gets in behind me as I bring my knees up to my chest.

“Lie back on me.”

I do as he says, willing him to finish with me quickly. But he doesn’t touch me. Not in that way. But in all the ways I wanted him to the day he hung me on the cross.

His large palms caress my back and shoulders as he massages soap into my skin.

“Keep your foot under the water. I’ll wrap it once we’re finished. Astrid?”

I nod in acknowledgement of his words, but can’t even open my mouth to give him the respect he wants.

Part of me fears his wrath will come down on me. But mostly, I just don’t care.

He continues to rub me all over with his hands, the motions making me almost fall asleep on his chest. His lips tickle my ear as he whispers, “Why did you run?”

Closing my eyes, I consider not saying anything, but force my voice out until it rings on the tiles that coat the walls surrounding us. “Because I’m just a womb.”

The movement of his fingers pauses for a long moment, then resumes with greater vigor. In my scalp, my neck, my breasts, but not sexually. Clinical and careful. Then he places a tiny kiss on the top of my freshly shampooed head. It’s odd how delicate it is. Something I wouldn’t expect from such a brutal force.

After he cleans himself, he slips out of the tub and grabs two towels. He dries off his magnificent body slowly, then wraps one around his waist and commands me. “Stand.”

Weakly, I get up, and he rubs me down with a soft terry cloth, then wraps me in it and lifts me into his arms. I think he’ll take me into the room next to his, but he places me on his bed. In a flash, he moves to a dresser to produce one of his own white T-shirts and pulls it over my head. As if I’m a rag doll, I can’t even get my arms to cooperate, and he dresses me.

Then, he grabs a long piece of stretchable fabric from another drawer. Kneeling before me, his warm hands caress my calf, then wrap the band around my leg and foot. He pats it and gazes up at me with a question on his brow.

“Better?”

Biting my lip, I nod slightly. The pain is less but, honestly, I can barely feel a thing.

“Get under the blankets.”

I push back and slide in robotically. Lying on my stomach, I suspect he’ll now shove inside me. Or maybe thrust inside my mouth.

Instead, he lies beside me and stares at the ceiling. My mind is blank, but I watch him. See his chest rise and fall, the intricatetattoos dancing with every breath. Eventually, he turns his head to stare back at me, those piercing gray eyes narrowing as he does.

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