Page 7 of Redemption

“Megan Ragnell,” I reply and spin around in a circle when the dance starts. It’s an old-fashioned Quadrille.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Ragnell.”

“And you, sir.”

“I’ve not seen you at the dances before?”

“This is my first season in society.”

“Then I’m glad I chose tonight to attend.”

The gentleman pulls my hand up to his lips and presses a soft, chaste kiss to it before we continue with the dance.

He fills my dance card for the rest of the evening, and by the end of the evening, we are making plans with my family for a visit, leading to a potential engagement. That is how true romance is done: with decorum and respect. Not with a man taking what isn’t his.

I jolt out of my dream without experiencing the usual amount of pain or disgust…something is different. The room is dark and quiet. I reach between my legs and find only my blood—there’s none of the sticky fluid M normally leaves me covered in. He didn’t finish? I’m confused.

“Master?” I test the word on my lips before speaking it into the silent room. It comes out like a whispered scream. I reach over and turn my light on. It’s dim, but it gives me a little brightness. I look down at my body and see the bite marks covering my breasts, stomach, and thighs. He must have continued while I was unconscious, but why didn’t he finish? “Master?” I question again, but this time a little louder. I pick the lamp up and shine it around the room. His clothes are gone, and it’s only then I realize I’m alone in the room.

Noises come from outside the door: gunshots, grunting, and heavy boots stomping up and down the corridor. In my panic, I drop the lamp and it breaks, extinguishing my light. Then there’s a loud thump on the door, and I scramble up to the headboard of the bed and wrap my arms around my legs in a futile attempt to protect myself. My body shakes with fear, and my teeth begin to chatter together.

Two more loud thuds against the door resonate through the room before it splinters and collapses from whatever force is being exerted on the other side.

My eyes adjust to the light now shining into the room, and the first person I’ve seen in two years, except for M, stands in the doorway. His eyes are aflame with anger as he steps farther into the room. I know I should run and try to escape, but I’m captivated by his presence, especially the spider web tattoo I can clearly see adorning his arm.

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