Page 31 of Kristoff

“No!” I yell and scramble up to my knees.

“Magdalena, it’s just me and it’s okay. See, just the ointment.” He holds up the tube again. “Just the medicine to help you heal.”

I shake my head, clearing away the fuzz.

“Right. Yeah. Okay,” I say and slink back into position.

I clench my eyes while he liberally applies the ointment to the welts. There has to be many of them because he curses when he sees my back.

“I will kill them all.” His vow is spoken low and in Russian. This wouldn’t have happened if he had been here. He would have stopped them. I can feel it, know it deep down. He wouldn’t have let them hurt me.

“Where were you?” I ask, swallowing over the soreness of my throat.

“On a fool’s errand,” he says with heat. “I have questions for you, but it will wait until tomorrow.” The definitive tone doesn’t suggest I push for more answers, and I’m too tired to argue. Too sore to tempt his anger. Though a sense of safety spreads through me with his touch. He’s being gentle and when I hiss from his touch on a sensitive spot he apologizes.

“Will the man I’m sold to do this? Will he do what Andrei did?” I ask softly, feeling the tears wet my lashes. I don’t want to know, but I have to ask. I can’t go around blindly anymore. The hope I held onto is gone, and I can’t be foolish enough to try to regain it.

Kristoff doesn’t answer. The cap snaps closed on the tube of medicine and he pulls the sheet over my naked ass. The ointment sticks to the sheet, but I don’t tell him. He’s giving me privacy, at least a small pinch of it, and I’m going to take it. Because I know in a few days I won’t have any.

“I’ve heard of Maksim. My sister’s mentioned him.” He’s a monster is what I want to say, but I don’t. I had called Kristoff a monster, but I had been wrong. His father, the men who hurt me, they are beasts from hell. Maksim is more like them.

“Don’t worry about that Russian fuck. He won’t get near you.” He gives me another vow. But I know he can’t keep these promises.

“Another buyer?” I ask. I’m talking about my one sale like I’m inquiring into the sale of a car.

“No.” The word is said with force, a finality.

But I guess I still haven’t learned, because I press on. “So, then Maksim will buy me, and he’ll do what these men did.” I close my eyes. “And more,” I whisper.

He wipes the hair from my face and brings his nose to touch mine. “No. No Magdalena. No one will hurt you. Never again. I promise. These men that did this - I will kill them all. Maksim will never see you, never touch you.”

His breath is hot against my skin. I take a deep breath, willing my heart to believe him. To find the speck of hope I’d been holding onto. But it’s gone. He can’t promise these things, even if he means them.

“In two days, I’ll be sold,” I say softly, leaning into him, wanting his touch to wash away the bad memories, to take away the feeling of grime those men put on me.

“No. You’re mine, Magdalena,” he says harshly. “You aren’t going anywhere, with anyone.”

His lips press to mine, stealing away my next sentence. The contradiction to his promise, the truth. I will be sold and taken away from him. But his kiss is more powerful. He’s twisting my thoughts, turning them away from the fear and pushing them to him.

“You aren’t going anywhere. I swear it to you,” he whispers in English. “I will kill anyone who touches you.” Another vow, another promise for him to break, but I can’t take away the hope from him. I don’t want him to feel this despair, this emptiness. So, I say nothing.

Because for this moment, I have him. And I don’t hate him. I lean into him and he climbs into the bed, cradling my head to his chest.

“Sleep now, Magdalena,” he orders in that overbearing way of his, but even if I wanted to disobey him, my eyes are already closing.

15

Ibring up a tray of scrambled eggs and yogurt for Magdalena the morning after my father’s men sealed their fates. No servants are allowed in my apartment now, no one here is to be trusted.

Dr. Morrow found the spray to help numb her throat, but she won’t let me give it to her. She swears it’s not so bad this morning, but I think she’s relying on the pain for a safe place to hide.

She didn’t fight me when I reapplied the ointment, or when I helped her to the bathroom. I was both pleased and worried. It seems the fight has left her completely. No matter how much I try to pull her back from it, she’s comfortable sitting in the darkness.

I showed it to her when I took her ass, and now she finds it comforting.

When I enter my bedroom, she’s standing by the windows, her arms crossed over her chest. Every angry welt is on display. They are already turning to ugly purple and blue streaks crisscrossing her shoulder blades and her ass. I see at least two across the bottom of her back and grind my teeth together. They could have damaged her kidneys with their carelessness.

“I’ve brought breakfast,” I say when she doesn’t move to look at me. Her hair is damp.

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