Page 46 of A Debt of Darkness

Her fingers move to mine and they grab them so damn tightly it would hurt if I were human.

“I’d like to go to my room and eat some food.” She stops and her fingernails dig into me as she starts shaking. “Please.” Her body tenses and she shuts her eyes. “Please, Master, I want to leave.”

I grab her and she squeals in surprise as I lose all goddamn reason. I’m planting kisses all over her and I don’t give a single shit about how disgustingly filthy she is and she’s so damn perfect that I refuse to let the dirt diminish her. She’s mine, all fucking mine, and I intend to keep every promise I made to her.

Ivy’s delicate little hands cling to my shirt and I wrap myself around her, stroking her and praising her, telling her how goddamn proud of her I am. I’m rambling, I’m practically incoherent and I don’t give one single shit. I pick her up and carry her out of the cell with as much reverence as I can, even though it will never be enough.

My perfect, precious mate might have given me control, but I know damn well she’s the one with all the power now.

14

FREELY GIVEN

IVY

Henry’s moving fast and if there was anything left in my stomach, I’d have thrown up by now. I bounce around as he bounds up the stairs and I resort to pleading with him to slow down. The man stops dead, and my stomach drops and he almost achieves the impossible.

I retch.

“I’ll go slower,” he mumbles.

He’d better fucking do. He made a promise—several, actually—and I intend to make damn sure he keeps them. Not today. Not tomorrow. When I’m strong again. When I’ve had time to recover and I’m ready. When I can fight back and we won’t be so unevenly matched.

Henry’s carrying me to my room and I’m relieved. I never thought I’d be grateful to be back in its pale pink and cream and gold. A week in a fucking dungeon changed that.

Not that I’ve given up. Or given in.

I’m not surrendering.

I’m being smart. Conserving my energy. Picking my battles.

And I’m not falling for the man who’s a heady mix of light and dark, fire and its shadows. I’m not. I repeat my mantra over and over because it might manifest into reality.

Henry practically kicks the door down as he opens it and I swear my heart leaps at the thought he’s doing this for me. I should hate him for putting me through hell. I do. I loathe what he’s done, and I won’t forget or forgive.

But something’s shifted and it’s pointless denying it.

It’s a mistake to ignore it. It would leave a weakness unprotected and open to attack. I know it’s there and I need to guard against it. From Henry. From my own goddamn stupidity too.

Henry lowers me onto the sofa and the dirt caked onto me marks its expensive cream fabric. He doesn’t care and he’s careful, adjusting me like I’m a porcelain vase at risk of irrevocably shattering.

“Tell me where it hurts,” he says, grabbing cushions as he tries to make me comfortable.

“Everywhere.”

His brows dip and his jaw clenches. I wonder if he expected it to go this far. I assume he thought I’d crumble in a day, two at the most. Henry underestimated me and it was a dangerous mistake. For both of us, from the way he’s behaving.

“Stay here,” he says, racing away before I can stop him.

My treacherous heart aches, hurt he’s abandoned me so quickly. It wants him close and needs the comfort he provides. It’s lying to me, trying to fool me into thinking it can’t keep going without him. The accursed thing leaps when Henryreturns and the asshole notices.

“I needed to arrange food,” he says, slowing his approach. He walks behind me and into the bathroom, emerging with a damp cloth. “I’ll have the doctor visit tomorrow.”

“I don’t need…”

He tsks and I stiffen. “Let me take care of you.”

I nod and he brings the flannel to my face, washing away some of the dirt caked on my skin. Henry’s patient, removing the dirt without hurting me and after the third trip to the bathroom to clean the flannel, I think about getting up.

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