Page 12 of Blade's Princess

I stay still. His touch is surprisingly gentle for hands so large and rough. I notice a criss-cross of scars running over his knuckles.

"How often do you endure beatings like this?" he asks, voice carefully neutral as he works.

I look down at my lap, shame washing over me. Why am I embarrassed? I'm the victim, not the perpetrator. Yet years of being told I deserved every punishment have left their mark as surely as Aunt Margaret's hands.

"Not... not every day," I finally answer. "Usually just when I mess up or don't finish my chores on time."

His jaw tightens, a muscle jumping beneath the stubble. “How exactly did youmess up?”

“Um…she found smudged fingerprints on the dining room windows I'd cleaned..." I swallow hard. "My cousins do that sometimes. Leave fingerprints or spills right after I've cleaned. They think it's funny to watch me get punished."

His nostrils flare, but his hands remain gentle as he cleans a small cut near my eyebrow. When he finishes, he very gently lifts the corner of the shirt I’m wearing to view the bruises underneath.

“Fuck,” he emits on a growled exhale. “What about this? How did youmess upto earn this?”

“That’s from a couple days ago. She was angry that I disappeared from the fundraiser," I admit quietly. "And later that night when she saw me with your shirt..." I trail off, remembering her fury when she spotted Blade's thermal poking out from under my pillow where I tried to hide it.

"The thermal was the last straw?"

I nod. "She said I was—" the words stick in my throat, still painful to repeat "—an ungrateful hussy who'd flirt with any man and steal anything not nailed down. Then she got out the baseball bat.”

"Jesus, Sophie," Blade breathes.

I nod. "She threw me out of the house tonight, saying I didn’t deserve to sleep under her roof. That's why I was sleeping in my car."

"She do that often? Make you sleep outside?" His voice is dangerously calm, a stark contrast to the rage building in his eyes.

I swallow hard before nodding. "She'll expect me to be there in the morning, though. In time to start my daily chores. I...I don't know what will happen if I don't show."

Blade's expression darkens to something truly frightening. "Are there other ways she punishes you? Besides hitting."

I look away, shame burning through me again. "Sometimes it's no meals for a day or two. Sometimes extra chores."

His gruff voice grows somehow gentler as he asks, "Is there a reason you don't leave, or report her to the police? How old are you?”

I take a shaky breath. "Sometimes..." My voice falters. "She locks Max in his crate. Without food. Without water." The memory makes my chest ache worse than my injuries. "Because she knows that hurts me more than anything she could do to me directly." Tears well up again, spilling over before I can stop them. "That's why I’ve never left. Because I'm afraid she'll use her baseball bat on him and he's such a sweet dog. He doesn't deserve to suffer because of me."

Blade's hand comes up to cradle my cheek, his thumb gently wiping away a tear. The gesture is so tender it nearly breaks me.

"I'll get him out," he says with absolute certainty.

"I believe you," I whisper, and I realize with surprise that I do. Somehow, I trust this man I barely know.

He continues tending my wounds in silence for a few minutes, his touch careful and clinical. When he examines my ribs, he frowns deeply.

"These need wrapping," he says. "They might be broken. You should see a doctor in case there’s any internal?—”

"No, please!” The thought of a hospital—of questions, of authorities—makes me stiffen. “I'll be fine."

He studies my face for a long moment, then nods reluctantly. "I can wrap them, but if the pain gets worse, we're going to a doc. Non-negotiable."

I agree, relief washing through me. He helps me lift the edge of the t-shirt just enough to expose my ribcage, his movements clinical and respectful as he wraps a bandage firmly around my torso. Each brush of his fingers against my skin sends little sparks of awareness through me, a sensation I've never experienced before.

"You were good with those strays," he comments as he secures the bandage. "In the alley at the fundraiser."

A smile tugs at my lips despite the pain. "I love animals. They don't judge. They don't hurt you if you're kind to them."

"Unlike people," he says, not as a question.

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