Page 86 of Tethered In Blood

A gloved hand gripped my shoulder—the physician. “Hold still,” he murmured, detached as if I were a mere experiment. An ointment was pressed into my lashings. It was cool at first, but it was a false relief. As the substance seeped into my wounds, the pain erupted into a firestorm spreading through my back.

Burning. Biting. Searing.

A ragged gasp escaped me, and my fingers clenched into fists against the stone, nails digging into my palms. Marcus’s breath caressed my cheek as he crouched. Too close. “What is it, Darling?” His tone was sickly sweet. “I thought you liked remedies?”

STOP.

PLEASE JUST STOP.

Tears burned in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. The walls of the past pressed in, crushing me.

I couldn’t breathe.

I couldn’t—

I shut my eyes tight.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

But my chest ached, and my throat burned. The pain, the memories and shame that penetrated my bones, was unbearable.

The physician sighed. “I’m going to start the stitches.” There was a pause, followed by the faint rustling of fabric. He was readying the needle. “Try not to let her arch her back.”

A sharp, grating sound filled the room, resonating from Oberon’s teeth.

My jaw locked tight while I fought the instinct to brace for pain.Find something else. Focus on anything else.The steady, deep rise, and fall of Oberon’s chest beneath me. The slow, deliberate rhythm of his breathing. I tried to match it, to anchor myself to it.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

It did little to keep the memories from ripping through the surface and dragging me under again.

A hand rested firmly on the small of my back. “You belong here, Darling.” My breath hitched.

No. No, no, no.

The weight of Marcus’s palm settled over my spine, fingers spreading, pressing—not painfully, not yet. Just enough. Enough to let me know he was there, that he owned this moment, that he owned—

I stiffened. My stomach twisted.

Not real. Not now.

The phantom sensation was too much, too close.

My lungs burned with the need to escape, but my body betrayed me. I couldn’t stop the slight hitch in my breath. I couldn’t stop the way my shoulders drew inward, bracing for what would come next.

Marcus always felt those shifts. And he always loved them. A slow, pleased hum. “There it is.” My pulse slammed in my throat, a frantic rhythm that did nothing to protect me. Don’t move. Don’t give him more.

His fingers traced the ridge of my spine, imitating tenderness. “You always try to run, Darling,” he murmured. “Even when you’re not moving.” His grip tightened.

MAKE IT STOP!

Something touched my arm. It was a deliberate, firm stroke, but different. Oberon’s calloused palm pressed over my elbow. “It’s okay, Dilthen Doe.” His tone was gruff, like he had to force himself to whisper. To make the words come out gently.

My chest ached.

“You’re okay,” he soothed. “I’ve got you.”

Tears spilled and soaked into his tunic. I hadn’t known I was holding my breath until my lungs burned from it. A tremor racked through me, then another. I shook so hard that my muscles throbbed from the strain.

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