Page 55 of The Pureblood Princess
“Shut up,” Konrád snaps, freeing the second button on his trousers and shimmying them down. He’s already aroused, ready to take that from her which she’d never freely give, and now he’s reaching for the hem of her dress. “I warned you.”
“No!” Nadia screams, finally finding her voice. “Get off of me!”
She thrashes violently, momentarily distracting Konrád as he refocuses his efforts on holding her still. When his gaze lifts to her hands, the anger and hunger vanish and are replaced by... fear?
Using this diversion, she brings her knee up hard, striking him right between the legs.
He gasps, his hand immediately loosening about her wrists. She yanks one hand free and strikes him across the face. Konrád recoils and collapses onto the floor, groaning in pain. Nadia manages to wiggle out from under him, then scrambles to her feet, her gown spattered with fresh blood, her head pounding with wave after wave of pain.
Pushing through the anguish, she dashes for the door.
It takes her two tries to grasp the handle, given the trembling of her hands. But then she’s on the other side, in the hallway with three other doors. There’s no time to deliberate; she rushes to the nearest door and yanks on the handle, but it’s locked. The second door reveals a smoking room with linens draped across most of the furniture. With a hopeful breath, she hurries to the third door, knowing Konrád will soon be after her.
It opens easily, and a wide moonlit hall is on the other side. She steps into the moonlight and casts her gaze quickly about, gathering that she’s on the second floor of the manor. The main entrance is there, one floor down, her escape from this horror.
Her slippered feet are muffled by the carpet underfoot as she hurries down the open hall and begins to descend the stairs, the demi-train of her gown trailing behind her. Down and down she goes, and she focuses hard so as not to miss a step and fall.
Finally, her feet hit the tiled foyer. Somewhere behind her, Konrád’s cry of rage echoes in the halls. The door is right there, just waiting for her.
Despite her aching head and exhausted body, she sprints for it, heart racing in her chest.
But someone else gets to her first.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“No!” Nadia screams, flailing torid her arm of the strong hand gripping it like a vise. “Let me go!”
She whirls to strike her captor in the face, but he catches her wrist and holds her firm.
Marek stands there, his blue eyes like ice in the silver moonlight streaming into the foyer. She holds her breath, fear and adrenaline coursing through her veins. But he makes no move to harm her; instead, his gaze shifts from her face to the wrist he holds in his grasp, and so too does Nadia’s.
She gasps.
The shadows that encased her hand when she awoke impaled to the nightstand are back, but now they reach her elbows like long formal gloves. They’re deep and dark, and even as she stares, mouth slightly agape, she can’t seem to find her fingers; the darkness is too encompassing, too complete. She tries to wiggle her fingers, but all she feels iscold.
“L-Lord Kazamir,” Nadia stammers, her voice trembling. “Please, you have to let me leave this place. Konrád... He tried to...” Tears stream down her face, and she finds herself unable to finish her sentence.
“I know.” His voice is low, unsurprised. “I heard your scream and was on my way to you.”
Even as she cries, his gaze remains fixed to her hand, or lack thereof. The shadows writhe, climbing higher as Nadia trembles, her knees about to give out beneath her thin dress. She gives one final tug, trying hopelessly to rid herself of Marek’s hold, and her wrist comes free.
She stumbles back a step, but Marek’s other hand still has a firm hold on her upper arm, where the shadows have not yet traveled. Marek looks down at his hand curiously, then shifts his gaze to Nadia.
“So, it’s true . . .”
Something changes in his eyes, and he seems to appraise Nadia through a new lens.
“What’s true?” she asks, her voice small. Tears drip over her lips, and her tongue darts out to wipe them away, their saltiness clinging to her tongue.
Nadia again looks down, her heart pinching as she finds herself unable to locate her hand and wrist, unable to feel her skin stretching over her bones. It’s as if her very being has vanished into frigid shadow.
“Wh-what is this?” she whispers.
On the second floor, Konrád emerges from the doorway. His blond hair is tousled, his eyes like daggers cutting straight through the dim light.
Seeming to sense his younger brother on the balcony, Marek yanks Nadia closer.
“Tell no one of this,” he whispers, and they both look down at the blackness encasing her hands and forearms.
