Page 68 of Tales of a Monstrous Heart
‘How bold.’ His thin lips curled in disgust. ‘I see Blackthorn’s loosened your leash.’
I bristled, my grip on the bookcase behind me tightening as my fingers started to burn in warning. ‘I don’t know who you are.’
‘Oh, but I know you,’ he mused bitterly, leering at me. ‘Master Hale’s little treasure. How sick the old bastard has become with his longing.’
Revulsion rolled through me, my hands squeezing into fists at my side. Then I noticed the pristine cut of his dark clothes, seemingly like a council uniform but one I didn’t recognise.
‘I’ll summon Lord Blackthorn and he can deal with you himself.’ I smiled tightly.
‘I wish you would,pet.’ A cruel smile twisted his face into something not quite human.
Bastard.I tried to move past him as I bit my tongue against a string of curses but he stepped closer, forcing me to back into the shelves. That unease sharpened in my chest. I’d been cornered by enough men to know their intent and no matter how I wished my rage to build, only a small helpless fear manifested in its stead.
My magic burned through my veins in response, painful in its desire to be free. The bells began to ring weakly next to us – not from the books, but because the house willed it.
Relief flared through me that someone would hear them. Hopefully Alma with claws and teeth.
Then that hope was smothered as the vile stranger threw out his hand, some invisible summoning slice cutting through every string until those bells clattered uselessly on the ground.
The house let out a horrid groan as if pained by the spellcasting.
‘I didn’t permit you to leave.’ He assessed me as if I was some form of parasitic creature.
His eyes raked over me with a familiarity that made my skin crawl. A sickness filled my throat, and I wanted nothing more than to vanish.
‘However, I’m certain Emrys is already on his way here.’ He inclined his head, dark eyes practically gleaming. ‘He has a special sense for danger. Haven’t you noticed?’
A horrid fear moved through me at his familiarity with Emrys’s name. Why did Emrys know this man? Why was he here?
‘Though … I suppose you’ve probably been busy with otherthings.’ There was a short, disgusted laugh to finish.
Pig.My magic was almost molten now, as sweat gathered on my palms. Begging me to let it go.
I tried to charge past him, not caring what title he might have held. He moved fast, faster than my weary limbs could account for. His hand wrapped around my wrist, pain seared through my flesh, right to my bones. Igniting them with agony.
My knees almost buckled, a horrid desperate cry escaping me as I found myself backed against the bookcase, his hips pressing sharply into my own.
‘Careful.’ His tongue clicked in disapproval. ‘I’ve heard worrying tales of you, our rebellious little troll.’
My breath was too short. Too desperate. That pain clawing at my skin, making me arch closer to him against my will. Almost begging for it to stop.
Pain I’d felt only once before. At the hands of Daunton.
Beg, little troll.
‘Do you know what happens when forsaken iron enters the blood?’ His grip tightened, and I swallowed my scream, tears filling my eyes as I glanced down to see the familiar horrid iron forming rings on his fingers. Forsaken iron leaving merciless red welts on my skin.
With the moment of distraction, he took hold of the loose hair at the nape of my neck. The smallest mercy was that it was with his other gloved hand, shifting my head to see me better. The brutality of his grip almost pulling the hair from my scalp.
His eyes dipped to my trembling lips and lower. He leant closer, pressing that pain further into my flesh. Tears slipped from my eyes and down my cheeks. That made him smile. A smile I’d seen a hundred times before.
Beg, came hissed in my memory, my magic surging painfully in my veins, mixing with the agony of that iron.
‘What big ears you have.’ His breath brushed my cheek, the scent of him burning my nose with its intensity. Reminding me vividly of saints’ herb, the bitterness of it. How Master Daunton would wear it, and the vulgar nature of his touch.
Beg. Little troll.
In a moment, that agony took me back. So small and weak. Kneeling at a saints’ altar, that horrid metal burning around my neck as he forced me to wear it. Waiting until I could bear it no more, until I hit the cold stone so his torment could begin. Blows swift and cruel. Amusement in his twisted sneer.
