Page 11 of The Demon's Little Girl
Horror crashes over me as I realize he's right. The staff keeps their heads down and their mouths shut because survival depends on invisibility. None of them will risk their own safety to help me, and even if they wanted to, what could they do against someone of Xharn's status and power?
"Rovak—"
"Isn't here." His hand moves lower, fingertips skimming along my collarbone with possessive familiarity that makes my stomach heave. "Won't be back for hours. Just you and me, sweetheart."
I try to twist away again, using every ounce of strength in my body, but he just laughs at my struggles. If anything, my resistance seems to excite him, golden eyes lighting up with sick pleasure at my fear.
"That's it," he purrs, pressing closer until I can feel the heat radiating from his massive frame. "Fight a little. Makes it more interesting."
His hand slides lower still, and the cloth falls forgotten from my nerveless fingers as true panic sets in. This can't be happening. Not here, not now, not when I've been so careful to avoid exactly this situation for months.
But careful doesn't matter when you're trapped by someone who's spent that same time planning, watching, waiting for the perfect opportunity to corner you alone.
"Such a pretty thing," he murmurs, voice thick with anticipation that makes my skin crawl. "Let's see what Rovak's been keeping all to himself."
5
LIORA
The cold stone floor presses against my cheek as I lie curled in on myself, every muscle in my body aching with a pain that goes far deeper than physical. My clothes hang loose and disheveled, fabric twisted in ways that feel wrong against my skin, but at least they're still intact. Small mercies in a world that just proved it has none.
Above me, Xharn adjusts his belt with the casual precision of someone completing a routine task. The sound of metal against leather makes my stomach lurch, bile rising in my throat as I bite down hard on my lower lip to keep from retching. The metallic taste of blood mingles with the nausea, but it's better than the alternative sounds that want to escape.
I won't give him the satisfaction of hearing me break completely.
"Well." His voice carries that same smooth satisfaction it always does, but now there's a new note of smug completion that makes my skin crawl with fresh revulsion. "That was fun."
I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, willing myself to disappear into the floor, to become nothing more than dust and shadow that he can't touch anymore. But my body refuses to cooperate,every nerve ending screaming with the memory of his hands, his weight, his breath against my neck as he whispered things that will poison my dreams for years to come.
He smooths his hair back into its perfect arrangement, checking his reflection in the polished surface of a nearby decorative vase. Vanity even now, as if what just happened was nothing more than a minor interruption in his day.
But then he pauses, golden eyes finding me again with the predatory focus of someone who isn't quite finished playing with his prey.
"Oh, one more thing." His tone shifts to something almost conversational, which somehow makes it infinitely worse. "You might want to keep this between us."
I don't respond, can't respond, but he continues anyway with the confidence of someone who knows he has a captive audience.
"Rovak's quite particular about honor, you know. Has very specific ideas about purity and worth." He crouches down, bringing himself closer to my level, and I have to fight not to scramble away like a wounded animal. "He won't want used goods cluttering up his household."
The words hit like physical blows, each one carefully chosen to inflict maximum damage. But worse than the cruelty is the ring of truth in them, the way they slot perfectly into fears I've carried for years without fully acknowledging them.
"In fact," Xharn continues, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "I'd say finding out you're ruined would be grounds for immediate dismissal. Can't have damaged servants reflecting poorly on the estate, can we?"
My breath comes in short, sharp gasps that I try to muffle against my arm. He's right. Of course he's right. Whatever fragile protection I've built for myself here, whatever small kindness Rovak has shown me over the years, it's all builton the assumption that I'm worthy of it. That I haven't been contaminated by something like this.
"He might even kill you." The casual way he delivers this possibility makes it sound inevitable rather than merely probable. "Honor demands it, after all. Can't have word getting around that his household harbors spoiled goods."
I see it with horrible clarity—the look of disgust that would cross Rovak's face when he learned what happened. Not disgust at Xharn for what he did, but at me for allowing it to happen. For failing to protect what wasn't really mine to begin with.
"Smart girl." Xharn's satisfied chuckle tells me my horror is written clearly across my features. "I knew you'd understand. We'll keep this as our little secret."
He stands again, brushing imaginary dust from his perfectly pressed clothes, and heads for the door with the easy stride of someone whose day has gone exactly according to plan.
"Until next time," he says over his shoulder, and the promise in those words nearly breaks what's left of my composure.
The door closes behind him with a soft click that somehow sounds louder than a slam would have. I'm alone again, but the silence feels different now—heavier, contaminated with echoes of his voice and the lingering scent of bloodstone and ash that makes my stomach heave anew.
I don't know how long I lie there on the cold floor, counting the stones in the pattern beneath my cheek and trying to remember how to breathe normally. Time moves strangely when you're trying not to exist, minutes stretching into hours or maybe just seconds that feel eternal.
