Page 73 of Scarred
You’re okay. You stopped him. You’re strong.
I stand back up on shaky legs, making my way into the washroom, my body jumping with every single creak of noise; my nerves nothing but frayed edges unraveling at the seam.
He didn’t get far, yet somehow, I still feel like he stripped something of mine away.
My dagger trembles in my hand as I reach out and turn on the faucet, running the blade beneath the water to wash away the small drops of blood, hoping that maybe by doing so, it will also cleanse the scratches he’s caused on my soul.
Because while he didn’t take my innocence, he took something far worse.
My dignity.
And I’m not sure how to gain it back.
CHAPTER31
Tristan
Ifollow them.
Of courseI follow. How could I not?
But by the time I find them, it’s already too late, and I’m greeted with the sight of Claudius’s filthy hands ripping at her dress, and his disgusting hips pressing into hers. My logic flies out the window, chest tightening until my lungs shrivel; charred from the blaze of fury racing through my insides.
I can’t move.
I can’t hear.
I can’t speak.
I can only think one thing.
Mine.
The word shakes through me like an earthquake, cracking my foundation and all the defenses I’ve built up with it, creating a chasm so deep there’s no way to dig myself out.
Lady Beatreaux—Sara—is mine.
I see our future laid out before us clear as day; me sitting on the throne and her at my side. Because why not? Whyshouldn’tshe be at my side?
“Fucking dress.”
Claudius’s mumble snaps me out of my frozen state, and I move forward, my sole focus on reaching him and murdering him; bathing in his blood while I stake my claim on her body and soul.
My limbs tremble from the violence brimming inside me, its talons scratching beneath the surface of my skin until it cracks and bleeds.
How dare he touch something that belongs to me.
She shifts then, and the energy changes as she holds a blade to Claudius’s throat, and my heart stutters, my cock growing stiff when passionate words pass her pretty little lips, threatening to kill a man where he stands.
I make it two steps before I freeze again, watching thisfierce, incredible woman who can twist and turn into whatever she needs to survive, take care of the threat herself. A sudden shot of arousal mixes in with the anger, creating a sensation I’ve never felt.
It’s not an unwelcome feeling. Not anymore.
With acceptance comes clarity.
My little doe is no doe at all.
She’s a hunter, pretending that she’s prey.
