Page 61 of Kidnapped By the Beast
Alexandra whimpered, her wide eyes filled with tears as she looked up at him. The sight drove the Rage harder, hotter. Then his gaze fell to her waist and the place between her legs.
What he saw nearly unhinged him completely.
An iron belt…a thick metal dildo forcing her open, its cruel weight scraping her soft flesh. His little one had been tortured…displayed…filled with agony while the crowd jeered! This was an unforgivable offense—a killing offense and right then, Brandt wanted nothing more than to kill the person who had hurt his Alexandra.
“Who did this to you?” His voice dropped to a guttural snarl, animalistic and raw. He bent low, his hands trembling as he wrapped them around the iron band. With a grunt, he tore the loop apart, the metal screaming as it gave way. He ripped the belt off her body like paper, flinging it across the square.
Then he reached for the thick shaft embedded inside her. He gripped the bottom, where it protruded from her soft pussy.
“I’ll take this out, little one,” he swore. “Then I’m going to fucking kill the bastard that put it in you. I’ll?—”
“No, please!”
Her cry of pain split the air as he tugged.
The sound cut through him like a blade and Brandt froze, horror slamming into him even through the bloody haze of Rage.
Alexandra was crying—sobbing as though a damn inside her had broken. The sobs shook her curvy body, her voice high and broken.
“Please,” she wept, her face crumpling as tears streamed down her cheeks. “It hurts too much, Brandt. I just want to go home! Please!”
Something inside him shifted.
The Rage still roared—still begged for blood—but another part of him, a deeper, older, stronger part, answered.
No vengeance—not now. She doesn’t need a killer—she needs someone to heal and comfort her. She needs you.
Brandt forced air into his lungs, each breath like swallowing fire. He clenched his fists, shaking with the effort to hold back the need to destroy.
Slowly, painfully, he mastered the Rage. The red haze thinned, though his eyes still burned with its glow.
Alexandra needed care—not violence. He could avenge her later. Right now, he had to comfort her.
“It’s all right now, baby,” he heard himself saying. “I won’t let anyone else hurt you—everything is all right.”
He gathered her into his arms, lifting her carefully from the broken stocks. She was trembling, her skin damp with sweat and tears. He cradled her against his bare chest, being careful not to jostle her too much.
Her scent—fear, pain, and the faint sweetness of nectar—clung to him, calling to the Rage, but he held it down with iron will. Later for that. For now, he had to get her out of here.
What was left of the crowd parted at once, their whispers hushed, their four-eyed gazes averted as he carried her down the dais and through the public square. None of them dared meet his eyes. Even in their ignorance, they recognized the danger that still radiated from him. The heat of his Rage and the promise of death, clung to him like some violent perfume.
Step by step, he carried her through the market, his boots silent on the moss-carpeted bridges, her weight nothing to his strength.
Mine to protect. Mine to care for. Goddess forgive me, I failed her once. I won’t again, he swore to himself.
At last, he reached their rooms. He shouldered the curtain of flowering vines aside and strode inside. Gently—so gently, though his hands still trembled—he laid Alexandra on his own moss-padded bed.
The curvy little human curled onto her side, weeping softly, her face pressed into the blue leaf sheets.
Brandt felt his heart fist in his chest. He stood over her, chest heaving, his eyes still hot and red with the remnants of Rage. His fists were clenched at his sides and his jaw was tight.
Poor little human! How could they treat her like that? How dare they hurt her, those fuckers?
He had never wanted to kill so badly…but he had also never wanted to comfort so much.
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