Page 113 of Break Her Heart
He traced a finger slowly over my neck. “Augustus’s mark is still there,” he murmured, a hint of curiosity in his tone, “and I am hoping that means I will not experience any of the effects.”
I wanted to fight, to spit in his face, but I could feel the walls closing in. All I could do was try not to show him how much it would destroy me.
“Benedict,” he called over his shoulder. “I am not exactly sure if I have full control over Augustus’s tendencies and cravings yet, so I may need you to pull me off of her.”
He gripped the back of my head suddenly, fingers tangling painfully in my hair and yanking until my scalp screamed. The shock of it forced a gasp from my throat, sharp and unbidden, and he seemed to savor the sound before his lips curled into that cold smile again. “I am going to bite you now.”
He moved fast, too fast, slamming me back against the stone. His mouth was on my neck before I could twist away. The bite came without warning, teeth driving into flesh with no care, no restraint. It wasn’t like before. There was no warmth. No gentleness. No flicker of connection.
With August, I had felt consumed—but safe. Claimed. Desired.
But this—this was desecration.
Pain ripped through my shoulder, radiating down my spine. My body screamed to get away, to fight, but he was too strong. I pushed at him, clawed at his chest with my gloved hands, but he only drank deeper, greedier.
It was August’s mouth, but it wasn’t him.
It was Carrow. Using what he’d stolen. Enjoying the horror of it.
Tears burned my eyes. Not from pain. But from grief.
“Carrow,” Benedict said, but Carrow ignored him as I squirmed under his grip.
My eyelids grew heavy, the room tilting as exhaustion crept in, my body fighting to stay awake even as every heartbeat made me weaker.
“Carrow!” Benedict barked again, and in that haze, he ripped him off me.
Carrow fell back with a dark, breathless laugh and wiped his mouth. I slumped against the wall, breath tearing in and out of me in shallow, desperate pulls, every muscle trembling from the drain. “I do not know how Augustus managed to keep control with you. That is going to take some practice.”
He rose to his feet in one fluid motion, tapping Benedict sharply on the shoulder as he passed. Benedict flinched, looking horrified, but kept his eyes on me. “Bring her some food to get her strength up. She is needed in the great room in a few hours.”
38
Bronwen
I rested my hand on the growing curve of my belly. Everyone talked around me, mostly ignoring me until they asked small questions as if it were the most normal thing in the world for me to be here with Carrow inhabiting the body of the man I loved most.
The routine was set now. During the day, I was locked in that same cold, damp room Carrow had thrown me into all those months ago. But as soon as the moon rose, the servants would come. They would bathe me in silence, dress me like a doll in the gown that had been chosen for that night, then lead me to dinner.
Lavina, Simon, and Benedict would already be waiting, seated as though nothing had changed. They barely acknowledged my presence unless it suited them. I wasn’t a prisoner. I was a spectacle. A living display of Carrow’s control.
After dinner, we descended to the great room, where laughter and music filled the air. Vampires danced and drank and played their games beneath the flickering candlelight. I sat beside Carrow—beside August’s body—and tried to survive the night.
Lavina took to draping herself across him whenever she could, fawning like a dutiful daughter, performing loyalty while reveling in the fact that her brother was gone. I watched her hands touch him, heard her laugh too loudly at his jokes, and imagined killing her each night.
Some evenings, I let my mind wander, let myself pretend it was still August beside me. That his hand on mine meant something. That the heat in his gaze was for me—not for what I carried.
But it never lasted long.
When the sun threatened the edge of the sky, the illusion shattered completely. Carrow would lead me back to his chambers like I was his prize. He would bite a new place each time—never enough to kill me, but enough to bring me close. He would touch me in ways I wished I could erase from my memory. I would squeeze my eyes shut and scream silently for Adar, praying for a miracle. It was silly to believe that there was a small piece of me tethered to my brother, but it was the only hope I held on to.
I still wore the gloves. At that point, I thought my skin might have fused to them and they’d never come off. No one left me alone with so much as a fork. But I was too tired, too heavy, too hollow to do much damage even if they had.
Some nights, I wondered if I would even survive the birth.
Carrow said nothing of what would happen after. But I knew. I could feel it in his gaze, in the way he watched me now—not as a person, but as a vessel. I would give him what he wanted, and then he would decide what I was worth.
Maybe he would keep me—to breed more children. More vessels. Maybe he would let Lavina drain me for sport. Maybe he’d smile as he ordered someone else to carve me open.
