Page 38 of True Bastard
Closing the front door, I trudged upstairs, bone-tired, my body aching in places that weren’t humanly possible as I headed for my bedroom. Snagging the candle I had on my dresser and the box of matches beside it, I quickly lit it and entered my bathroom. After three steaming hot showers, I was now soaking in a tub filled with Epsom salts. Leaning my head back against the rim of the tub, I tried to forget the last few weeks of my life.
Steam curled around me, softening the harsh lines of memory, but not erasing them. I scrubbed at my skin with trembling hands, as if I could wash away the filth clinging to my soul, but the bruises blooming beneath the surface were beyond the reach of hot water. The silence of my house felt both alien and comforting— a fragile bubble where, for once, I was in control of what happened next. I let my eyes drift shut, the flicker of candlelight painting the walls with shadows, and I tried to focus on the simple rhythm of my breath, anchoring myself to the present, refusing to let the darkness of the past reclaim me.
The lingering scent of sandalwood and mint, once intoxicating, now clung to me like an unwelcome shroud, a constant reminder of Firestride’s dominance. But as the water cooled, a different kind of clarity began to emerge, one born not of surrender, but of a hard-won, defiant resolve. He had thought he could break me, mold me into his obedient little toy. He had underestimated the fire that burned within, the same fire he claimed to admire. The thought of his smug satisfaction, his cruel amusement at my degradation, fueled a rage that simmered beneath the surface, a dangerous undercurrent that promised a reckoning. I would not be his. Not his collateral, not his prize, not his broken plaything.
As I dried myself, the soft terrycloth a stark contrast to the satin sheets I’d endured, I caught my reflection in the cracked mirror. Bruises bloomed on my skin like dark petals, a testament to the violence I’d suffered. But beneath them, my eyes held a new, steely resolve. They weren’t the eyes of a victim anymore, but of a survivor. The whispers of my past, the suffocating weight of being property, had been amplified by Firestride’s claims, but they had also forged something new within me: an unshakeable will to be free.
This time, I wouldn’t just run.
I would fight.
Slipping into my own clothes, the warm soft cotton a welcome comfort, I walked over to my bed and climbed under the sheets and, for the first time in weeks, I prayed I could sleep without any nightmares.
As I lay there, the candlelight casting dancing shadows on the walls, a cold, hard resolve settled in my gut. Firestride thought he could break me, that his brutal games and the vile actions of his brothers would crush my spirit. He was wrong. The fire he’d claimed to admire hadn’t been extinguished; it had merely been banked, waiting for the right moment to reignite. He hadunderestimated me, and that, I knew with unwavering certainty, would be his undoing.
I was Kyllian Ward, and I would fight for my freedom with every last ounce of strength I possessed.
His scent still clung to me, a phantom reminder of his dominance, but now, it fueled a different kind of fire. It was the scent of his arrogance, his misplaced confidence. He had made his move, and in his pursuit of Jessup and his own twisted sense of power, he had forged something within me that he could never break: a fierce, unyielding will to survive, and to reclaim what was mine.
?My past had been a tapestry of abuse, but my future would be woven with threads of defiance, and he, Firestride, would be the first to learn the cost of underestimating the woman he thought he had conquered.
The sun shone brightly across my face as the sound of someone banging loudly on my front door woke me up. Groaning, I rolled over in bed and looked at the ceiling and sighed. “You couldn’t give me one day, could you?”
As the loud banging persisted, I grumbled, throwing back the covers and sleepily trudging downstairs to unlock my front door. Flinging it open, I wanted to curse to hell and back as I stared blankly into the eyes of my annoying neighbor, Mrs. Butler, and her yappy dog, Mr. Kibbles.
“Kyllian Ward, I need to talk with you, young lady.”
Sighing, I muttered, “Good morning to you too, Mrs. Butler.”
“It would be a good morning if I wasn’t woken up by someone traipsing around my property looking for you. I told you the company you keep was bad news, but you never listened, andnow your gentlemen callers are banging on my door.” Mrs. Butler’s shrill voice, a familiar soundtrack to my misery, sliced through the morning air.
“Looking for me?” I repeated, my voice laced with a weariness that I hoped masked the tremor of fear in my gut. The thought of Firestride, of any of them, showing up at my door sent a fresh wave of ice through my veins.
Her beady eyes narrowed, Mr. Kibbles yapping furiously in her arms as if sensing my unease. “Yes, you! That motorcycle man. He was banging on my door every morning for days, asking about you. Said he needed to talk. All leather and tattoos. The kind of man who gives a decent woman nightmares.” She clutched her yapping dog tighter, her gaze sweeping over me with a disdain that was both practiced and infuriating. “Honestly, Kyllian, when are you going to get some real company? Some respectable men who don’t make such a racket at dawn?”
My heart hammered against my ribs.
Firestride. He was here. The “lesson” Morpheus had planned, the twisted display of power—it was still looming, a dark cloud over my fragile freedom.
“He... he was looking for me?” I choked out, my voice barely a whisper. “Did you tell him anything?”
Mrs. Butler scoffed, a sound that was both dismissive and entirely self-satisfied. “Of course, I told him where you lived, child. I’m not one of your kind, willing keep secrets from concerned individuals. He seemed quite insistent, that one. Polite enough, I suppose, for his sort, but there was a look in his eyes, a certain... possessiveness.” She shuddered theatrically. “He said something about needing to check on you.” She paused, her expression one of mock concern that didn’t fool me for a second. “Honestly, Kyllian, you need to be more careful. The kind of men you attract... it’s going to be your downfall.”
I forced a nod, the words a bitter pill on my tongue. “Thank you, Mrs. Butler. I’ll be sure to... keep the company I keep to myself.” The tremor in my voice was barely perceptible, but I knew she’d heard it. Her satisfied smirk told me she had. My mind, however, was a whirlwind of dread.
Firestride was here.
He hadn’t forgotten me.
He was hunting me. And the notion of him “checking on me” with that chilling possessiveness she described sent a fresh wave of ice through my veins.
“You do that, Kyllian. For your own good,” she said, her voice dripping with feigned concern. With a final, pointed glance, she turned and trudged back across the yard, Mr. Kibbles yapping a triumphant farewell.
As soon as her back was turned, I slammed the door shut, leaning against it, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The sanctuary of my house, once a haven, now felt like a trap; its walls were too thin to keep out the darkness that was relentlessly closing in.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Firestride
