Page 27 of Halfblood Deceived

“No, you won’t,” Father Israel interjected, limping to place himself in front of Eli, blocking Isaiah’s path. “There has been enough violence today.”

Aella balanced on her heels, tilting her body to meet Father Israel’s gaze. “Are you going to make him pray to atone for his sins this time, Father? Because you won’t get me to pray for that bastard’s soul again. Not even if you beat me.”

A distant corner of Aella’s mind was appalled, and afraid, demanding she return to meekness to avoid more pain and humiliation. But Aella was tired. She was so tired. Her twenty-fifth birthday was still a few months away, but she felt ten times older than that, burdened with shame, guilt, and fear and sick of it all. The invisible ropes around her neck got tighter every time Micah called her ridiculous, every time he took her, not caring that she didn’t want him to. Her throat ached as if she’d swallowed a rock every time Father Israel made her pray for Eli after he threatened to burn her for having ‘witch hair.’

“Don’t you dare talk back to Father Israel,” Micah commanded. Aella met his gaze head-on, refusing to bow her head and flinch away even as that cowardly side of her squirmed.

She was going to pay for defying him, but at that moment, burning with rage and maddening pain, Aella didn’t care.

Micah’s jaw ticked as he broke eye contact with Aella so he could glare at Eli. “You and I will have a little talk about you touching what’s mine.”

I am not yours! Aella wanted to protest, but she was, wasn’t she? She was bound to him until the day she died, since the day she said ‘I do’. God, sinful or not, she wished she could turn back time and say no. A life of servitude—of cleaning, and working until her muscles ached—seemed like a holiday now that she was trapped in this nightmare. Even getting beaten with a cane, a power cord, or whatever else the nuns saw fit to bring against her back every single day seemed like a better alternative.

“We have much to discuss indeed,” Father Israel agreed. “Aella, go clean yourself up and rest.”

Aella wanted to be petulant and say no, but as that heat in her veins and muscles lessened, she realized how sore she felt. Blood was pouring down her forehead. She was certain she would be wholly purple with bruises the next day.

“She needs to go to the infirmary,” Isaiah argued.

Micah opened his mouth to contradict Isaiah, but Aella beat him to it.

“I’ve been much worse, Isaiah, trust me,” Aella said, then made her way to the stairs, dodging Eli and returning Father Israel’s suspicious, assessing look with an empty one.

As Aella climbed the marble steps she’d become personally acquainted with mere minutes ago, she realized that’s how she felt most of the time—empty.

Hollow.

Numb.

Something she had done to herself. Not on purpose. But it was a better alternative to the acidic pain stretching burning tentacles from her very heart to her tight chest.

Maybe.

She wasn’t so sure anymore.

CHAPTER 8

Aella found herself standing in front of the mirror after showering, wearing a fluffy white robe. Most of the dye had fallen from her hair, revealing more of her natural red color. It clashed violently with the sickly paleness of her skin.

Something had shifted inside her.

Something had escaped, and she wasn’t sure how to lock it up again.

She tried to find any differences in her reflection, but the same dull gray eyes stared back at her. The only novelty were the bruises around her neck, wrists, and swollen face. The bleeding of the cut on her forehead had stopped, thankfully, but there was a massive bump that the icy water didn’t calm.

Knock, knock.

Aella sighed and went to open the door. Eli and Micah wouldn’t bother knocking, so she didn’t hesitate to unlock it.

Claudia gasped, a hand flying to her mouth. “Oh, Aella.”

Aella stepped back and sat in the plush chair near the window, looking unseeingly at the familiar manicured gardens.

“Are you okay?” Claudia asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Do I look okay to you?” Aella demanded, her tone biting.

Claudia flinched back as if slapped. “What’s gotten into you?”

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