Page 63 of Immortal Bastard

Her legs ached and her clothes were damp from the rain. She shivered, frozen to the bone and in need of shelter. “I cannot go any further. It’s nearly dawn. We’ve been riding all night.”

“I will not have a helpless mate. Get on the beast. Now.”

Her damp shift clung to her trembling body, her bare legs stiff and refusing to move. “The sun will—”

Pain exploded in her cheek. The blow knocked her to the muddy ground, her weak body twisting and her face burning from the force of his open palm.

Her fingers curled into the rain-pocked soil as she spit, unsure if he’d knocked teeth loose. She would never forget the pungent scent of earth and grass against the metallic flavor of her own blood.

It was the taste of shock.

He’d caught her by surprise. For the rest of her life, she’d exist on the edge of anticipation, never quite sure what he was fully capable of, never wanting to suffer the extent of his total cruelty.

Contrite, she rose to her feet and kept her head down.

Without assisting her, he adjusted the saddlebags. “I have no patience for idleness. Get on the bloody horse.”

Adriel’s legs wobbled, and her heart pounded erratically. This monster held no resemblance to the hero of her dreams.

Once she seated herself, he climbed up behind her. His thighs swallowed her and his broad chest formed a hard wall at her back. He himself was a prison and she’d never forget the sight of his enormous hands gripping the leather reins in front of her, hands that could break her.

As far as males were concerned, Adriel’s understanding only went as far as her father and brothers. Observing her mate’s great size diminished the illusion of her father’s magnitude. Her da had always been a looming presence, but he was nothing compared to the cruel giant stealing her away.

Hooves pounded across the wet earth, the quick gallop decapitating her past from her present like a sawing blade separating time. They traveled at a grueling pace for a full day, into the following night. She’d fallen asleep from pure exhaustion, only to be awoken when he yanked her down from the horse.

He took his rights that evening, in an open field with no shelter and barely a word to acknowledge that she was a living-breathing being.

Her cries did not go ignored. Whimpers were rewarded with more cruelty as he ordered her to keep quiet, brutally covering her mouth and viciously cleaving into her. His crushing weight was nothing compared to the paralyzing dread that pulverized whatever hope she held for their courtship.

His possessive claim was clear. She was his to do with as he pleased and he would not tolerate any show of frailty when it came to meeting his needs. He was her master and she, his servant. A slab of meat on the bone, for him to chew up and toss away.

“Open your mouth,” he ordered, tearing into his own wrist.

She obediently did as he said and he shoved his wrist between her lips, stretching her jaw.

“Swallow it.” Moonlight glinted off his fangs as he glared down at her. “More.”

His manhood stabbed into her, pinning her in place as she stared up at him with wide eyes.

“That’s enough,” he snapped, ripping his arm away and yanking her off the ground. He fisted her hair, jerking her head aside, as long fangs impaled her throat, and he gorged himself on her blood, drinking until she was dizzy and weak.

She took no pleasure from the act. And when he was finished, he left her trembling in the dirt with her shift pushed up to her waist, blood, mud, and his seed covering her thighs.

She watched the sunrise through silent tears. Under the golden rays of dawn, she counted her bruises, but there was little time to rest or heal.

They traveled for days, riding long into the night. When they stopped for food, he always ate first, saving only his scraps for her, tossing them in her direction as if she were less than a dog.

At night, he would take her body and blood again, slaking his hunger and forgetting to feed her. She feared his touch so much, she didn’t mind the hunger pains. But as her body became more battered and malnourished, the longer the bruises took to heal and the weaker she became.

Gentleness drifted out of her world with the force of a tornado. He claimed her body whenever the mood struck and only spoke to her in clipped commands. The moon had waxed and waned, and she still didn’t know his name.

He was a beast without a conscience or care for her well-being. When they found lodging, he would sleep for days but never let her out of his grip. And if she disturbed his rest, he’d punish her by rutting into her again.

Some nights he’d grow frustrated with her weakness, but rather than strengthen her with his blood, he’d throw her to the ground. “You lay there!” he’d yell if she tried to get up. “Move and I’ll break your legs.”

Naked and shivering on the floor, she cowered, grateful when he disappeared to find a mortal whore at the pub below. He’d bring the women back to their bed and make her watch as he took them, showing he was capable of gentleness and affirming that he intentionally showed her none.

It was clear he despised her. The mortal women would coo and smile for their coin, and many times he drained them of life before they were paid. The bodies sometimes rotted for days before he removed them, and she swore their sins left ghosts behind to haunt her for not intervening.

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