Page 5 of Cruel Heir

No one has ever touched me like this. There’s never been a man who dared to touch me at all. I’ve been kept carefully guarded, locked away from anyone who might try. And tonight—

My father was watching. His guards were watching. No one who wanted to have a hope of leaving the party in one piece, let alone with the possibility of my hand in marriage, would have dared to handle me with anything other than the utmost respect.

This man is touching me as if I’m already his. As if he owns me to handle as he pleases. And as rough as his touch is, as much danger as I know I’m in, there’s a certain strange thrill that leaves me feeling flushed and hot as he presses his mouth to the corner of mine. A shiver runs through me, and I feel him smile against the edge of my lips.

You will be mine.

I know I have to get free of him before he hurts me. The promise of violence is already there—his hand on my throat, in my hair, letting me know the danger that I’m in. If I can just get back into the house—

In my periphery, I can see the glow of the garden lamps. Further back—a hundred yards, maybe more—is the warm light of the mansion, the soft string music, the promise of the future that’s been laid out for me as long as I can remember. A future that I’ve always taken for granted until right now, when it’s on the verge of being taken away.

The only thing I can think of to do is scream.

I try to wrench out of his grasp, tears springing to my eyes from the burning pain in my scalp. His hand was already crushing the pins against it, but now I feel as if my hair will tear away in his grasp. I can’t bring myself to care. I act entirely on instinct, thrashing against him to scream—

—and then his hand presses heavily against my mouth, muffling the cry as he curses under his breath.

“You can try to fight all you like right now, littleprincipessa,” he murmurs as he lets go of my hair. His body blocks any chance of my escape, even with his grasp around my waist and in my hair gone. His fingers press into my cheeks, hollowing them as I hear him fumble for something, and I try to suck in a breath through my nose. The struggle to breathe is terrifying, and the only thing that keeps me from completely melting into panic is the thought that if he truly wanted me dead, he would have killed me by now.

“There’s no escaping me,” he hisses, and I feel the hand over my mouth suddenly yank my head to one side. I gasp as I feel a sudden, sharp prick in the side of my neck. “There now,” he murmurs, his hand sliding to cup my face, thumb stroking along my cheekbone in a strangely tender gesture. “You can stop fighting. There’s no use now.”

I open my mouth to try to scream again, but a sudden fogginess washes over me, as if it’s hard to think clearly. I can’t quite process what he’s saying, and I look up at him, a numb terror washing over me as I feel my limbs start to grow heavy. Iwantto try to twist away, to take advantage of this moment where he’s no longer holding me as tightly as he was, but I can’t seem to move. I feel my body start to slump against his, and the last thing I see as everything begins to swim around me is the slow, satisfied smile that creeps across his handsome face.

I know, then, that no one is going to save me.

—

There’s no way to tell how much time has passed before I comeback to consciousness. I wake up to the feeling of something jolting beneath me, and I suck in a breath, trying to push myself up. It’s dark all around, and I feel leather underneath my hands. I’m not restrained in any way, which feels like a relief, but—

My eyes feel sticky, and my mouth is dry as cotton. My entire body still feels sluggish, as if whatever the blond man did hasn’t entirely worn off, and I realize, somewhere dimly in the back of my mind, that I must have been drugged. Numbly, I raise my hand to the spot on my neck where I felt the prick. There’s nothing there now but a faint soreness, and I close my eyes, trying to breathe before I panic.

In and out. In and out.

I’m jolted again, and I sit up, swallowing convulsively against the dryness in my mouth. It takes a moment for me to push myself up against the back of the seat. I feel pins and needles rush through my arms and legs into my hands and feet, fingers and toes, as my blood starts to circulate properly again. That sense of panic fills me once more, and I squeeze my eyes tightly shut, trying not to burst into tears.

What do I do?I think I’m supposed to try to figure out where I am—where I might be going—but it feels impossible. I’m not a tough, scrappy kind of girl—not the kind who pieces together her situation and starts planning her escape. I’ve barely ever even been outside of the walls of my father’s mansion. The only thing I can think of right now is the obvious—that I must be in a car. I try to focus on that, on the leather seat beneath my hands and the carpet under my bare toes, the movement of the vehicle, and the very faint glow of moonlight that I can see through the heavily tinted windows.

I’m in a car. I’ve lost my shoes. I’m still wearing my dress.I smooth my hands over the embroidered satin and lace, seeking some comfort. My scalp aches, and my throat feels slightly bruised, but no other part of my bodyhurts, not in any way that suggests he hurt me further after I was knocked out.

I remember what he said about doing things properly, and a cold shiver runs through me. I don’t understand what he meant by that, but it felt very much as if it were the only thing preventing him fromhurting me more than he did—or by taking what he must have wanted. I can’t pretend that I understand male desire, or that I know the signs of it, but I thought I saw something in his eyes beyond just anger.

I think—though I don’t really know what it looks like—that I saw lust.

Sliding carefully towards the window, I try to peer out of it. I can’t see anything in any detail—it’s fully dark, and the moonlight isn’t enough to pick out any details. Pressing my face very close to the glass, I look for other estates—some sign that we aren’t as far out as I think we might be, but there’s nothing that I can say with any certainty that I see.

My heart sinks as I flop back against the seat, trying to keep calm. Wherever I’m being taken, he’s gone to great lengths to get me there.He could have killed me in the garden if he wanted to,I tell myself, twisting my hands together in my lap as I pick at the embroidery on my skirt.There’s a reason I’m still alive. There must be.

Bit by bit, I feel the lingering effects of the drug start to fade. My body starts to feel like my own again; my mind feels clearer, sharper. The pins and needles disappear, and if anything, the interior of the car starts to feel too warm. One of the flowers on my skirt is shredded now, bits of lace scattered across my skirt from my anxiety. A part of me wants to know what will happen when the car comes to a stop, just so that I can get it over with. But another, more frightened part of me also wants the drive to go on forever. I try to imagine that the car is taking me somewhere else, somewhere far away from the blond man, but I know that’s a foolish hope.

Wherever I’m going, he will be there. I don’t believe, even for a moment, that he did all of this for someone else.

At last, I feel the car slowing. The darkness outside of the tinted windows starts to brighten a little, and I press my face against the glass again, looking for clues as to where I might be. I see trees along the side of the winding road that the car has turned onto, dark shapes silhouetted against the moonlight, tall lamps interspersed between them. My stomach knots as I realize that we must be heading towardsa different estate. This feels like a driveway, and a few minutes later, I know I was right.

The car pulls into a courtyard, the statue in the center, shrubbery around it, and the looming shape of the mansion at one end, all only vaguely visible, like flickering shapes in a dream. My pulse quickens, my heart beating hard in my chest, and I feel that cold wash of fear again.

Whatever is waiting for me, it’s undoubtedly in that mansion. I’ll find out why I’ve been taken, sooner or later.

I don’t know which I would prefer, honestly.

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