by Mary Martel
It’s his job. Whispers through my mind. I don’t know where the thought came from, but I knew it to be true as soon as it entered my head. A job he’d perfected – hurting people. A job he’d perfected through experience. A job he’s probably very, very good at.
The further they get in the room – the closer they get to me, the more my stomach revolts, threatening to expel its meager contents.
“Have you nothing to say for yourself, girl?” Roland arrogantly sneers at me.
Had I been asked a question and I somehow missed it in my moment of panic? I didn’t think so. Clearly, he expects me to say something. Perhaps he’s hoping I’ll beg him to release me, to let me go free. The pompous prick would probably love that.
I clench my teeth in an attempt to keep my mouth firmly shut so I don’t tell him to go fuck himself, which is what I really want to do. I have a feeling he wouldn’t like that all too much. No one’s probably ever told him to get fucked in all his life.
A surge of anger burns through me so hot I forget the freezing cold that’s seeped into my numb body.
This fucking horrible man, not only did he murder Ian’s father in front Ian when he was a child, if that’s not enough, he stole years and years of his life from him. A life Ian and Riley could have had, a safe life, living amongst their own people where they belonged. They should have grown into men with a father who loved them, a father who taught them everything they needed to know about ruling their people. Roland had taken a whole lot more than just their father from them. So much more. Now he wanted to take even more from Ian. He wanted to cause Ian even more pain. And not just Ian but Riley as well. Riley loves his brother undeniably and, I don’t know if it’s because of this or what, but I know he would feel it deep if something happened to me. Both brothers would.
And they had both suffered enough.
“Nothing?” Roland finally reaches where I’m chained to the wall, stopping in front of me. His hand comes up and he very gently runs a chubby finger along my cheekbone.
Oh, I had plenty to say, I always did, but his touch has robbed me of my voice. Oh God, I seriously did not want him touching me. Ever.
Arching an eyebrow disbelievingly, he asks, “No?”
The only answer he gets in response is my hostile glare.
Sighing in frustration at my silence he shakes his head from side to side. “Come now, girl, this will go so much better on you if you cooperate with me.”
Liar, liar.
I must have seriously pissed him off with my silent treatment because one second I’m staring at him mutely and the next my head is wrenched painfully to the side and my cheek explodes in pain from where he backhanded me. He got my jaw and my cheekbone,
Gasping in pain, I momentarily forget my surroundings and reach for my face – only to have my shoulders scream at me in pain when my arms remain where they are, shackled to the wall.
“Do you know what I am, girl?” he snarls in my face, spittle flying out of his mouth accompanying his words forcing me to shrink back against the cold brick wall.
A fat man.
The proud owner of a tiny dick.
A murderer.
A vile, sick, bastard.
Yeah, I know exactly who you are.
Still my mouth remains shut. He wouldn’t take my thoughts kindly and my cheek freaking hurt from where he hit me. I really did not want to be hit again.
“I am a motherfucking King, and you will answer me when I ask you a question.”
He must have picked up on the defiance burning in my eyes because the next second my head is once again wrenched painfully to the side as the back of his hand connects with my swollen cheek.
A lone whimper escapes past my lips before I can stop it.
A cruel smile blooms to life before my eyes. The sick fuck actually likes the sound of my pain.
“Finally,” he cackles, “a reaction worth noting. Tell me, girl, what is your name?”
I didn’t want to. I really didn’t. But my face was hurting something fierce and I’ve got a feeling we were only just getting started. Maybe I could answer the simple questions about myself for the sake of my body. But nothing about Ian or Riley. This man wouldn’t be getting anything out of me about either of them. This I vow to myself.
They were coming for me, I know it. I just need to be strong until they get here.
“Shayne.” My voice comes out hoarse and unrecognizable to my ears.
Just how long have I been here? Hours? Days? No, that couldn’t be. Not days. Surely, I would know if I’ve been down here for days?
“A boy name for an ugly girl. How fitting.” He mocks. “My nephew always did have the worst luck.”
Seriously? He could not be believed. What a dick. I’m not ugly. I know, by no means, am I some great beauty queen, but ugly? Um, no. I do not think so. And he thought my name is a boy name? I’d been blessed with a name that wasn’t gender biased. And, I’d never, ever, before met a Shayne, no matter how you spelled it, boy or girl, who was unattractive. So this fat fucker could just kiss my lily-white ass.
Of course I didn’t tell him any of this. I’m very well aware of the importance of keeping my thoughts to myself. I absolutely cannot lose it at this point just because this freaking guy called me ugly. What did I care?
I think I’ve got bigger things to worry about than one whacked out man’s opinion of me. Especially when said man wants to torture and possibly rape me. Yeah, who gives a shit if he thinks I’m ugly.
My teeth sink into my lower lip so hard I can taste blood in an attempt to keep my mouth shut.
His eyes miss nothing as they boldly rake over my body.
“Well,” he amends, “not all of you is unpleasant to look at.”
My stomach clenches when fingers lightly trail up my midsection. Fingers latch on to my hard, puckered nipple twisting painfully.
My body tremble uncontrollably. My teeth sink further into my lower lip. No one’s ever touched me this way before. I’ve never been violated intimately and this was definitely a violation.
And I thought I’d felt sick when I first woke up here naked and in the dark. That had nothing on this. At least then I’d been alone. At least then I didn’t have fingers on my naked flesh, my fucking body.
Sick, sick, sick.
“Hmm…” he hums still twisting my nipple in between his fingers. Oddly enough his eyes weren’t on my breasts where I thought they would be. Instead they rested on the mark on my neck. The mark Ian put there when he’d taken my virginity.
“How long have you been marked?” he mummers.
I vowed I wouldn’t say anything about Ian and this question was a little too close for comfort for me.
“What do you want?”
I shouldn’t have asked because I already know, but under no circumstances did I want to discuss my mark with him. Either of them.
Immediately he releases his grip on my nipple. Relief, sweet and heavy, washes through me. Its short lived because he back hands me for a third time. This time hitting the unmarred side of my face.
I really wish he’d stop doing that. My entire face burns in agony.
“When I ask you a fucking question you better damn well answer me.” he snarls in my face. He grips my chin brutally in his hand while he snarls in my face. “You do not get to ask me anything. You are fucking nothing. I am a goddamn King. Do. You. Understand.”
I did. Boy did I understand. I nod my head as best as I can while he’s got an unbreakable hold on my chin. Yeah, I understood him. Loud and fucking clear. I just wish I didn’t have to.
“Now, how long have you been marked, girl?”
Why ask my name if he planned on continuing to call me girl?
“Not long.” I force out, not wanting to give him an exact date or time. What Ian and I had shared was special, and I didn’t want to share any part of it with this man.
“Pity,” he mutters. Then louder, “Marked mates share a bond. Over time that bond strengthens. The stronger the bond the m
ore it hurts to lose your mate.”
I suppose that makes sense. But the same could be said for a normal relationship between two human beings. The longer the relationship the more it would hurt to suddenly lose your significant other.
Still that didn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt Ian to lose me at this stage in our relationship because it’d destroy him.
Hoping to buy myself some time by playing it stupid, I ask, “Bond? What bond?”
“How delightful,” he purrs. “You really are just a stupid girl who knows nothing about our culture.”
I wouldn’t say that. I wasn’t stupid. But I certainly lacked knowledge when it came to his culture for sure. No point in arguing with him though. He’d take me arguing with him as some kind of disrespect to his person and then he’d hit me again.
“Let us get on with this, Roland,” a bored voice calls out.
Oh no.
Let us not and say we did.
Roland turns to glare at the man. “Is this how you address your betters?” he quietly seethes.
“You’re no better than me and you damn well know it,”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
They could argue about the color of the sky for all I care so long as their attention no longer solely focuses on me.
And argue they do.
The one left out of the mix doesn’t even bother to glance over his shoulder at them, like he’s used to the two of them going at each other. Instead he’s tinkering with the devices laid out on the table before him.
My stomach plummets as I watch him fondly caress each item as if they were lovers and it’s been too long since they’ve joined together.
Shayne!
Is she here?
Shayne!
Unable to hold in my shock and surprise I gasp out loud.
Immediately I realize my mistake when three sets of eyes curiously land on me.
“What’s the problem, girl?” Roland’s eyebrow raises in question.
Stall, Shayne.
“Cold. I’m cold.” I whimper. “I want to go home.” No lie there, on either account. I’m so cold I’m numb and I’d give my left arm to be able to go home.
“Whiney little bitch,” the bored one hisses at me, no longer sounding bored in the slightest. “To think the boy thought you could be a Queen. You’re no queen. You’re nothing more than a sniveling cunt.”
He swings his arm forward so fast it’s a blur, and punches me in the face. White hot, blinding pain explodes behind my left eye. The cool metal of ring catches on the skin just below my eye and tears into my flesh. Warm liquid seeps out, freely flowing down my face.
Tears streak down my swollen, aching face.
None of it matters, not anymore.
That voice. That beautiful, deep, husky voice. A voice filled with anguish and rage. A voice I can hear screaming my name, echoing in my head.
A smile, small in nature, graces my lips.
Ian.
He came for me. Just like I knew he would.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, girl?” The angry fat man bellows in my face.
I know him by voice, not because I can see him. My eyes refuse to open.
Blackness consumes me. It’s everywhere.
My head throbs in agony. In part due to the voice screaming inside of it. Also because of the beating it’s taken.
“Maybe I knocked a screw or two loose.”
Dick.
What kind of person says something like that? The same kind of person who chains a naked girl up in a torture chamber and beats on her, that kind of person.
If you can hear me, if you’re down here, hold on, baby. I’m coming for you.
Please be down here.
Please, please, be down here.
My heart bleeds for him, at the raw emotion in his thoughts.
I’d suffered at the hands of these men, but Ian had been suffering all the same, only in a different way.
Cold, sharp metal slices into my skin between my breasts, dragging down. Cutting, ripping open my flesh.
My mouth opens, at first no sound comes out. One second. Two. I struggle for air.
I scream.
And scream.
And scream.
The wretched noise fills the room, bouncing off the walls, coming right back to me.
My legs give out from underneath me. My arms pull and strain against the restraints. My shoulder pops and I scream as my shoulder dislocates.
My screams turn to strangled sobs.
Fire races up my shoulder, down my chest, and completely covers my face. It burns. Everything burns.
Miraculously, my feet brush the floor and I push myself up into a standing position. I still can’t see but I can feel the blood, my blood, ooze out of my chest. Not too deep, but deep enough to burn and bleed. Deep enough to scar me grotesquely for the rest of my life.
Deep, male laughter hits my ears. The sound of it cruel and vicious.
“I do love it so when they scream.”
Cracking my eyes open to mere slits, which is as far as they’ll go, I see not my torturer, but something else. The golden glow of eyes down the tunnel. The eyes of a predator. The eyes of an animal. Coming straight at me. More than one pair.
Once again, a smile, small in nature, graces my lips.
“Crazy bitch,” I hear right before hands latch on to my hair and the back of my head connects with the rough, brick wall. Pain explodes in my head.
Growls and vicious snarls fill the room.
Horrified screams meet my ears as, mercifully, my world fades to black.
Chapter 25
Ian
She should be here for this. All of it. She deserves to be here at my side while we discuss our future. Her place will always be at my side. Now more than ever.
And she’d be here too if only she were awake. Why won’t she wake up?
Why?
Why?
Why Shayne had yet to wake up had plagued my thoughts for the last two days.
We don’t have time for this. She needs to wake up. I’ve put the Council off for as long as I can, but now I’ve run out of time. They would wait no more.
A door opens and the Council members fill the hallway, lining up before me.
“We’ve come to a decision.” Riley stiffens at my side, but I hold steady. What will be will be. “We will use the trials of the old.”
Beside me, Riley breathes in sharply. “But, Shayne…” he mutters.
“You have shown true strength, Ian Reighliand of the Shifters. Strength where it matters. Your bloodline is strong. You are strong. But it takes more than strength to be a King. Especially a King already mated. You will have tests and so will she. Your first test is to withstand hers. Complete it and you both shall move on. Fail and your tests will begin again mateless. You have one day to prepare your mate.”
Mateless.
Shayne.
I can do this. Easy. I can best anything they throw at me. Anything. But my girl has not been prepared for this. If she fails we’re fucked. Royally.
And she’ll be dead.
We should never have come here.
Chapter 26
Shayne
Heavy. Everything is heavy. My tongue. My mouth. My head. My body. Everything.
The last thing I felt was pain. So much pain. Now I feel… normal. Absolutely normal. There’s no pain. None whatsoever.
Open your eyes.
An order. No, a command.
One I comply.
Steel. Eyes the color of steel, delicate features in the face of an angel, hover mere inches above my face.
“Sleep is good,” her singsong voice is like music to my ears. “It can heal what I cannot.” Her finger lightly taps my temple. “The mind. If it were up to me I’d let you rest for a week. But, alas, we’ve run out of time.”
I have no idea what in the heck she’s talking about. So, of course, I blurt out, “What in the heck are you talking about?”
/>
Her lips tip up slightly as her eyes shine bright with unshed tears. “What’s the last thing you remember?”
Suddenly my throat feels dry, and I croak out through unresponsive lips, “May I have some water, please?”
Her eyes narrow as she studies my face with intense scrutiny before nodding and leaning away from me.
“Here,” a deeper singsong voice says before a bottle of water is shoved in my face.
I take it, unscrew the cap with trembling hands and drink greedily.
My eyes grow round as I take in the male who gave me the water bottle. Tall, slender build. Bottomless teal eyes. Bright, shockingly white hair.
“Are you a fairy as well?” I can’t help but ask.
“But of course, My Queen.” The female informs me. “This is my husband, Traine. And I am Daisy.”
She sure doesn’t look like a daisy. More like an orchid.
“Pain,” I mutter.
“Come again?” Traine asks.
“The last thing I remember. You asked, and the last thing I remember is pain.”
Pain.
Yes, I’d felt unbearable pain. Then it hits me why I remember feeling in pain. I bolt upright in the bed I’ve been laying in. The thin blanket covering me falls to my waist, pooling around my hips.
Frantically clawing at the collar of the plain white t-shirt I just now realize I’m wearing I pull the collar away from my skin and stare down at my chest.
A jagged, light pink line starting in between my breasts runs down my middle.
A scar.
“I don’t understand.” Freaking understatement. “How long have I been here?”
“Two days. I healed you. But for whatever reason the scar remains.” Daisy’s cool fingers lightly brush my cheekbone below my eye. “As does this one.”
Before she can remove her fingers from my face I quickly place my hand over hers, stopping her movements.
Voice thick and rough with emotion, I look into her steel eyes and whisper, “Thank you so much for healing me.”
Her eyes light up and she grins impishly at me. “Anytime, My Queen.”
Letting her hand go I fall back onto the bed. My sluggish brain scrambles to go over everything that’s happened.
I gasp and bolt upright again.