A mop of thick hair popped up, bringing his face into view as he pressed himself so intimately, intrusively against me, against my wishes.
“Sorry, love,” he panted softly, “was I too rough? It will only hurt for a moment and then we’ll both feel pleasure, I promise. Only pleasure...” Not bothering to stop, he kept slipping and sliding through the evidence of my love making with Troll, our combined juices slipping out of me.
Determinedly, he pumped against me, running his raging erection through it, thinking it was all from me.
“Mmm, I tried to wake you, tried to kiss your neck until your eyes fluttered open, crying out my name, but it was as if you’d already started without me.”
“Trystan!” I shouted, bucking up underneath him as he pulled back a little. It just served to help him on in his endeavor, gaining him an inch.
The searing pain I felt at his unsuccessful tries to conquer my depths made it agonizing to talk, my words coming out short and fast.
“You’re so damned tight,” he gritted out, trying once more to force his way in, “it’s like you shrank inside there.”
“No!” I cried out. “Trystan! NO!”
Shifting his gaze to meet mine, he tried to kiss me, but I dug my nails into his shoulders, turning my face away.
“Don’t deny our love, Daphie-girl,” he cried desperately, bathing my neck and cheek with quick, sloppy kisses.
“I don’t want you!” I bit out, trying to kick at him. “No! Get off of me!” Screaming in his face, I felt trapped and helpless, no way out.
“No, no,” he buried his face in my neck, wetness bathing my shoulder, “you want me. You love me. I know you love me.” Chest heaving, his shoulders shook a little as his voice cracked. “I never wanted to marry Otvla, I swear. I only love you. Only you!”
“I. Don’t. Want. This! I don’t love you!”
“You do!” he shouted, fisting the grass on the ground. “Nothing’s changed! I’ll prove it.”
Flailing wildly, I beat at his back uselessly, pummeling him to get him off of me as he forced his lips to mine. My body locked up as he shoved his manhood into my entrance, his slicked up shaft making headway, my mouth opening on a silent shout as my eyes widened. It hurt beyond words, as if my body was purposely tightening to avoid his invasion, shutting tight, like a vice. It felt as if he was searing my insides, scalding them with hot oil. Pressing his advance, he grunted and closed his eyes, groaning out loud, long and low, his body shuddering as mine had no choice but to envelop his.
Searing pain, along with my anger, the hurt of betrayal, lancing through, the rage that consumed me at his violation, filled me. I thought I might be sick, right there.
Taking my supposed silence for acquiescence, the crushing pain coursing through me stealing my breath, he gripped my hips as he pulled out, pressing his body forward until he’d forced his way in. With a sickening groan, he gave a harsh pump before he started shuddering in climax, whispering my name, how much he loved me, into my hair.
My loud, pain filled scream as it was ripped from my lungs, my body feeling as if it was being torn in two, was the only sound I heard before it became too much, all too much. I started convulsing, my eyes rolling back into my head, Trystan’s distressed shout, frantically calling out for me, someone shaking me frantically, and then everything went black.
****
It came to me, as fast as it left, and I heard loud, gut ripping sobs coming from somewhere far off, but everything hurt and I was focused on that.
Let someone else deal with the crier for once, I thought. I hurt. So much pain...
A hand was gripping mine, clutching it tight as hot tears bathed it, but it wasn’t the one I wanted.
This isn’t him, my mind told me. This isn’t the hand of our one. It burned, as surely as the rest of me.
****
A cool cloth came down on my chest and I sighed in relief, my eyes twitching behind my closed lids.
Mamma’s voice registered above me, and it sounded like she was talking to someone—a scratchy, deeper male voice—but it was as if it came from somewhere far off.
My skin hurt everywhere and I groaned, my legs sawing restlessly under a cool, comfortable sheet.
The skin on my chest, especially, hurt. It felt as if it had been melted clean off. Crying out softly, I grunted and winced whenever anything touched it.
A hand came up to smooth down my crinkling brow, trying to soothe me, even in sleep, whispering something to me softly, so softly, of which I was incapable of processing in my current state. A second later the washcloth returned, cooling off my heated skin. The small bit of relief it offered was enough that I let out a long sigh, but I still chose sleep instead of wakefulness, drifting off into quiet oblivion.
Whispers In The Dark
“Wake up, nugget. Dinna be sleepin’ so long, eh?” Troll’s voice sounded tremulous, shaky and brittle to my ears. His hand trembled as he ran it down my cheek, the other one lightly tracing what must surely be blistered, festering, burnt flesh across my neck and chest. Was he scared?
No, I reasoned, couldn’t be. Troll’s never scared.
“I need ye ta be comin’ back ta me, luv. So, wake up now, ye hear?”
“Hurts,” I mumbled, my voice a hoarse whisper, lids drifting open a smidgeon at the quaver in his voice.
Staring down at me worriedly, his fingers stilled and lifted, about to pull away. Panicked at the thought of the loss, through the haze of confusion and pain, I reached for his wrist, using up all of my reserves to yank it back to my chest.
A shot of pain jolted through me as I pulled a little too hard, and I gasped, but I didn’t want to lose my lifeline, the tether that comforts me, makes me feel safe.
Gentle as he could, he tried to carefully take his hand back, but I wouldn’t let go. “Dinna want ta be hurtin’ ye.”
“Doesn’t.” I gave my head a slight shake, my eyes slowly sliding shut. “Touch me.”
His fingers gently ran up and down my raised, welted flesh, soothing me with light caresses. Were it anyone else, I would have been screaming, the thick pads smoothing over me like magic to my charred flesh, though it still didn’t take all the pain away.
Breath shuddering out of me, I swallowed thickly and whimpered when the novelty of being awake to grit through all of this wore off, hoping for sleep to once again take me, taking everything else with it.
“What happened, nugget? In the field?” he prompted. “Did... Who did this to ye? What did this? What Other, luv? Caster? Fae?” His voice was getting low and growling, menacing, but I’d already started to slip away, and I let it.
****
Ears prickling again, I came to slowly, picking up stray bits and pieces of the conversations going on all around me.
“A curse, you say?” the deep voice I’d heard talking with Mamma before murmured, closer to my person than I found comfortable.
I hadn’t opened my eyes yet, laying there quietly as I soaked everything in.
“Can you do anything for it, do you think?” Papa’s voice was tight and strained, rasping as if his throat was sore.
A form leaned over me, looming above me, a thick, warm hand coming forward to lower my sheet slowly, carefully prodding my injuries.
“Honestly? I’ve never seen anything of the like. We don’t learn about treating curses, you know.”
The prodding resumed and I tried not to move, unwilling to give up my game of possum.
“Hmmm. Does she practice the craft?” There was slight press to my sternum, putting just enough pressure on it to make me call out.
“The craft?” Mamma scoffed, as if she’d never entertained the thought.
“Mm. Yes. Witch craft.”
“Our Daphie aint a witch. Child’s a good girl.” Papa’s voice vibrated angrily.
Crying out in protest, I winced as the prodding continued, cringing as a gasp escaped me.
“You’re hurting her! Stop!” Trystan’s voice shot out, frantic and
panicked, the heaviness pinning my legs lightening as an oomph and a grunt rang through the air.
Grunting under my breath, I frowned and tried to lift my heavy lids, struggling at the effort.
The hand quickly pulled away, the sheet replaced, a heavy weight on my legs again, someone or something shifting on top of them.
“Daphie?” Papa called, somewhere by my head. “Are you awake now, child?”
“The craft?! Oh, lord... Do you think?” I heard Mamma mumble.
“Don’t touch her!” Trystan again.
Mamma gasped and there was a scuffling, rustling noise.
“Son, you have to...” I heard Papa murmuring coaxingly, as if talking to a small, scared child.
“NO!” he choked out, “I... no... I won’t let him hurt her...” A hand came up and smoothed down my hair, a few drops of wetness falling on my face.
A chair creaked and a hand picked mine up, clasping it desperately, solid and warm, but it left me feeling cold. My insides crawled and I jerked.
“She’s hurting enough,” Trystan whispered hoarsely, “I won’t let anyone else hurt her. I won’t!”
There was scuffling and whispering, and then the shuffling of feet.
The door shut quietly and a harsh, choked sob came from the man beside me, a cold cheek pressing into my palm as warm tears bathed my skin.
“I didn’t...” Trystan blubbered, babbling over and over, murmuring tiredly into my hand. “Oh, god, Daphie, I’m so sorry. Please, I... I’m so sorry. I didn’t... I thought... Oh, god,” he moaned, “if I could I’d... Oh, god... It wasn’t’ supposed to be like this.”
Forging my way through the pain filled fog, I forced my eyes open enough to look down at his bent head. “Go.”
Letting out a shocked, choking sounding, his head shot up and he quickly wiped his eyes on his shirt sleeve. “Daphie?”
It made me sick, just seeing him, even more at the sight of him still wearing the same clothes he’d had on in the field.
“Go,” I mumbled again, trying to weakly tug my hand from his.
“You’ve been asleep for a week,” he croaked, sadness filling his eyes as he released me, setting my hand gently back on the bed. “I... oh, Daph, I thought you were going to die.”
“I said no,” I rasped, staring at him intently as I watched his face change.
It crumpled right there in front of me, head bowing as his shoulders shook.
“I know,” he cried quietly, “I know, and I’m sorry. I didn’t... I wasn’t...” His head shot up and his eyes pleaded with me, searching for understanding.
I had none.
“I had no idea that would happen. You have to know I didn’t want to hurt you.” Fingers shaking, he gestured at my chest, but I hadn’t looked yet, and I wasn’t ready to. “I didn’t know the curse would do that. If I had, I never would have...”
“Forced yourself on me?”
Reeling back, he flinched as if I’d slapped him.
Though my body was battered and sore, he’d pierced something much more damning, deeper, more permanent. It was worse than any scar he could have put on my flesh.
No, this was much worse. I felt like he’d tried to take a piece of my soul, ripping it from me without my consent, stealing a solid part of me, deep down inside of me, and it hurt worse than the wounds bathing my skin ever could.
“I told you no,” I reiterated, my lips tightening as my eyes narrowed. “Curse or not, you should have stopped.”
Tears trickled down his cheeks as he stumbled at what to say, how to respond.
“I said no.” The grit in my voice had his eyes darting away, unwilling, or unable to keep with mine anymore.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled into his cupped palms.
“I want you to go.”
His head snapped up and his hands fell. “Daphie, love, you can’t mean...”
“I want you to go,” I growled, “now.” Using all the strength I possessed, I lifted a shaking arm and pointed it towards the door, glaring into his stunned face as he slowly got up, his body slumping in defeat, shuffling slowly towards the door.
“What... what can I do to make it right?” he asked quietly, turning to peer at me from over his shoulder.
“You can’t.” I shook my head. “You should have stopped when I’d said no. I didn’t want it. I said no. God... you shouldn’t have done anything in the first place!” I snapped. “You’re married, if you’ll remember, and to my sister! You attacked me! Do you not see the wrongness of that? Of what you’ve done? You violated me!! You should hang!”
“Oh, Daphie, please, I...”
Hissing out an expletive, I held a hand out when it looked like he was going to rush across the space. “Don’t. Just... just go.”
Expression crumbling, he opened his mouth, but I cut him off. “Trystan,” I stressed, forcing the words past thick lips, “I don’t want you here. Do you hear me? I can’t stand the sight of you. Just seeing you makes me sick! Go.”
Shoulders shaking, he nodded and kept swiping at his eyes, hurriedly making his exit.
“To hell with you. I hope to never see you again,” I muttered, tiredly sighing and closing my eyes. All the fight in me left and I suddenly felt drained, worse than before, as I slowly tried to sit up. It wasn’t worth the effort and I gave up after a few tries.
Flopping back into the bedding, I turned my head a little to the side and closed my eyes, preparing myself, but I just couldn’t find the guts to do it. The sheet stayed put and my eyes stayed shut. Ashamed, I ground my teeth at my cowardice. I can’t look. I can’t.
When the pain stops, I promised. When the pain stops I’ll look, and I’ll face this head on.
Mamma came in soon after and had me sip at some water. I protested, but she swore it was necessary.
Too tired to fight her off, and beginning to grow thirsty, I eventually nodded and let her help me drink, my body too weak to hold the full cup up to my lips and not slosh it about all over myself. The water tasted funny, bitter almost, but she assured me it was fine.
She’s put something in it, I soon realized as I lay there, a warm, fuzzy haze washing over me.
“What... what did you...?” I mumbled, not sure how much time had passed, but soon discovered she had already taken the empty cup and quietly left the room. That’s one way of dealing with me, I thought churlishly. Drug me up and keep me knocked out—then you won’t have to listen to me or hear me whine.
The grogginess soon became too much to fight, my limbs growing cumbersome and heavy, mind wandering as I fell fitfully to sleep.
This lasted for a while, off and on, until Mamma came in with another drink, and I, too out of it realize what was going on, let her tend to me again, and dutifully drank.
Time swept by in a collage of nightmares and odd dreams, panicked screams and muffled shouts, voices calling out to me, bellowing at me to wake, begging me to come back to them, and hushed whispers, coaxing me back to sleep.
Wide Open
Waking up slowly, my eyes flicked open and I rolled over. Letting out a long breath, I sighed in relief as the searing pains I’d thought would never end didn’t come.
Testing out my limbs, I rubbed at my eyes, my fingers slowly trailing down the curve of my neck. Letting out a shaky breath, I closed my eyes as tears rushed them, the feel of bumped up, raised skin throwing me into a fit of melancholy.
What had happened, exactly, as a result of Trystan attacking me, was still fuzzy, only the memory of him forcing himself upon me, the pain that had inflicted, and then nothing after that. I wished I had forgotten the entire thing.
“No,” my head shook slowly, “I wish it had never happened in the first place.”
Something rattled as I moved, and I frowned, patting myself down, fingers hitting several large lumps. Plucking it up and away, I lifted withered cloves of garlic up, strung loosely around my neck.
“Oh, ick.” Nose bunching distastefully, I gave an experimental sniff and quickly shucked the
garland, sending it flying towards the corner. Why would someone have me wear that? But then eyes widened as I got a good look around my room. The window was sealed shut, crosses of every shape and size strung up and hanging about everywhere. Strange painted symbols, a very upsetting red, dripped down the walls sloppily, having dried that way. What is all this? Mind whirling, I swallowed past the lump in my throat, hoping that wasn’t animal blood painting the walls with strange, foreign writing.
Unease settled into the pit of my stomach, the longer I studied the strange markings. It soon got to the point I thought I might become nauseous, the more I stared, and I finally tore my eyes away.
Sitting up slowly, I peeled the sweat soaked nightgown I was wearing off of my sticky skin, my hair plastered around my head in frizzy, tangled orange waves.
Little dried blossoms tumbled off of me, and I grimaced, catching a hint of clove, along with the remnants of what looked like a bundle of dried sage. Fingers creeping forward, I picked one up and studied it.
How curious. Sage and lavender? Were they attempting to cleanse the...
A squeak popped out of my mouth and I shot up, stumbling about like a newborn fawn, knocking my hip on the dresser. Little crosses tumbled over and off, smacking to the ground as they toppled over from their propped up positions.
A smudge stick, crosses, garlic, candles everywhere... Did they think I was possessed?! Demonic? A vampire?
“Is this a sick room or an exorcism?” I mumbled, shocked.
Blowing out a long breath, I wiggled my jaw around, my tongue thick and heavy, as if it was stuck to the roof of my mouth. Listening intently for any noises coming from the rest of the house, it seemed as if I was all alone. I was glad of it.
How long have I been asleep? I wondered as my body protested my attempts to keep myself upright, hobbling around on shaky legs. Quite a while, if I had to guess.
The Toll Page 21