“I don’t mind a little fight,” he said. “Give it your best shot, cherie. Makes things more interesting.”
Lucien crushed her mouth with his as he moved his hands over her back. When he reached her bottom, he squeezed hard. She opened her mouth to scream and felt his lips curl into a grin before he forced his tongue inside. Rowan gagged and pounded at his chest.
“Must I restrain you as well?” He nipped her lower lip and then smiled. “You’re going to learn much tonight.” He trapped her hands and forced them behind her back. She struggled, but he pushed her to the bed with little effort.
“I’ll kill you,” she spat.
“You might, but not today.” He straddled her hips as he unbuttoned his shirt.
Rowan searched for a weapon. The tiny tables that flanked the bed were bare, save for an unlit candle. The only items on the other side of the room were the tub and a small dresser, nothing that would hurt him.
His hands moved to his belt. She kicked and punched at him. Chuckling, Lucien shifted and pressed her into the bed with his knee. She looked away when he loosened the buckle and opened his pants. “Now, I will show you who is the master and who is the slave. I don’t care if it takes all night, you won’t be so proud when morning comes.”
Rowan refused to look at him after the soft rustle of his shirt hitting the floor. The weight of his knee lifted. She tried to roll away, but he laughed again. Lucien gripped her hair and pulled, forcing Rowan to her back once more. He was naked now. She turned, eliciting a soft chuckle as he knelt over her
“Henri did not do such a great job, did he? You cannot even look at a real man.”
“Only a beast would rape his child. You aren’t a man.”
His slap echoed in the room. Rowan tasted blood, felt the burning sting of his hand on her cheek, and smiled up at him. “Do whatever your sick heart desires. I will never submit to you or that bitch downstairs.”
His face flushed and brought her arms over her head. “If it takes me a full week, a month, or the rest of your days, I promise I will break you girl. You are not my child. You are nothing.”
“Believe what you must.” She closed her eyes.
“You’ll be begging forgiveness when I’m through with you.” Lucien pushed his knee between her legs and forced them apart. He entered her quickly, though she fought against the vile sensation of his body inside of her. He laughed as he held her arms with one hand and pulled roughly at her nipple with the other. She twisted and bucked but he held her down, thrusting again and again, until she thought she might literally break in two.
Rowan closed her eyes and tried to drift away, as Mama Gator had taught her. If she were not present, she wouldn’t know what he did to her.
“Look at me whore,” he rasped.
Rowan squeezed her eyes shut.
He gripped her chin so that she was forced to turn to him. “I said look at me.”
She opened her eyes.
He stared, sweat beading his brow.
Rowan spat in his face.
Once more he slapped her, causing the room to spin. She smiled as he rose above her, despite the horror she felt in her heart. She would not allow him to see her terror. He wouldn’t get that from her. Rowan watched him walk to the wardrobe.
“Let’s see you fight me now.” He returned to the bed and hauled her up to the top, her feet tangled in the sheets and he sat on her middle, pinning her to the mattress. She struggled as he fastened her wrists to each post, leather straps biting into her flesh making her fingers tingle. He did the same with her ankles and stood back to observe his work.
“Perhaps we should invite some guests, to witness your initiation into your destiny, non? I think I will play with you a little and then we will show the gentlemen our new toy.” He picked up the whip that Rosaline had shown her earlier.
Trailing it over his long fingers, he grinned as he circled the bed. Rowan closed her eyes and chanted under her breath, her heart pounding painfully. She didn’t know enough about the black magic Mama Gator promised to teach her one day. Nothing happened as she repeated scraps of verses she’d heard Mama Gator murmur and despair filled her. There was movement next to the bed but Rowan kept her eyes squeezed tight. The whip biting into her thighs caused her to cry out, but she gave him no more than that. It stung, making her skin burn and likely bruise, but it did not cut. Yet. She figured it was only a matter of time before the leather would make her flesh tender enough that the slightest touch would tear it.
Eyes closed Rowan chanted simply to remain calm and distant. She would not cry, no matter what he did to her. He continued to swing the whip, lashing enough to draw a welt, and to cause pain, over and over, until she was certain he’d tortured every inch of her body.
“Oh now cherie, we can’t have you speaking to your devil. He isn’t invited to this party.”
Rowan opened her eyes. Lucien stood beside the bed. He grinned, setting aside the whip.
He turned and picked a scarf from the pile of items next to the bed. It was black and silky, but when he gagged her mouth, there was nothing soft about it. She could barely breathe. Rowan glared as he climbed on top of her.
“Better. Time to see what you’ve learned from your mistakes,” he murmured. Straddling her, Lucien reached to pick up the candle next to the bed. He struck a match and touched it to the wick.
She watched it burn, a cold tickle of dread dancing over her spine.
Lucien smiled as he blew out the match and then held the candle over her body.
Rowan’s eyes watered when she realized his intent, and shook her head.
Tipping the candle, Lucien didn’t look away from her face.
Hot wax burned her breast, down her belly and lower still, but she did not flinch. Instead, she bit down on the gag, stared straight into his eyes, and wished him to Hell.
When he tired of the candle, Lucien entered her again. This time his thrusts were so hard, Rowan felt a tearing sensation inside her belly. She opened her eyes to see his reddened face above her. Finally, he finished, grunting while his sweat soaked body shuddered.
Rowan looked away from him, her body trembling in shame and anger. He left the room without a word, the door clicking as it closed. After the scratching of a key in the lock, she allowed herself to cry. Her tears did not last long. Lucien entered moments later with Rosaline and three men. She recognized Pierre and her stomach lurched.
“I believe Pierre is owed the next round,” Lucien said.
Pierre grinned and walked to the bed. Those beautiful blue eyes she had once been so enamored with now gazed at her with a light she wouldn’t have understood only months ago. Now she knew what it mean and it turned her skin cold. Rowan looked at the wall. She would not show them fear. They could take what they wanted from her body, she had no choice, but she wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of begging for their mercy. They couldn’t take her soul unless she gave it.
Pierre untied her wrists, then her legs.
She frowned.
“You owe me something a little more than the usual, ma cheri.” He flipped her over and wrenched her arms over her head. Rowan tried to kick him away but Lucien grabbed her legs as Rosaline refastened her ankles to the posts.
Lucien chuckled. “Yes, it was your friend she fed to the gators, wasn’t it. She does deserve to be punished for that.”
Rowan shook her head. She couldn’t breathe. Pierre mounted her and trailed rough fingers over her back. He leaned close to her ear and placed a gentle kiss on her neck. “Not so brave now, are we? This is what happens when you cross your betters.”
Rowan screamed as he entered her. She had never imagined such a violation and her body went rigid in shock and revulsion. Fiery pain radiated down her legs and despite her vow not to, she begged him to stop. The gag muffled her pleas. She heard laughter.
“Just relax child,” Rosaline said. “It doesn’t hurt so when you accept him.”
Rowan’s mind clouded, her vision blurred. She trie
d to hold on to consciousness, to remember what each did to her so that she would be able to exact revenge, but she couldn’t do it. Blackness overtook her, allowing her to resurface now and then as they found new ways to revive and then torture her some more.
How many attackers there were in total, Rowan couldn’t be sure. She was certain only of the darkness, which she welcomed into her mind when it came, and the pain. She committed to her memory the face of each man she woke to find on top of her before she went away again.
Rosaline slapped her once, and Rowan recalled spitting in the woman’s face.
This brought more lashes, more pain, and Rowan’s determination to see that they all suffered grew stronger. Mama Gator’s voice came to her in the darkness and Rowan smiled at her old friend.
“You will see revenge chile,” the old woman promised her. “It is not time yet, but you will rise above dis, and you will see dem pay for what dey to do you now.”
“I know, Mama Gator,” she murmured as another stranger, one more beast, took over her torture.
CHAPTER 8
Hours later, alone in the darkness, Rowan went about the room searching for something to help her escape. She had to crawl along the floor, her battered body unable to support her weight. She collected a few items: two candles, one blood red, another white, and the sweet rum left behind by her tormentors. She placed the rum with the red candle next to the door. Near the wardrobe, she set three pieces of candy from a dish near the mirrored dresser. Placed on the floor as they were, the items looked harmless; odds and ends forgotten by Rosaline, but when Rowan called the spirits next time, they’d find their rewards and know they’d come to the right place.
Next, Rowan went to the tray sitting on the stand next to the bed, her long forgotten dinner, a stew with potatoes, shrimp, and corn, blended with a white sauce. Hoping it would please the spirits, she moved the small stand to the door, which was no small feat with the throbbing pain in her muscles. Rowan set the food and the white candle inside a chipped blue and white basin she moved from the top of the wardrobe, and placed the basin on a stand.
Finally, Rowan used the powders, meant to perfume her body, to draw the pattern Mama Gator had shown her on the floor. At the heart of the circular pattern, she added a pentagram, and then sat before it to call her spirits.
“Atibon Legba, open the gate for me,” she murmured. A tremor went through her. She relaxed. Her lips curved into a smile. “Ago Ellegua.”
Rowan glanced to the door to be sure it remained closed. Swamp rat indeed, they would see what a rat could do to them.
She murmured her prayer to the spirit Mama Gator said had followed her from birth. At first, the idea that something had hidden in the shadow and watched her for sixteen years had frightened her, but Mama Gator had shown her how to manage the spirit if she needed to call him. He was her mate, her protector, and asked only for her faithfulness. Not once had she asked anything in return. Mama Gator insisted that she should practice the call, speaking with him to understand his needs. Rowan hadn’t fully grasped the things Mama Gator told her to look for. She found it hard to believe in someone who’d never spoken to her, although the old woman claimed to hear him often, but in that moment, Rowan had to believe there was a force out there watching over her. If the spirits couldn’t help, then she was alone and Rowan couldn’t bear that thought. Besides, Mama Gator didn’t tell tales. Even if she hadn’t done the ritual exactly right, the spirit would come. Spirits knew when they were needed, and it pleased them to help. They would seek revenge for her.
When she murmured her wish, an energy entered her, coiling in her belly and sending shivers down her spine. Closing her eyes as the spirit filled the room, she smiled. “Welcome Damballah. It is time.”
Suddenly the ache left her body. Rowan moved to her feet, new strength filling her battered soul. She gathered her tools, scattering the powder across the floor, no need for them to know what she’d been up to.
CHAPTER 9
Rowan woke, the house still in darkness, and rolled onto her side. She tried not to think of the night before, but snapshots of faces, of feeling, pain, and sensations, flitted through her mind. Tears burned her eyes. It would be so easy to break, but she was stronger than that. Finally, she controlled her spirit; felt him urging her to keep fighting. A fighter didn’t lie about crying like a baby.
After lunch, much of which Rowan hid between the mattresses and under the bed, along with the candles and the basin, two men came up to remove everything but the bed, and the dreaded wardrobe, from her room. She watched as they came in again and again to take everything they could find. The room seemed much larger without the extra furniture. They even took the curtains off the windows. Maybe they thought she might hang herself, but Rowan had no desire to die until she brought Lucien to his knees.
A servant brought her some dinner, silently setting the tray on the floor just inside the door without even glancing her way. When he closed the door, Rowan retrieved the plate. Someone had placed a small knife under the slab of bread. She tucked that under the mattress along with the lace trimmed napkin and fork. She couldn’t rely on the spirit for everything. Mama Gator had warned her that the spirits did what they wanted and answered prayers in strange ways.
A pretty girl, not much older than Rowan, entered the room to collect her dinner tray an hour later. She was a tiny thing, with large brown eyes, and curly blond hair. Her lip trembled a bit so Rowan smiled.
“Do you work here?” she asked the girl.
The girl looked at the door and then back to Rowan. When she spoke, it was in a whisper as though she were afraid of someone outside listening. “With the men? No. Not anymore. My parents worked for Monsieur Dumas. I think they still do or they are dead. When my mother tried to get me work at the plantation as well, he told her he had better work for me. He promised them I’d get to travel and I’d have a fine education. We thought I’d be a nanny for some grand family.” She made a choking sound and looked away. “He brought me here, to lie with the men but I couldn’t do it and they got tired of me eventually. I’m a servant now.”
“So you don’t have to… do things with the men?”
“Now and then. If a man comes in and asks for me. She forces me to go up here with him.” The girl shuddered and glanced at the door once more. “But most of them think I’m a child and have no interest.”
“How old are you?”
“I’m eighteen. Older than a lot of the other girls. They’ve been talking about you.”
Rowan didn’t care about the other girls. She felt sorry for this one, because it was horrible for anyone to endure so much, and although she was older than Rowan, she was still a baby in many ways. However, the girl was alone in the world too, and it wouldn’t hurt to have a friend. “Listen, I don’t plan to be here long. If I go, would you like to come with me?”
The sound of footsteps on the stairs had the girl rushing to the door. She turned and gave Rowan a sad smile. “I wish that were possible. You will never get out of here. Many have died trying. More have wished they had after they returned.”
She was gone before Rowan could reply. Why wouldn’t the authorities step in? Prostitution was legal, but not for children. Perhaps Monsieur Dumas had enough money to keep the law away. Rowan wasn’t naïve enough to believe the local officials weren’t immune to fine things. No one was.
But the girl was wrong. Rowan would leave this place, and she’d only return to destroy Rosaline. She’d take the girl with her, even if it meant dragging her kicking and screaming from the house. Rowan smiled at the thought.
The door opened, and her smile faded as Henri walked into the room. She stiffened as he closed it and turned. He wore a suit of dark blue fabric, his hair smoothed away from his boyish face. He smiled, but his eyes darted around as though he were unable to look at her.
“Well, this place certainly has an abundance of trash,” she said.
“Now, ma cherie, don’t be that way. We know each other t
oo well for you to look at me like that.”
“I would have thought you had enough of me the other night.”
He sat on the edge of the bed.
Rowan curled into a ball at the opposite end.
“I won’t hurt you, Rowan. That was never my intention.”
“You can’t hurt me anymore, Henri. You haven’t the imagination to do worse than Rosaline and Lucien have already done.”
He touched the welts on her wrist.
She pulled away from him.
“What did they do? Tie you up? I’ve heard of worse.”
“They did worse than that, and I won’t discuss it with you. Do what it is you came to do and get out.”
Henri stared at her for a long time before touching the bruise that covered her cheek. His fingers were gentle. Hysteria fluttered inside as Rowan realized that she wanted to turn her face into him and cry.
Henri lowered his hand and sighed. “I wish you would realize that I am your friend. The other night was a misunderstanding. I didn’t have the time to be gentle, but it would never be that way again. We could be very good together if you gave me the chance to show you.”
“You raped me, Henri. You attacked me in my bed while I cried and begged you to stop, and you laughed about it. Do you think I could ever trust you again?”
“I thought… I knew what would happen and my cruelty was a kindness. I was helping you. Do you know what it would be like to come here not knowing what is was to be with a man who cares nothing for you? I didn’t want you to think that it would be like it was our first time.” He stood and walked to the wardrobe. Dread welled in her stomach, a nauseating sensation that smothered her, as he ran a large hand over the lock that held the hated doors together.
“Please just get it over with. I don’t wish to talk to you anymore.”
“What if I could take you from this place?” He smiled when she looked up at him.
Rowan knew she looked desperate. She was. If escaping meant trusting Henri, it was a sacrifice she’d make. She could deal with him later. “You can do that?”
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