It’s when I’m leaving it that it happens.
I’m so focused on my bedroom door that I jump a mile at the unfamiliar voice.
“Well. What do we have here?”
Shit. Rafe is going to bepissed.
Slowly, I turn. The man strolling up the hall isn’t familiar to me. Tall, broad-shouldered. Handsome enough, with bright, blonde hair and brown eyes that sweep me up and down.
It’s the look in his eye that makes me take a step back. I force a smile. “Hi. Don’t mind me. I’m just heading back to bed.”
He eats up the space between us. “You must be Anastasia. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
His lip curls a little. When I turn, intending to leave, his hand reaches out, grabbing my wrist. “Where are you running off to, hmm?”
My muscles lock up. “Please let me go.”
He smirks. “No need to look so scared. I’m just curious. Everyone is talking about the ugly stepsister, after all.”
I steel myself as he blatantly stares down at my body. “Not the prettiest. But certainly not ugly.”
My breathing speeds up as his grip on my wrist tightens. He gives me the same vibes as Parrish did.
I glance down the hallway behind him, searching for any sign of Rafe. Silas. Kit.
But the hallway is empty. “Won’t Rafe be looking for you?”
His face twists into something unfamiliar. “Rafe won’t begrudge me a little playtime with his toy, I’m sure.”
My body breaks into a cold sweat as he steps in closer. He reaches out, and I stay completely still as his finger traces down my neck. Lower.
“No,” he murmurs. “Not ugly.”
I brace myself.Breathe, Stasi.
In. Out.
And then I kick him, as hard as I can. My foot connects with his shin, and he lets go of my wrist.
And Irun. Not back to my room, where he can corner me. But down the hall, towards the dining room. To them.
A curse rings out from behind me, and I cry out as a hand tangles in my hair, yanking me back with savage, burning pain.
“Little bitch,” he hisses, slapping his hand over my mouth. “You clearly need a better lesson than what they’re teaching you.”
I fight. My hand scratches at his skin, digging into his face and raking down his cheek as he tries to push me down. He swears again, and my head whips to the side as he slaps me hard with his open palm.
It gives him an advantage, as my vision doubles. My hands are weaker now, pushing at his shoulders as he forces me down, using his body to hold me in place as my legs scrabble desperately against the floor.
I twist, my hands reaching out as his fingers wrap around my neck.
“I’m going to enjoy this,” he grunts. His hands roam down, and I choke on the sob in my throat.
“Please,please, stop—,”
There’s a roar from behind me. The weight crushing me down disappears.
And hands are pulling me up as I flinch. Kit is there, his hands running up and down my arms frantically before he cups my face. “Stasi. Jesus.Stasi.”
