Better me than any ofthem.
Ignoring her, I yank the material down to get a better look. The tattoo looks almost new, recently healed at that. Beneath, her skin flushes, her breathing coming quicker as I wipe over the dark lines.
The skilled outline of the crow is beautiful.
Symbolic.
And I’m about to tear it away from her.
There are too many eyes on us, greedy as they wait for the show. She doesn’t flinch at the cold of the liquid against her skin, doesn’t say anything else. Her lips are a tight line when I step away, turning my back on her as I head to the bucket and carefully pick it up. I don’t bother with protective gloves.
I’m careful to wipe any anger from my face as I glance down. Of course, Cecile would choose the biggest from the rods we have.
“Get her on her knees.”
I don’t – can’t – watch the struggle behind me. Don’t want to see the defiance in those eyes fading, the challenge, as she struggles, kicking and twisting and biting as the men curse, forcing her down.
She cannot win here, and she knows it. But still, she fights, makes them work for every single inch of ground gained as they slowly pin her, huffing and swearing.
Caterina glares up at me, panting, and I crouch down on my ankles, setting the bucket aside for a moment.
She swears at me when I take her hair, pushing the strands to the other side of her neck so it doesn’t get in the way. “Figlio di puttana.Stronzo.”
Ignoring her vitriol, I wait for her eyes to meet mine, wild and panicked and furious, before I hold up the bit. “So you don’t swallow your tongue.”
It’s happened before. She gauges me, her eyes flickering between my face and the strip of leather in my hands. Weighing up the cost, before her mouth opens.
The bit stretches her mouth, and behind us, Salvatore murmurs something that makes laughter erupt from the men around him. When her cheeks flush, eyes darting to him, I grip her chin. “Look at me.”
My voice is harsh and low. As harsh as it needs to be to do this, to do it in the right way sohedoesn’t force me to take it any further, andshecomes out of it with the least amount of scarring. “When I tell you, take a deep breath. You won’t feel anything for a few seconds, and then the pain will be…,”
I stop.Indescribable.
The pain is beyond anything I can explain. There is nothing I can truly say to help, nothing I can do, aside from making sure everything is correct so we don’t have to fucking repeat it.
“You have to try and stay still,” I force out. My throat feels like the fucking desert, dry and scratchy. “Move, and it’s worse. Don’t struggle.”
The look she gives me – I would burn up on the spot if she had the power. Her chin dips in a barely noticeable nod, and she braces herself against the men holding her. I level them with a glare. “Hold her steady. This goes wrong, you’ll pay for it.”
“Enough delaying.” My uncle snaps the words from where he watches, drink in hand. “Get on with it,nipote.”
Caterina’s eyes flash to mine, considering.
But any confusion is stripped away, overtaken by the darkness in her gaze as I pull that bronze rod free. The head looks huge in comparison to her as I hold it out, the dry ice creating a vapor that swirls around it.
I swallow. Force my hand to steady.
“Breathe.”
She sucks in, her teeth clamping down on the leather, and I swear I can feel the precise moment that another little piece of my humanity chips away. Maybe the last of it.
As I press the branding rod against her skin.
A choked, horrific sound tears from her throat as her head jerks forward. But her body… Caterina stays still, as I hold the brand in place against that golden skin. My hand presses it down, the light burning scent a familiar one as I keep my eyes on her, ready to jerk it away if she collapses.
I should have known better.
She breathes heavily as I pull the brand back, stare at the deep red mark. The outline of a shield that pierces the wings of her crow tattoo, splits it into pieces with angry red burns.
