A silhouette filled the darkened space.
Tall.
Broad.
But not Henry.
My pulse stuttered, my stomach dropping as I peered into two dark eyes I prayed I’d never see again.
Victor.
His lips curved into a slow, sinister smile that made all the tiny hairs on my body stand on end.
“Hello, wife.Happy to see me?”
“What are you doing here?”I whispered, backing up as he stalked toward me until my spine slammed into the far wall.
“I’m here to take back what’s mine.”He gripped my hair so hard tears blurred my vision.“And make no mistake, Ariana.Youaremine.”
He flung me across the room and onto the bed like I weighed nothing.The mattress thudded beneath me, adrenaline causing my movements to be jerky and unsteady.
I tried to remember what Henry had taught me.Tried to remain calm.But around Victor, it was a losing battle.Still, I attempted to scramble off the bed, but he was on top of me before I could, pinning me down.
“Seems like you need a reminder of who you belong to.”
He pulled out a knife I’d become quite familiar with and pushed my t-shirt up, exposing my stomach.Exposing the word he’d carved into me over and over until I believed it.
I tried to buck him off like Henry had trained me to do, but my muscles felt heavy.Like they were filled with wet sand.My head was foggy, my surroundings blurry.
Was I drugged?
It didn’t matter.I needed to fight.Needed to get away from Victor.Get to one of the many guns Henry had stashed around the house.But my arms wouldn’t move correctly.My fingers slipped uselessly against his wrist.Like some unknown force was keeping me pinned here.
“Ariana,” Victor purred, dragging the knife along my skin, “you should have known you’d never get away.”
His smile widened, becoming even more wicked, as I fought to lift an arm.Anything.
I couldn’t.All I could do was stare in horror as he plunged the knife deep into my stomach.
A blood-curling scream echoed through the room, and I finally managed to move, bolting upright in bed.
But the room was empty.
No Victor.No knife.No hands pinning me down.Just shadows and moonlight and the harsh rasp of my breathing.
I looked down at my stomach.No blood.No fresh scars.
“It was just a dream,” I whispered to myself.“It was just a dream.”
But my body didn’t get the message.Sweat soaked through my t-shirt.My hands trembled.My legs felt weak.
I went to the bathroom and splashed water on my face, repeating it was just a dream over and over, sucking in deep breath after deep breath.
It still didn’t make me feel any better.
I should have taken my mother up on her offer to stay here tonight.Or spent the night with her and Cato in the guest house.
After that dream, I didn’t want to be alone, so I changed out of my sweat-soaked pajamas, slipped on a pair of sneakers, and crept toward the door.
