Hevan
An arctic breeze sweeps over my cheek, sending a chill through my body, and I snap my eyes open. This is not my room. I can smell him all around me. The black satin sheets brush against my skin. The color is what I’d expect from a man with a heart as cold as stone, and I smile around them. But I know differently. He’s let me see below the darkness. He’s given me a glimpse of his tortured soul, the softness that exists though he refuses to believe it.
He brought me into his room; after barely talking to me for days, he wants me with him. Some of the fury I have for him and his awful words lessens.
The thin curtains blow in the breeze, and I scan over the balcony bathed in the moonlight. Snuggling back into the sheets, I close my eyes and melt against the mattress; the fact he carried me in here and not my room feels like a milestone in our relationship.
Is this a turning point? Is this his way of trying to make amends?
I’m not sure how long I drift back to sleep, but it doesn’t feel too long. I can sense him watching me from somewhere in the room, and I smile against the pillow as his footsteps approach. Determined to remain in my sleepy state, I fight back the urge to open my eyes to greet him.
But as he bends over the bed, an unfamiliar scent invades my nostrils—smoke and alcohol and cheap perfume—and I snap my eyes open.
A thick hand covers my mouth, and an all-consuming panic hits me.
Azrael’s father leans over me; his lecherous gaze filled with desire and laced with anger. “I found my son’s whore in his bed.” He throws the satin sheet off me, sending a terrifying chill over me. I’m raw and exposed and completely at his mercy. “Waiting for me to take her.”
One hand pulls at the shirt I wear while the other pushes against me so hard it smooshes my face. I thrash and buck beneath him, kicking my legs out to push him off me to no avail.
I bite his hand. “You bitch!” he roars, removing his hand, but then a searing pain shoots across my cheek in a punishing slap that sends my head spinning. The burn from his hit causes me to whimper, but when he grips my breast and squeezes hard, it becomes secondary to the pain I’m suffering.
Then his hand moves between my legs, and I try to clamp them shut, but I’m powerless against his strength.
This man, this monster, doesn’t care about the pain he inflicts; in fact, he probably gets off on it. Every story I’ve heard, every warning Azrael has reminded me of comes flooding back to me like a tsunami.
He’s not just dangerous. He’s a demon, and he’s going to destroy me with a crooked smirk on his deranged face.
His fingers enter me, and I cry out, hating the unwanted invasion. The unfamiliar feeling of something foreign and unwelcome sends a wave of nausea through me, but it’s his forced entry that causes the agony.
A shooting pain from my nipple causes me to lurch forward, and I take the opportunity to slam the heel of my palm into his nose, stunning him for a split second, then I scramble from beneath him and move to get off the bed.
All I can think about is getting to Azrael.
He’d make him stop.
I’m certain he would.
My body becomes tangled in the sheets, and he grips my ankle, pulling me back onto the bed. But the fight isn’t just for me; it’s for my baby, our baby, and I refuse to be at this man’s mercy. With all the strength I have in me, I lash out, kicking him in his groin and follow it up with a swift slap to his face, dragging my nails over his cheeks as deeply as I can.
“You fucking whore!” he hollers, rearing back, and I move quicker this time, getting to my feet. I rush toward the door, the shirt still covering my back but torn open at the front.
My hand is on the door handle, but before I can turn it, he yanks me back by my hair, and I scream, then he pushes me so hard I stumble and smack my head on the corner of the dresser. Warmth spreads down my face as the room spins, and I slam into the floor with a brutal thud.
The sheer anger radiating from him tells me it’s going to get worse, and I welcome the hazy sensation enveloping me. I bask in it to not experience a single aspect of his heinous abuse.
“Pl…please,” I whimper, and a villainous gleam spreads over his demonic face.
“I love a bitch that begs.” He grins, lighting up his entire face. He’s crazed and full of excitement, and now there’s two of him as my vision blurs.
The last thing I see as I close my eyes is him unbuckling his belt.
The next thing I’m aware of is the devastating kick he lands to my stomach causes a lone tear to slip down my face, and I hate the fact he got to witness it. My heart is crushed, along with my hope, and I silently beg for Azrael to come and save us both. To be the difference we spoke of, the one I know he can be, and save our baby from this savagery.
Warmth gushes between my legs, and it tells me everything I need to know about the evil that prevails in this world.
I don’t belong in it, and right now, I welcome death, so I get to be with our baby.
Chapter Forty-Seven
