Varek.
He stands over the last body, panting, victorious.
I rise slowly, stepping toward him, hiding the dagger behind my back.
“You were the strongest.” I let admiration seep into my voice. “I knew it would be you.”
“They were too weak to resist you. I won’t make that mistake.”
My stomach dips.
I miscalculated.
Before I can react, he grabs my arm, his grip like iron. “The Baron will be pleased.”
He twists the dagger from my hand. The world tilts. My victory shatters.
Fury contorts his face. He hurls me around and onto the altar, stomach first. The air knocks from my lungs—a horrible, winded sound grunts from my lips. Before I can recover, he tugs me downward until I bend at the waist, and my legs dangle over the edge. The too-big boots fall off as I kick, scrambling to find purchase. My toes scrape the ground.
“I thought I was for the Baron,” I say.
“You are.” A calloused hand glides over my rear end, splitting the silks to bare my panties. “But what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”
“The rosebud mark will bloom when your seed fills my womb. Your betrayal will be obvious.”
The press of his fingers, or knuckles, graze over my bare buttocks—inward to the crack. He pauses there and whispers, “I’m sure a Vesper whore understands there is more than one hole to fill.”
No. I squeeze my eyes shut as he fumbles behind me. My last line of defense was my virginal blood.
His belt buckle clinks.
There’s no guarantee I’ll bleed if he takes me. Unless he’s rough. I don’t know if I have what it takes to ensure that happens. It means reaching into my coldest parts—parts from which I might never return.
Swallowing, I open my eyes and prepare myself.
Something moves in my periphery.
The Huntsman.
The gray of his uniform blends with mist as he stalks through the courtyard toward us. Every part of my soul weeps in relief. He’s alive, a little torn up and spattered with blood, but in one piece.
My captor doesn’t see him. I know because he’s pushing up against me, too eager to give himself the distance needed to undo the buttons at his breeches.
My eyes lock with the Huntsman’s over his mask, and my hope falters. His eyes burn with retribution, but something else—hesitation.
“Maybe next time, I’ll let him fuck you.”
“Maybe that’s what I wanted.”
The horror dawns on me as I remember my impetuous words. Does he think this is what I want?
Tears well. I give an almost imperceptible shake of my head and beg him with my eyes—help me. But the Huntsman doesn’t move, and my vision warbles. When I blink, he’s gone.
I’ve pushed him too far, and now he’s left me. I’m alone in this fate.
My throat closes up.
It’s then I realize I’m disappointed. Crushed. So, so much. A part of me is still drawn to him, even though he isn’t Drayven.
