“I didn’t kill him,” he confessed, his fingers loosening around my jaw only to stroke my face with an unsettling gentleness. “We had a nice chat, actually. About you.”
A sob broke from my lips. For a moment, I wanted to believe him, believe that Zaghan, a man who killed someone for simply touching me, allowed another that slept with me go scot-free. Because it was Rowan McRae. He never did anything wrong. He chose me despite how broken I was. I didn’t want him to die. In an instant far less cruel than this, I wanted him to have escaped Zaghan’s wrath, to have lived. I needed him to live.
He didn’t deserve to die because of me.
“He told me about how he fucked you, you know,” he continued, his voice tinted with something venomous. “How you moaned his name when my name should be tattooed on your fucking lips.” His fingers dug deeper, burrowing comfortably into my skin. “You gave him every part of you that belonged only to me, Beth.”
I shook uncontrollably, my face burning under the vice of his hold, but he didn’t let go. He stroked my face with one finger, the rest breaking open my skin.
“Don’t look so sad, baby,” he whispered, “We’re best buds now. We even made plans. Sleepover tomorrow. Maybe braid each other’s hair.” His grin turned sharper, wicked. “You should probably join us. I’ve always wondered what a threesome looks like.”
A sob cracked my body, fingers clenching the blanket in a desperate attempt to ground myself.
“Come on, say something, little witch,” he pleaded. “I went through all this trouble to bring your lover’s heart closer to you,just the way you wanted it, and you are not saying a word to me?”
I whimpered when he suddenly yanked the gift box from my lap. His bloody fingers dipped inside, grasping the slick, still-warm organ.
The squelch of shifting flesh made my stomach churn, bile rising from my throat.
“Maybe,” he said, voice lilting with something dark. “You don’t understand what this means. Maybe I should help you appreciate it more.”
I didn’t get a chance to react when his blood-coated fingers shoved forward, pressing something wet against my lips.
My entire body seized, locked in place.
N-no!
“Shhh,” he cooed, his grip tight as he pushed harder. The muscle was soft, pliant, smeared in Rowan’s drying blood.
I tried to shake my head, but he clamped down harder, pinching my cheek until my mouth was forced open just enough.
“Open wider.” His voice dripped with something twisted. “I don’t want to force the entire thing down your throat.”
Terror exploded in my chest.
I tried to push at him, claw at his hands, but he was stronger, so much stronger.
His thumb hooked into my mouth, parting my lips further. And then…
The taste hit my tongue first; coppery, foul, and thick.
I choked a garbled sob as he pressed the chunk against my teeth. The texture was spongy, raw, and strong. And it made my stomach lurch.
“Chew it,” he whispered, lips brushing the shell of my ear.
I shook my head frantically, whimpering and gagging.
“Chew!”
His hand slid from my jaw to my neck, keeping it there, fingers flexing around my throat. A sob shuddered out of me. I couldn’t breathe, and my lungs burned. My body trembled, instinct kicking at me to fight. But I couldn’t. The hand around my throat was strong and unyielding.
“Eat, Elizabeth.” His hand tightened only a fraction. And the choice was taken as my body betrayed me and my mouth closed. The chunk of flesh sat heavy on my tongue.
He released his grip, allowing enough air for me to sob through my nose. When I refused to chew still, he smirked, his hand moving lower, hovering over my stomach, pushing, pressing.
I gagged.
“Swallow it,” he ordered, his tone sickly sweet.
