I scramble with the sheets, getting out of bed and limping. All I see are the cane and hat until?—
—he drops them.
“No!” I scream, trying too hard, forgetting I can’t run.
So, when I hit the ground, I crawl. Crawl as fast as I can to that fire. To my lifelines, the only tethers. It’s not dignified. Instinct and grief drive me.
“How intriguing,” he says like honey dripping over a blade. “You’d crawl for them. Like a bitch on your knees, the whore you swore you weren’t despite how many times I used your mouth.”
His shadow swallows me, but I ignore him, pulling myself up onto the stone. The heat sears my cheeks, and I don’t care.
I lift my hand. It shakes?—
And I plunge it into the fire.
Just enough. Enough to get the cane. Enough to scream.
“Bri,” he growls, seizing my wrist.
The flames consume what’s left of the hat.
My skin is hot as an ember, but when he wrenches the cane out of my hands, it’s only a blister. The cane drops a moment later. I reach for it, cradling the scorched wood against my chest.
“Keep your precious treasure. Hold onto what’s left, Gabriella,” he says, grim and calculated, one I recognize from the past. “You want to play with fire? You want to burn?”
Then, I hear it. The sound of him undoing his belt, sweeping it off. Out of the corner of my eye, I see his fist clenched around the leather, folded twice for layered impact.
It’s useless to struggle, to fight, but I still try.
I get one moment of battle before he grips the nape of my neck, fisting my hair before dragging me onto his lap.
No.
I murmur a weak protest as he holds me down just like he used to when I disobeyed. He yanks my pants down to my lower thighs.
He pauses. His chest expands. I know what he’s doing, what he’s seeing. The silver marks on my ass and my thighs from Rory’s whip. I tremble as he slowly lifts the sweater to bare more. He traces the brand, and I hiss. I know what he’s feeling, too. Because I feel it.
His cock throbs below me. No one’s as large as Rory or Jude, but Alden is still sizable. And thick.
“Hmm, so they dared to put scars on what is mine. Don’t worry, beautiful Bri. Soon, I will give you new scars.” He brushes his fingers along them. “I will make you bleed so pretty. Pretty scars that know my name. But not until your trial.”
“What trial?” I mutter.
“No year of cleansings this time, my fiery girl.” He lowers his head, his hot breath drifting across my cheek. I flinch when he tosses my hair over my head and peels back layers to find the mark. He freezes. I feel his rage. “What the hell did you do?”
“Ooh, someone needs to pay the swear jar.”
He grabs the back of the sweater and rips my tether to Vincent. With every shred of fabric he rips and throws into the fire, pieces of my heart break off.
“You’ll be brought to the Circle.”
He yanks my leggings down to my knees.
“You will be bound. Naked, to a cross. A holy baptism of fire, lightning, and blood.”
Fire. A new brand.
Lightning. The cattle prod.
