I couldn’t imagine owning enough clothes for the wardrobe, but there was enough space for anything I could imagine. There were even a few garment bags hidden in the shadows, bags I couldn’t bring myself to look at. Not yet.
And the bathroom…
It didn’t feel real at all.
A large soaking tub built into the floor sat in the middle, with a large wall of windows overlooking the island below. In here, I had a full view of our field of wildflowers, the pond, and the little pavilion sitting against the tree line. With the storm rolling in, it was hard to see more, especially with the rain now coming down harder than earlier, flooding the world in a greyish hue.
The moment we crossed into the bathroom, the tub started to fill from hidden spouts either side of the large basin. Warmth prickled my skin as steam rose from the water.
As it filled, I took in the shower hidden behind another wall set in what looked like a hallway; the door off to the side where I assumed the toilet must be; the long vanity and three sinks to my right.
Although exhaustion sank deep into me, all I wanted to do was disappear in the bath. Sink into it and just…disappear.
For the first time since escaping, I felt the weight of the collar around my neck, felt the way the metal stuck to my skin, how raw and sore my throat felt beneath it. There would be no disappearing with this thing still trapping me to Dante. No escaping his hold with it still being a dark reminder of his control.
Rowan released my hand hesitantly and moved towards the tub. Despite how large it was, it still filled quickly, the water lapping at the stairs leading into the water. He knelt at the edge and ran his fingers throughthe water.
“It’s hot,” he said, glancing up at me. “Is there anything?—”
Before he could finish, I pulled the nightgown off my body. One of the last remnants of Dante’s control fell to my feet, baring me to all who stood around me.
I was glad I couldn’t see the utter destruction of my body.
The glass across from me revealed enough.
Nothing could really hide the scars.
60
Rowan
Horror glinted in Adrian’s gaze, despair warping Elias’s face. Barely concealed rage played in Maeve’s reddening eyes, and the rest…
They only stared.
I couldn’t see what they did, but even still, what I could make out made bile rise in my throat. Ivy’s stomach was more prominent now, the once gentle slopes I used to dream about and the softness of her curves gone. To the naked eye, she looked like she might have been bloated, but I knew better.
It was the clear proof of what he’d done to her—what he’d taken away from her, from us.
Even her breasts looked swollen and bruised. Dark lines ran up them, veins clearer than they’d been before. I could clearly remember the last time I’d seen her naked, and that version of her didn’t match the one I saw before me.
She hadn’t even been given underwear. The bastard had forced her to walk around without them.
The collar around her neck seemed so much realer now that it was the only thing she wore. It created an urgency within me to find a way to get it off her, because there was no way…
How was she able to stand there without breaking?
Ivy stepped out of the nightgown and walked towards thetub, but her eyes were locked on her own reflection. Slowly, I rose to my feet, swallowing hard as I took in more of her body. There were handprints on her upper arms, bruised but healing. They’d been covered by the nightgown, and the darkness had hidden them from sight. But now they were on full display, so clearly from her treatment in his compound, so obvious on her now mortal body.
With her magic, they shouldn’t have left a mark.
But Ivy wasn’t filled with power that could heal or protect her, anymore. She was as human as the day I ran into her on that street.
As she moved to the edge of the tub, I offered her my hand, breath catching in my throat as I watched her consider it for a moment. And as she did, I finally noticed what the others saw.
A mirror stationed across from me caught some of the damage, most of it hidden behind the knots of her dark hair. But it was too obvious, too harsh.
Scars, barely healed, lining her back, carved by some sort of knife. Marks I recognised only from my studies on the God Runes scarred her flesh. They were harsh and dark, covering her mate marks. Cutting into each one with efficiency, destroying each beautiful tattoo that symbolised our bonds.
