Wes hesitated, and Roman aimed the gun at my leg.
I shut my eyes. Wes kissed me.
I shivered in my slip, fear shooting through my veins. The kiss was brief and soft, and I tasted the alcohol immediately. When he pulled back, my eyes welled with tears. Wes had the gall to look ashamed, as if he’d had a choice. As if he’d ever had a choice in any of this.
“He made you—” I looked past him at Roman’s smirk, and I fucking lost it. “What the fuck is wrong with you!” I yelled, my lip curling. “You disgusting?—”
“Nova, please, stop,” Wes begged, low and commanding. “Baby, please.”
When I didn’t stop, Wes covered my mouth with his hand.
“How about we brand her once on the front, once on the back,” Roman said, his tone frighteningly flat. “That way, there will be no question who the fuck my favorite new plaything belongs to.”
Wes’s chest rose and fell rapidly.
“Heat the iron with the torch until it’s gray.”
With the gun pointed at my head, Wes wordlessly obeyed. He took the torch and iron out from under the table with trembling hands.
The family crest looked larger to me this time, as I imagined it seared into my skin. Then I remembered it had already been burned into Lorelei’s skin two months ago, and who knew how many other girls.
What was it with psycho cult leaders and branding? Were they all fans of erotic French literature?
I shivered again. Wes wielded the torch, letting the flame meet the iron as he struggled to hold my gaze. We couldn’t be sure what else might set Roman off at this point, so neither of us spoke. I could only hope I passed out from the pain, that the second branding would happen while I was unconscious.
Only five minutes passed before the brand was the desired color. Wes was somehow a shade paler than he’d been before.
“Turn it off.”
Wes set down the torch.
“Now lift her slip. I want my mark on her womb.”
I yanked against my restraints involuntarily, and Roman’s eyes lit up at the sight of my struggle.
I wanted to beg, but I didn’t want to hurt Wes, given he was the one who had to ignore my pleas. He stared at me in utter horror, his body moving stiffly like a wind-up soldier.
“Maybe if you serve me well, I’ll even let you be the one to carry my heirs,” Roman said. “She’d look great carrying my seed, don’t you think, brother?”
Bile churned in my stomach. Wes slowly pushed up my slip, exposing my white thong beneath. His teeth ground together. His eyes darted rapidly between the two of mine, as if searching for a way out.
I shook my head ever-so-slightly. I couldn’t see him get shot either. We had to survive this. We had so much more life to live.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I’m going to be okay, remember?”
Wes’s eyes were glassy, his lips sunken as his brows drew close.
I just had to survive. I had more life to live and?—
And Wes loved me.
I closed my eyes and accepted my fate, no matter how cruel and unforgiving. We’d lost it all. Everything but the love, acted on too late, polluted by fear and pride and the evil hunting us from the shadows.
As red-hot heat hovered above my stomach, I held on to that singular, untarnished feeling—the space in my heart I’d created for Wes that I never managed to close.
I thought of eternity and religion and social media algorithms and our painful, all-consuming search for belonging. The human condition, ultimately such a fragile, desperate thing. We were all reaching, seeking, stumbling in search of the ineffable.
“Now,” Roman barked.
