“I am nothing like that piece of shit. How could you say that?” he growls next to my ear.
“Derrick?” Orion questions.
“The man who raped her,” Thaddeus growls back at him, his grip tightening on me.
“You’re right, nothing like him. You have never forced me to do anything against my will, right? How dare I compare you to the monster that tortured me for a year? You’re nothing alike, right? What are you, my mate? That’s you, right? You’re entitled to do what you please with me?” I ask.
Thaddeus lets go, and I crumble to the floor. Pain hits me as soon as he lets go. I am almost tempted to grab him just to ease it as it rolls back over me.
“I am not like him; I wouldn’t do that,” Thaddeus says, taking a step back. His clothes are drenched from the shower, and I can feel his hurt through the bond at being compared to him.
How can’t he see they aren’t much different? What he is doing is taking my control, just like Derrick did, forcing me to do what he pleases. The only difference is this is worse because Thaddeus is supposed to be my mate, love and protect me, but all he has done for the last day is torture me because I did something he didn’t like. How is that any different?
Thaddeus storms out of the bathroom, and I let out a breath of relief. My body shudders as another wave washes over me, making my toes curl in pleasure and scream in pain at the same time. Such a strange sensation is agony, a form of torment on its own. He is not the only one brutalizing me, but myself, for not giving in; but this is my choice, the choice I want, and I can bear it because it is my choice not to give in. Ryland steps into the shower, making my eyes snap to his.
“I’m not going to do anything, I promise,” he says through gritted teeth as he sits on the shower floor, becoming drenched by the cold water. “You don’t need to be in pain, though,” he says, removing his shirt and dumping it on the floor as he opens his arms up. I glare at him, but he puts his hands up in surrender. “I know you don’t want us touching you, Evelyn, but it will ease the pain. I have control, I promise,” he says, reaching for me.
He grips my arms but waits for me to move, not forcing me. His hands instantly give me relief, letting me let out the breath I was holding, and my body relaxes slightly. I crawl onto him, resting my head against his chest. Orion tugs on my shirt, and I slap his hand away.
“It will help, Evelyn, skin to skin,” he says, and I let him tug it off over my head. It does help, Ryland’s warm chest against mine helps. I wiggle my hips as arousal floods through me, and I can feel the bulge in his pants underneath me.
Ryland growls, and I try to get off when he pulls me against him. “I am fine; I can keep my pants on,” he says. I can feel through the bond he wants nothing more than to remove them and sink himself into my throbbing heat.
My heat lasts hours, longer than before because I refuse to ease it. Ryland remains rigid underneath me, keeping his word and not touching me. I can hear Thaddeus pace in the bedroom, feel his hunger and desire through the bond, but he never steps foot back in the bathroom, fighting with himself. My words cut him deeply, and I can feel guilt through the bond, but he is too stubborn to admit to it.
I can tell they are all in pain and just as uncomfortable as me. I’m not sure how I survive it, it is torture, especially knowing they can stop it, but they respect my wishes and don’t push me. Instead, they just watch me, Ryland, still as a statue beneath me, his hands clenched tight at his side.
Eventually, the pain becomes too much, and I pass out. Welcoming the darkness as it consumes me, I survive the heat, but I’m unsure for how long until it comes back. One thing I am aware of is that I am stronger at resisting the bond than I thought, because the entire time, I wanted to give in, wanted it to end, but I didn’t break; the heat didn’t break me.
E
velyn
When I wake up, my body is killing me, every muscle aching like I have run a marathon. Stretching, I roll and come nose to nose with Thaddeus. His eyes are wide open, staring back at me, and I can’t help the squeal of fright, opening my eyes to his green ones so close.
He says nothing, just watches me, sending a shiver up my spine with how hollow he looks, empty and emotionless. My heart is pounding in my chest before palpitating.
Fear is something I have grown used to, but it never gets any more welcoming; you can never get used to the feeling. And even though fear is something I feel regularly, it never becomes familiar or comfortable, just there, waiting to flood me when I least expect it.
I feel a knot form in my stomach and wriggle away from him.
“Do I scare you?” he asks, his eyebrows furrowing.
“Sometimes,” I answer honestly.
He does most of the time, but I can usually get rid of the fear or push it aside and look past it. This feels different, though. The fear feels different; it isn’t what he can do to me but what he can make me do to myself. That is a different level of fear, knowing he has that sort of control, that level of power over me. It’s one thing influencing someone’s actions, another when they are vulnerable and unable to help themselves, like the puppet on the strings. And right now, I am his puppet; he gets to choose what happens next. The ultimate control, and knowing he has control over me scares me. He can ask me to kill myself, and I won’t be able to stop myself from doing it.
“Am I scaring you now?” he asks, rolling on his back.
“Yes,” I tell him.