Page 59 of Balance

Well, that was enough of an invitation for me.

I scooched forward, until I laid in front of her and pulled her against me. Her shivering didn’t subside even after I’d wrapped the blanket around her.

Bianca hiccupped, her fingers curling in the fabric of my shirt.

“It was about a year before I was adopted,” she began.

She’d barely started and already the stirrings of anger swelled in me.

She’d lived there for three years, so whateverthiswas happened while she was in the midst of that time. Of course, we had a general idea of what she’d gone through: physical and sexual abuse, hunts…

But who knew what else there might be?

I would never forgive myself for not seeing this earlier. From the beginning, she had been quite clear about her fears, especially of being chased and killed. In my ignorance, I’d brushed it off the most telling signs as an eccentric aspect of her personality.

“I wasn’t thinking,” she said. “I fought back. That’s how it happened.”

My breath caught and my arms tighten around her.Thiswas not what I expected.

I’d assumed that the scar—which hadn’t been visible at all in the video—had been self-inflicted.

But that didn’t seem to be the case at all.

She said it was anaccident.

“You… fought back.” My voice rang like a hollow bell through my head, somehow steady despite the raging turmoil burning within me.

She nodded. My pulse quickened as a different sort of fear filled me.

Dear Lord, was she going to talk aboutthat? But why now? She’d never opened up toanyoneabout the sort of abuse she endured, and Dr. Kohler had been trying for ten years.

It was horrible and cowardly, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to hear this.

I didn’t know if I could.

“I was supposed to r-r-run.” She sniffled. “But once the dogs caught up, I had to wait even if I was scared or they bit at me.”

I could hardly hear her over the pounding in my ears.

“I went back to my room…” Her voice trailed off in the end, or maybe it was because it was becoming harder to focus through the red cloak falling over my vision, and I missed her words. I wasn’t sure.

“I wasn’t feeling well that day, and it was hard to think,” she whispered, her voice shaking.

Hatred made my vision flash with blood and murder. I was going to kill them.

“I fought back,” she repeated her earlier statement, her voice gaining conviction and force. “I kicked him, and he fell into my window. There was a lot of glass, and a lot of blood.”

“How did they—”

“They had to burn it to stop the bleeding,” she said, her breath hitching. “M-Mr. Richards was angry at me.”

“About what?” It wasn’t her fault.

“That I fought back,” she repeated, as if it was so very obvious. Then she pressed her face against my chest. “Damen, you’re hurting me.”

Her statement barely registered through my tumultuous thoughts, but when it did, I forced my arm to relax. Despite the rage fighting to break through, I sucked in a breath, hoping to steady my spiraling emotions.

I had to hold it together. Nothing good would come from me giving in to my true nature right now.