Page 73 of Broken Souls

“I’m not fucking you,” I say against his lips.

“You’re my wife.”

My heart stutters over that, but he’s never had an issue with claiming me in the dark, in the shadows where no one can see or hear orknow.

“I’m not marrying you.”

“The fuck you aren’t,” he growls, and I can’t even repeat my words because they’re too empty. Even though I hate him so fucking much right now, that doesn’t change the fact that he purchased me.

He has a signed contract from my father saying that if I run, my own damn Family will hunt me down and kill me.

I am his property.

His breedmare to take whenever he wants.

And now that I am with child, that contract is forever binding; the back-out clause concerning my infertility has officially closed.

“You’ll kill us,” I whisper as he sets me down on the sink and grabs at the skirt of my dress. He pulls it up past my knees before he stops. Lifting his lips off me, he presses his forehead to mine.

“Is there anything left to kill?” he whispers, and there is so much pain there, so much godsdamn hope that there is something left, some small tether that is still tying me to him, that I want to cry for what we have lost, for what he broke by hammering a screw into my hands.

For being able to keep going despite my screams.

My pain.

Heartless and cruel.

“I don’t know,” I whisper. “I don’t know.”

Exhaling hard, he steps back, then offers me the wand he tucked into his waistband. “Heal yourself, Micha. Then I’m taking you to bed.”

“I don’t want to sleep with you,” I mumble.

“Sleep or fuck?”

I stay silent. I don’t want to admit that I want his arms around me. That I want him to try to fix what he has broken even though I have no idea how he possibly can. Perhaps I just want him to try and fail. To feel so damn desperate to change something, like I was in that chair, yet never be able to.

Grabbing my wrist, he places the wand gently in my palm. “Heal yourself, Micha. I don’t like seeing…” He stops as I snort.

“Fuck you,” I say.

“I thought you were a traitor. All the evidence –”

“Fuck. You.”

“Fine. Be angry with me,” he says, his voice flattening. “But fucking heal yourself. That’s an order.”

My eyes narrow, and if my hands didn’t hurt so badly, I’d punch him. “Fuck you.”

His jaw tics, his patience clearly wearing thin. But fuck him and his patience. I’ve been so godsdamn patient with him over these last four months. I have been understandingof all his paranoia and pain. Fuck, I can still understand him now. Can still understand the choice he was forced to make as the clock was ticking down on his brother’s life. But I don’t care anymore. I don’t give a fucking shit about why he hurt me. Hehurtme.

And he didn’t stop.

He didn’t fucking stop while I was screaming in pain.

Noreasonis good enough to make up for that.

“How is Maddox?” I ask as I stare at the wand, genuinely wondering how he is. He was the one who saved me, and now he’s just risked his life to save his brother. I want to know that he’s okay.