Page 84 of Dance of Thorns

When the statue turns, its tall, lethal antlers clawing toward the sky, I almost scream in pure blind terror as its eyes flicker like obsidian, piercing the fog.

My heart lurches into my throat as I back away. The antlers advance, slowly, stalking me. I almost trip as I turn and dart down another pathway, my breath becoming ragged as a million synapses fire in my brain at once.

Suddenly, this is more than I was bargaining for.

Much more.

I whirl and start to bolt back to the door that leads downstairs. To normalcy.

To a life I understand, even if it hurts.

I know he said it was locked. But maybe I can bang on it and get Alfred’s attention. He can't know that his boss plays insanely fucked-up kink games on the roof at night dressed like a fuckingstag.

Heavy footsteps follow me. I somehow stifle the urge to scream, but the ragged panting of my breaths is far too loud as I dart down a row of hedges, stumble my way around a leering gargoyle, clawing my way through mist and branches, trying to get back to the door.

I almost make it.

I canseethe fucking thing. Then a branch snaps behind me, jarring me and causing me to make the fatal mistake of starting to turn.

No.

I trip over my own feet, and I’m trying to course correct when a hand wraps like iron around my calf.

“Gotcha.”

I scream blue murder as he twists my leg sharply, violently sending me to the ground. Stars explode through my vision, my breath slammed from my lungs. I kick against the ground, desperate to claw myself up.

Not happening.

A heavy weight slams into me, crushing me to the ground and forcing whatever air is left in my lungs out of them. A big hand wraps around my mouth, clamping it shut, choking back my cry.

My hair gets wrapped around a fist and yanked so hard that I swear he’s trying to tear it from my scalp.. Pain and adrenaline explode through my system as he tugs my head back by the hank of hair. His teeth scrape across the tender skin of my neck, up my jugular until his hot breath is right in my ear.

“Now you’re fucking MINE, baby.”

He lets go of my mouth but keeps me pinned against the ground between the fistful of my hair and his body on mine. His weight lifts for a moment, but before I can hope for escape, his hand grabs the back of my yoga pants.

Oh fuck…

I groan, choking on another cry as Bane violently tears both my pants and my underwear down, shoving them to my knees. I kick and thrash; fear, adrenaline, need and raw hunger swirling in me, igniting my blood more than any hit from a needle ever did.

Bane rips off my shoes and tosses them aside, yanking my pants off but leaving my torn panties caught around one ankle, like he doesn’t give a shit so long as he can spread my legs.

…Which is exactly what he does next.

I moan, still fighting, but realizing how fucking futile it is. He pins my cheek to the ground, his hand twisting my hair tight as he shoves my legs apart and settles his weight on the backs of my thighs.

SMACK.

I scream when he slaps my ass, over and over, until I don’t know where pain stops and pleasure begins.

He shoves my shirt up my back, then grunts in frustration before he lets go of my hair and uses both hands to literally rip the shirt in two. He lets the pieces drop to each side, still covering my lower arms. My bra is next, my body jerking as he rips the back clasp open.

The lace of my bra and the tatters of my shirt get shoved up my body, freeing my breasts, and I whine when my sensitive nipples drag across the rough ground. His palm crashes against my ass again as his other hand shoves under me to maul one of my tits, viciously torturing a nipple with his thumb and forefinger.

“You look so fucking perfect like this, little bird,” he growls, his voice a whole new level of dark, rasping like a monster. “Like youwere made to take my cock in all your slutty holes on the ground like this, like my good little cum-whore.”

Jesus Christ.