Page 76 of Scarred

Claudius’s body shakes so hard, the wood of the cross trembles.

“One down, nine to go!” I drop my voice. “You know… this issomuch fun. Reminds me of when we were kids… when you’d help my brother as he beat me black and blue.”

Rage curdles my stomach and billows through my chest, and I drop the piece of skin, moving even closer to his arm.

“Please, God,” he cries.

Chuckling, I grip his second finger. “I’myour god now. And I don’t hear your pleas.”

CHAPTER32

Sara B.

My eyes scan the ballroom. Over and over, they flick from one corner to the next, waiting for the stumpy frame of Lord Claudius, but he’s nowhere to be found. It doesn’t ease my anxiety or calm the embers of anger glowing in my chest.

Regret is already settling in thick that I didn’t kill him when I had the chance; fear whispering that maybe he’s found someone else to prey on, someone who isn’t hiding daggers on their thigh.

Michael sits next to me as we stare out at the dance floor, his mother and my uncle both having retired for the night. The shiny tile reflects people’s smiling faces as they drink and dance the night away, and I can’t help but feel like I’m watching a show. Hundreds of people who live in an alternate reality, so different from what I know to be the truth.

But isn’t that the case with almost everything? We spin tales and weave stories, creating a narrative that dictates how we’re perceived. Or in some cases, how others live.

“Are you having a good time?” Michael asks, engaging me in conversation for the first time all night.

I grin. “It’s lovely.”

He stands, reaching out a hand. “Shall we dance?”

My brows rise, nausea teasing my esophagus, but I place my palm in his and let him lead me to the dance floor, hoping that nobody can see the slight tearing near the hem of my dress.

The ballroom clears, people moving to the outskirts to make room for us, and I feel sick.

I feelsickwhen his arm wraps around my waist, pulling me in close.

I feelsickwhen his hand grips mine.

And I feelsickwhen he smiles.

“You are quite the prize, Lady Beatreaux.”

Bile climbs up my throat.

I’mno one’sprize.

The musicians end the song, immediately starting up another, and I groan at the thought of having to continue this dance. My feet are aching, and my soul is sore.

“Your Majesty.” Xander’s voice breaks through the fog. “May I cut in?”

Michael nods, and it doesn’t escape my notice that I never get a say. No one asks ifI’dlike to continue. They just pass me around like an object, here for everyone’s viewing pleasure.

Xander steps in close, and I smile as he takes my hand, but he doesn’t return the gesture.

The next song starts, and he jerks me across the room, my feet stumbling as I try to keep up with his steps. I wince when his palm tightens around mine, crushing my fingers together until my knuckles crunch.

“What do you think it is you’re doing?” he hisses.

His tone catches me off guard, and I jerk back. “Excuse me? I have done nothing.”

“Don’t play innocent with me, cousin,” he sneers. “Isawyou.”