Page 47 of Wicked Salvation

Squeezing my eyes even tighter, I try to put myself somewhere else. Maybe if I try hard enough I can wake myself up from this bad dream, or I can make myself so small nobody can find me. Anything to distract me from what’s happening.

“You. Are. Mine.”

Each word punctuated by a thrust.

“Say it.”

His words are swimming in and out of my consciousness. Silas jerks my head up so I’m looking at him through the mirror. I can barely hold his gaze—he looms over me like a sentinel of horror, his blue eyes as dark as midnight.

How did I not see this side of him before?

Looking back at me in the mirror is a girl I don’t even recognize. My hair is a mess, black streaks of mascara drip from my chin. My temples are bruised and swollen, my eyes puffy from crying. I don’t look like Lady Evelyn Lockhart, future Duchess of Surrey.

What would my mother say if she could see me now?

She’d tell me this is the cost of privilege, of securing my place in society, of love.

“Who do you belong to, Eden?”

He holds my gaze. My lip quivers.

Another painful thrust that leaves my mouth open on a scream.

“Y-you.”

Another thrust. “Say the entire sentence.”

“I belong to you.”

“You belong to who? I don’t think my name isyou.” A devilish grin spreads across his features. “Say my whole name.”

He thrusts, more violently this time—so much so that my whole body is shaking and I can barely get the words out. But I need to get them out.

“I belong to Lord Silas Peregrine-Ashford IV,” I whisper.

He goes even harder. “Louder,” Silas says through gritted teeth.

“I belong to Lord Silas Peregrine-Ashford IV!” I scream as loud as I can.

The words are barely out of my mouth when I feel his warmth filling me. He shudders, leaning over me with a hand on either side of me. At least he isn’t pulling my hair anymore.

“You’ve been a good girl, Eden.”

I hate that somehow, because he said that—it makes the moment feel right. I should hate him, but I need him. Maybe I feel both of those things.

Maybe I always will.

“I’ve cleansed you,” he says, flipping me around to force his lips on mine.

It’s a sharp, bruising kiss. He sinks his teeth deep into my lips. My mouth tastes of copper, and it isn’t even a surprise. I feel nearly catatonic.

He stares at me in the mirror.

I look back at him.

This is the man Ichose.

This is the man I’m marrying in six weeks.