Page 1 of Wrathful King

PROLOGUE

REINA

Pain.

It ripped through me with relentless cruelty, letting me know I was still alive.

I reached up and jabbed my fingers into both eye sockets of the devil hunched over me. In response, he flailed his arms wildly and backhanded me. My cheekbone exploded, and I desperately blinked the black dots from my vision.

Don’t pass out. Don’t pass out.

This man would prefer it that way. It was Perez Cortes who enjoyed a fight.

Hot tears streamed down my face. I didn’t stand a chance, but that didn’t stop me.

I thrashed and scratched, snapped my teeth and threw fists. His hand cupped me between my legs, and I bucked away from him as best I could.

He froze.

Before I could process what was happening, blood spurted from his neck, covering me where I lay, and he let out a noise that was so inhuman I knew I’d never unhear it. Behind him, bottomless black eyes met mine.

“Sorry about that. Some men have no manners.”

I scrambled back into the corner, bringing my knees to my chest. My teeth chattered. My hands shook. Would he finally rape me? The waiting and fighting, day in and day out, was wreaking havoc on my sanity.

He grinned as if he could read my mind while his eyes roamed over the flimsy, tattered nightgown I’d been forced to sit in for God knew how long.

“You’re going to bleed for me so prettily,” he purred in his shrill voice. “It’ll hurt as much as it’ll feeloh-so-good.” He threw his head back and laughed maniacally. “Well, for me anyway. I can’t guaranteeyourpleasure, but I would prefer it if you remained conscious.”

The panic attack ripped through me, crippling me in an instant. My chest tightened, stealing the air from my lungs. I began to hyperventilate, and before long, the world around me went hazy.

Numbness spread through my limbs as the taste of bile filled my mouth, and I knew I was about to sink into the abyss.

Footsteps echoed through the stone cell. Then… Quiet. Stillness. Nothing but painful breaths.

Like clockwork, the screaming in my head drowned out the silence. As did the agony in my chest, the ache in my bones.

Week one, I waited. Week two, I hoped. By the third, I despaired. Now, in what I believed to be my fourth week in isolation, parts of me were beginning to disappear, while others were transforming into something ugly and twisted.

I wanted to scream out and beg for help, but I knew it wasn’t coming. And my strength kept failing me. I felt sluggish. Disoriented. There were gaps in my memory. Sometimes I’d open my mouth and it was like I’d forgotten how to speak. I couldn’t remember what I sounded like. Other times I said nothing, but the whispers crowding my head spoke of things I had difficulty grasping.

It was futile to fight it, pointless to cling to the light when all I’d taste was darkness. So I got lost in that pain.

The voices in my head protested.

No one’s coming for you. Get up and fight. Make them pay.

And I knew with certainty that I’d rather burn alive than live one more moment like this.

1

AMON

A Month Earlier

Destiny was a cruel bitch.

It had given me my cinnamon girl back only to throw a wrench into it all. Well, fuck destiny. Fuck everyone. She was mine, and I refused to let this be the end.