Page 18 of A Whisper of Cinders

Leather meets my skin and I curl my back away from it, as if I can escape it somehow. My teeth sink into my cheek, cutting off the sound that desperately wants to escape. I won’t grant him the satisfaction of screaming. He’s not worth it.

Another strike hits me.

It bites deeper, wrapping around my ribs and my breath catches in my throat. My fingers dig into the stone wall, my brittle nails rip by the movement. But still, I don’t make a sound. I stare at my hands, a stark contrast against the dark wall. My skin looks pale and wrong, my nails are torn and tiny streaks of blood already colour the wall red.

SMACK.

The whip lands lower this time, white-hot pain spreading across my lower back. My knees almost buckle, yet I’m still standing.

“Sing for me, Scorch,” Dom orders. “I know you can.”

The fourth lash crosses the same spot as the first hit, tearing open skin that’s already raw. A strangled silent noise escapes my throat before I can stop it.

Dom chuckles. “There we go.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, I won’t give him more, I won’t allow it.

The time between strikes gets smaller with every hit. He really gets into his stride now. The inside of my cheeks is already raw from biting down, so my teeth sink into my lip instead. The taste of copper makes my head spin. Or maybe that’s because of the pain.

Six.

Seven.

Eight.

Nine.

At this point, I don’t really feel it anymore. My back is numb and I’m balancing on the edge of consciousness. Dom sighs, as if this is some tiresome activity he must complete.

The next lash snaps across my spine and everything goes black for a moment. I don’t know how much time passes, could be minutes or hours, but when the next hit lands, my knees buckle.

I catch myself before I fall, but the room tilts dangerously. My breath is shallow, coming out too fast, making me even more dizzy. The pain is constant now, sharp and raw, setting every nerve on fire.

And he’s just getting started.

The hits keep coming.

Again.

And again.

And again.

I lose count at this point.

My body sways, sweat dripping down my back, stinging where the skin has split open. The room is too hot, too cold.

Dom steps closer, the heat of him prickling against my raw, bare skin. He walks around me, fingers gripping my chin, forcing my head up. I keep my eyes on the wall, refusing to meet his gaze.

He isn’t pleased by that. “Look at me,” he yells and I almost flinch. Almost. Instead, I finally move my eyes to him. I keep my expression blank, empty. He doesn’t like that either.

He lets go of my chin, and the relief I feel is short termed, as his hand cracks across my cheek, fire spreads where his palm meets my skin. “Get out,” he snaps.

I force my legs to move, but every step sends fire lashing through my body. I don’t know how I’m walking, let alone standing upright. The moment of complete numbness is long gone, unfortunately, it didn’t last long.

I carefully lower myself to the ground, holding the wall for support and grab my nightgown piled at my feet. Putting it on is nearly impossible, but I manage, sucking in air as the fabric touches the open wounds.

I drag myself forward, commanding my legs to move one foot in front of the other. I’ve nearly reached the hallway when his voice halts me. “If I catch you again,” he says, voice full of threat. “I won’t be so lenient.”