Page 160 of The Bonds of Indigo

My blood goes ice-fucking-cold.

“I’m going to have to touch you. If I don’t, he’ll know I lied and that will make him question exactly why you’re here.”

“How will he know?” I grip the blanket so tightly I swear my nails are ready to bend backward.

“I’ve not fed for hundreds of your mortal years… he’ll know.”

My swallow is rough—barely making it down.

I know how Incubi and Succubae feed. I may not have firsthand experience, but I’ve studied nearly every race recorded in our histories.

“Bring Kayn back to help.”

Yes, jealousy rips through my chest like a freight train, but I don’t think I can go through with this.

“I’m sorry, Amarah, but if you think I can do that with him without having the conversation about what happened, you’re extremely naïve. That talk will take time, and we don’t have that. Plus, it’s extremely dangerous for him, and you.”

His hand rises slowly toward the blanket.

“No, no, no!” I recoil away from him.

“Dollface, let me explain.”

“Kayn! Kayn—please, please. Help me. Please!”

Nothing. The bond is still silent. Empty.

I can’t stop the sudden shaking.

Embarrassment—violent and humiliating—slams into me all at once. Then the memories crash into me: the prison cell, the pain, every moment of helplessness carved into my bones.

It’s not Lucifer reaching for me, it’s the cook.

It’s not a soft bed beneath me, it’s the cold stone floor.

It’s not shadows that will restrain me, it’s cuffs. Metal clamps digging into my wrists, barely healed enough not to leave scars.

And it hits me with brutal clarity: The only reason I could let Kayn touch me at all was the bond. I felt his intentions through it. I knew—I knew—his only desire was to care for me.

This… this isn’t that.

This isn’t love, or comfort, or pleasure meant for me.

Lucifer is going to hurt me.

He’s going to rape me to satisfy his needs. My feelings don’t matter.

Just a whore.

Just a Witch whore.

“Murdering whore.”

My vision blurs, and just as my limbs go numb, a strong hand closes around the back of my neck.

I didn’t fight before. I let them take me. I stayed silent about my innocence, and they hurt me. Destroyed me. Now I carry the evidence of all of it, and I thought I was stronger than this.

I thought I’d blocked it out. I thought I was okay.