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“That’s right, and I can do anything I want with you. I could break your neck, or fry you up and eat you for breakfast. I could hang you over the cliff and watch you dangle there, freezing to death, left for the mountain vultures to pick clean.”
“Yes, Master.”
He chuckled, looking all too delighted. “Or . . . I could . . .”
The next moment, I felt another tendril of his hair curl up my body till it found my breasts. It coiled like a serpent, twisting around me like some rope out of a Japanese bondage scene. The pressure on my breasts was so tight I began to sweat, but then it eased off as the strands began to massage my nipples. I relaxed, grateful that the pain had stopped, when another strand—thicker this time—reached between my legs, caressing my thighs, caressing me between . . .
Oh fuck. No, please no. I closed my eyes, but the strands thrust my thighs apart and began to explore every crevice I had.
Hyto growled. “Look at me, I said. I want to see your face. I want to see your eyes.”
“Yes, Master.” Whispering, I opened my eyes again. He was grinning, feral and wild, dangerous as only a mad dragon could be.
“Oh, my pretty one. My son’s wife. What a joke. You’re not fit to be an entrée—you’re dessert, you know that? Simply dessert. Whipped cream. Except that because you hold my son’s heart, you are a crown jewel to me right now. My ace up the sleeve, so to speak. And that excites me.”
And with another horrible laugh, he swiftly thrust a thick strand of hair into me, shoving the flimsy material of the thong aside. I struggled, but he held me tight with that horrible snakelike mane of his.
I let out a single scream, then bit my tongue as he suddenly pulled me to him, more of his hair holding my face to his as his mouth sought mine. His tongue deep between my lips, he kissed me, but he did not touch me with his hands.
And then the ravishment began in earnest; those crazed eyes pierced my heart as he toyed with me, never touching me with his hands, only with his hair. How much time passed, I couldn’t tell, but I was raw and bleeding by the time he was done.
When he was finished, the strands abruptly withdrew, dropping me on the floor. I lay there, whimpering.
“Enough for now. I cannot have you expiring on me before Smoky finds his way here. We have plenty of time for more fun later on. I’ve business to address. The woman will attend to you. You will bathe and eat and sleep. I won’t have a filthy toy in my presence. It’s bad enough you are mortal.”
As he paused, I realized he was waiting for my response. Fury and pain racking my body, I forced myself to my knees. Unsteady but managing to keep upright, I threw caution out the window and stared up at him, refusing to look away. I wanted to memorize his face, to memorize every crag and wrinkle, every scar. Because somehow, someday, I would watch him die—in pain, in anger, in absolute agony.
But for now, I knew I needed to survive. And so, as he waited, ready to slash me again for impudence, I merely said, “Yes, Master.”
And then he was gone, like a thief in the night, and I was alone.
Hanna hurried in to get me, even as I curled in a ball on the floor. One look at her face and I knew she’d witnessed everything. She mutely offered me her arm and I leaned on it while she led me back into the chamber. I could barely walk, and blood trickled down my inner thighs, which were rubbed raw from the roughness of his hair.
“Get the collar off, please.” I tugged at it, but she shook her head.
“The Master fixed it with magic. It won’t come off. I’m sorry, Camille, I’m so sorry.” She had drawn another hot bath.
“How long . . . how long was I with him?” It felt like forever.
“Half the night, my dear. Here—it will sting something fierce, but the water and herbs will help you heal. Get in the tub.” She stripped away my clothes and tossed them in a corner.
I couldn’t even manage to step over the edge of the tub, I hurt so bad. Hanna bit her lip and helped lift me into the water. I let out little whimpers of pain, but then a slow numbness began to seep through my legs and stomach, and I welcomed it in. Hanna must have put some sort of anesthetic in the water.
I stared mutely into the water, at the bruises and scrapes that covered my body, and all my resolve dissolved in a flurry of tears. My stomach twisted and I quickly turned to get on my knees as I leaned over the side of the tub. Hanna noticed my difficulty and brought me a basin. I vomited everything I’d eaten earlier. She held my head, stroking my hair, wiping my forehead and the back of my neck with a damp cloth.
When I was finished, she gave me a drink of water and I rinsed my mouth, and then she settled me back in the tub and handed me a mug of hot tea. The fragrant scent of berries rose to calm me.
“Thank you.”
She bit her lip. “I want to do more. I want to do more . . .”
“Your son. I know.”
“It’s not right. I was born a warrior woman. Now I serve an evil dragon who blackmails me with my kin. I’m a coward.” Her eyes were filled with shame as she fetched a wash-cloth and a soft soap. She motioned for me to lean forward. “I think I have some choices to make,” she said softly, washing my back with the soap and cloth, taking care to go gently over the bruises and cuts.
“I will not ask anything of you. But if you decide to help me, babe, I can sure use it.” Bleakly, I sipped the tea. It calmed my stomach and began to unknot some of the pain that Hyto had thrust onto me.
Smoky had never treated me this way. We played our bondage games, but they were love games—consensual, joyful, with pleasure rather than pain.
