Page 72 of The Silversmith

A window with a pane recently cleaned allowed me to see out into the dark night. There was enough clearing that the stars twinkled bright. Beacons of hope in an all-encompassing void of unknown. Warrich was usually overcast. I had seen more stars while traveling through Wymara than I’d seen my whole life.

Lost in thought, I barely heard the footsteps behind me, but I felt the hair on the back of my neck and arms stick up straight in laughable defense.

“I was hoping I’d get you alone.”

I spun around to see the man from earlier—with red hair and scruff—standing in the doorway.

“I waited, actually, all night.” He sidled toward me. “I know my way around this place well enough to figure out where you sleep.” He waved his hand around the kitchen we stood in. “But you made it easy for me.”

With a shaky hand, I reached for the knife on my hip and found the fabric of my nightgown.

My knife. I didn’t have my knife.

“What do you want?” My voice echoed, the false courage scraping the walls, a punchline to a terrible joke.

He took two steps forward. “Isn’t that obvious?”

“I’m not interested.”

His huffed-out laugh, cold and grating, made my skin crawl. “Don’t pretend to be innocent. I bet that barbaric beast has fucked you so many ways, you aren’t even tight anymore.” He gestured around the room. “Only he isn’t here, is he?”

My eyes burned. Should I tell him that I’d never even been kissed? Would that disgust him, dull his interest, or make this worse?

Frantic, I looked for a way out, but there was only the door I came through. He blocked the other and left little space for me to make a successful escape.

“Well,” the man sighed, taking another step, even closer to me now. “I won’t turn down sloppy seconds, not when they look like you.”

I repressed my whimper, forcing my lips into a sneer.

“Yes, that pink mouth.” His hot, sweaty hand reached for my throat.

My back hit the counter, and I felt his erection press into my stomach. He pushed it against me, invading me through multiple layers of clothing, his and mine.

“Shall we see if it matches your cunt?”

“I—I’ll scream.” I failed to hide my fear this time.

His green eyes revealed a cavernous gloom and merciless soul. “Good,” he crooned, leaning so far over me I feared my back would crack over the counter. “I like the screams of little sluts.”

If I screamed, Gavin would hear me. I knew he would. But I wasn’t sure I wanted to give this man that satisfaction.

Then again… I could fight.

Or, I could do both.

With an angry, wild screech I kneed him square in the groin and lunged around him. He wasn’t expecting me to strike. But even with training and surprise, I wasn’t fast enough.

“You stupid whore!” he wheezed, grabbing me by the hair. Sharp pain lit up my skull as he yanked me back. My head slammed against the hard floor, vision blurring. I rolled to my stomach, unable to stand, and crawled away instead.

I felt a hand clasp the cloth of my nightgown, lift it up and pull, while his clammy fingers gripped the hem of my undergarments and tore them clean off. Suddenly, I was bare between my legs.

“No,” I cried, rolling back over, grasping blindly at my nightgown to cover myself up. As if that would do a damn thing. “Please!”

His sweaty hand swiped across my face, disorienting me with a sting, followed by the clang of a belt unbuckling, a sound I knew I would never forget if I made it out of this kitchen alive.

“I’ll make you pay for that, bitch!” He shoved his hips between my legs, and a shrill protest escaped when I saw his hard member spring free from his pants.

But he was slammed into the cabinets to my left, blasted with a force so swift and powerful, the wood splintered beneath his body.