Page 66 of Porcelain Grave

She keeps grinding her crotch into mine, her breathing becoming ragged. "I've changed my mind," she whispers, her eyes glazed. "I won't kill you tonight. I'll keep you. I'll fuck you every single night until I'm saturated in you. You taste too good to waste. I'll take you every night so that when I go back to Rhys, I'm dripping with your scent."

She squeezes my breasts again, her nails digging in. I close my eyes, sobbing silently, the humiliation and horror washing over me. She is raping me to steal my identity, violating every inch of me just to win the affection of a man who hates her.

She starts rubbing harder and faster, her moans turning into screams of pleasure. She holds her own breasts, her body shaking as she begins to peak. "Rhys... oh, Rhys!" she wails, calling his name as she grinds herself into me one last time, her body shuddering in a violent climax.

I close my eyes, praying for the earth to swallow me whole, just waiting for the nightmare to end.

Then, the door explodes open.

In a flash of black fur and raw power, the weight is gone. Mary is ripped off me with a guttural roar. I hear her scream—a high, piercing sound that is cut short by a sickening crunch.

Shadow has pounced. He’s pinned her to the floor, his massive jaws locked tight around her throat.

The knife clatters to the bed, landing just inches from my hand. I don't hesitate. I scratch at the ropes, my fingers raw and bleeding, straining every muscle in my arm. I manage to hook the blade, sawing frantically at the rope around my wrist. Blood spatters across my skin as I cut into myself and the cord, the friction burning, but I don't stop.

I feel the rope snap. My hand flies free. I quickly slice through the bindings on my other wrist and my ankles, the ropes falling away like dead snakes. I rip the knickers out of my mouth, gasping for air, and sit up.

Mary is dead. She’s lying in a heap on the floor, her throat torn open, blood pooling around her head. Shadow stands over her, a low, menacing growl vibrating in his chest, his muzzle drenched in crimson.

I stare at her lifeless body, and for a second, I feel nothing but a cold, hollow void. Then, the shaking starts. I'm trembling so hard I can barely stay upright. I look at Shadow, and the only thing I feel is an overwhelming sense of gratitude.

"We have to go," I whisper, my voice trembling. "Shadow, let's go."

I scramble off the bed, my legs shaking, and lead the jaguar out of that godforsaken cabin. I burst into the woods, the air cool and damp. It's around 5 pm, the light fading into a bruised purple. I run, branches scratching my face, my breath coming in ragged gasps, heading back to where I last saw Amara.

But when I reach the spot, she's gone.

"Ophelia!"

The voice hits me like a physical blow. I freeze, my heart leaping.

"Ophelia!"

Shadow bolts in that direction, and I follow, running as fast as my bruised legs will carry me. I see him—Rhys. He's standing there, his silhouette dark against the trees. Shadow reaches him first, and I see Rhys glance down at the blood staining the jaguar's mouth.

I don't stop. I throw myself at him, slamming into his chest and clinging to him like he's the only solid thing left in the world. I'm sobbing now, the trauma finally breaking through.

"Amara... have you seen Amara?" I gasp into his shirt.

Rhys holds me tight, his grip possessive and grounding. "She was found by my men. She was just carried out of the woods," he says, his voice low and steady. "They're taking her to the hospital. She'll be alright. Shadow is fast, he's a black jaguar trained by me. With him running to you faster than me, faster than my men, I was on my way to you but he was already with you."

He pulls back just enough to look me in the eyes, his expression darkening, a flicker of that familiar, dangerous rage crossing his face.

"It was Mary, wasn't it?"

I nod slowly, the memory of the cabin flashing through my mind, and I tell him everything.

Rhys’s face is a fucking mask of pure, unadulterated rage. His jaw is locked so tight I can hear the bone grinding, and his eyes—usually so calculated and predatory—are burning with a dark, chaotic fire. He doesn't even look at me for a second; he's already marching back toward that rotting cabin, his stride heavy and lethal. He looks like he wants to tear the entire forest down just for letting her touch me.

"Rhys! Stop!" I sob, my voice sounding small and broken in the damp air. I reach out, grabbing the back of his coat, my fingers shaking violently. "She's dead... Rhys, she's fucking dead. Shadow killed her."

He freezes. The tension in his shoulders is so extreme he looks like a coiled spring ready to snap. He doesn't turn around immediately, and for a heartbeat, I’m terrified that the anger is going to shift toward me, or that he'll be disappointed that he didn't get to be the one to rip her throat out.

"Just... please," I whisper, a fresh wave of tears spilling over. "Just take me home. Please, just get me the fuck out of here."

Slowly, he turns. The rage is still there, simmering just beneath the surface, but as his eyes land on me—on my torn dress, the raw, bloody scrapes on my wrists, and the sheer terror etched into my face—something shifts. The predator vanishes, replaced by that suffocating, obsessive devotion that always makes me feel like I'm the only thing in his entire world.

He walks over to me, his boots crunching on the dead leaves. He doesn't say a word at first. He just reaches out, his large, warm hands cupping my cheek. His thumb brushes away the tears and the grime, his touch surprisingly tender despite the violence still radiating off him.