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“I’ll come back with your food,” he says, and I hear him get up, hear the shuffle of clothes being adjusted, then hear him walk toward the door before closing it shut.
But he doesn’t come back.
CHAPTER27
Maren
I wokeup angry this morning.
After last night I lay there, still bound in ropes and chains and wet from the bath, waiting for Ramsay to come back to me, waiting for him to bring me food. But he never showed up.
Now it’s been several hours since the sun rose and I have let myself be swept into a murderous stew. I’ve had to use the bathroom in the corner of the room, which is humiliating, and my stomach is gnawing at itself so badly I feel I may starve. I ache between my legs where he fucked me so hard last night, the punishment from his cock was relentless in an area I was already tender.
Whatever waves of joy and bliss that man, that vilecreature, brought me, I’ve forgotten all about it. Like it never happened. Instead I am back to hating him and plotting my revenge. How dare he use me like that? He took my blood without me explicitly saying that he could, then he defiled my body from behind, keeping me bound, going as far as to treat me like a horse under bridle. I’m surprised he didn’t whip me, though I suppose he did with his hand.
I close my eyes at the thought, that sharp hit of pain at his palm meeting my flesh, the way he so thoroughly took me right after, as if he couldn’t help himself, and my thighs squeeze together to stop the burst of pressure.
Stop it, I tell myself.Figure out what you’re going to do next.
But I don’t have time to formulate a plan, the anger inside me just simmers and boils over, my thoughts sluggish for it.
And then the lock jingles and the door opens and Ramsay steps into the room.
He’s holding a bottle of rum and a plate of fish. I ignore the hunger pains and focus on the plate. I could break it and stab a shard in his heart, maybe that will do the trick.
“I have some apologizing to do,” he says, locking the door behind him. “I know I promised you I would come back last night, and I broke that promise. I was so exhausted after what happened here, spent in a way I had never been before, that I fell asleep if you can believe it.”
He walks over to me and goes into a crouch. He places the rum and the fish beside him, then grabs me by the shoulders and pulls me up to my feet.
“Don’t touch me,” I say.
He removes his hands as if I burned him then stares at me with solemn eyes, their color grayer, like the color of a gravestone. “I also made you another promise. I told you that if you’re good, I’ll let you take it out on me, all of it. That I’ll let you hurt me. I’m here to honor that promise.”
“I can’t hurt you well if I’m bound,” I tell him, tasting metal.
“I know,” he says quietly. He reaches behind my head and to my surprise undoes the chain, tossing it to the floor with a heavy clank.
Again my mouth explodes in pain, a deep, sore ache from being forced open for so long, but already I feel my Syren teeth coming through. Power is shifting through me.
Is he really this much of a fool?I can’t help but think as he goes to my wrists next, swiftly undoing the rope until my hands are free and my claws are out. They flex, my wrists stiff.
“Have at me,” he says, calmly meeting my gaze. “Do your worst. I will not fight back.”
I swallow hard, having a hard time thinking.
“I know you want to. I know you’ve been saving that urge, waiting until you can use it on me. I know your monstrous side will win in this case, because there’s no way it can’t win. I deserve your wrath, Maren. I deserve it, as do so many people who have tried to put you in a cage. People who have hurt you and overlooked you and ignored you. People who tried to make you into something you weren’t. People who used fear to control you. Perhaps you can’t hurt them all, perhaps you’ve already destroyed the one who hurt you the most, but you can hurt me. And I’ve hurt you, too.”
You haven’t hurt me, I want to tell him, my pride getting in the way. But the truth is, he has hurt me. And more than that, I’m angry at him. Angry that he put me in this position between wanting him and hating him. Angry that I want to trust him, that some deep warm spot inside of meyearnsto trust him and yet I know I cannot.
“I will not put you back in restraints,” he says, “and I will let you go free if you promise to unleash your fury on me.”
Is this something else that arouses him, the pain?
But it doesn’t matter what I think because I feel the anger rising through me, a vat of water coming up to boiling.
“Think of your sister,” he whispers.
He killed your sister.
