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Kai lets out another shout of agony, and when I glance back at him, he’s rolling to the side, reaching out for me as he tries to crawl across the bed.
Even in his injured state, he’s wanting to put me first, but I don’t think he can. When he told the story of how he got his scars, he said he couldn’t even stand up when it was done.
If he’s down for the count, we’re going to lose the challenge because I’m certainly not going to be able to beat it without him.
Kai disappears from my view as I’m pulled out into the hall, and now that we’re separated, the panic threatens to choke me.
As I gasp for air, I try to search my mind for any way out of this, but it’s like my thoughts are filled with mud. Everything is murky and slow, and my body feels heavy as if I’m sinking.
Tugging me along, Zarid goes in the opposite direction of the way that would take us to the throne room.
Instead of going left, he heads right.
Toward his bedchambers.
Through the doorway, I can see Zarid’s four-poster bed, the fancy rug, and all the other fixtures that make up my own personal hell. Dark curtains hang over the windows. Gold-framed mirrors are plentiful. Paintings—mostly portraits of himself—are mounted on the walls.
We both know what happens in there.
Confirming my petrifying suspicion, Zarid maintains his unyielding hold on my wrist and threatens, “It seems you’ve forgotten who your cunt belongs to, so I’m going have to show you.”
“No!” I scream.
I’ve withstood a lot, but being raped again is something I can’t handle.
It’s my breaking point.
An unfamiliar sort of wild rage bursts inside me.
When we get to the doorway fight takes over the freeze, and I try to run backward as I resist going into the room. Unfortunately, these shoes are too smooth on the bottom, and I can’t get any friction. I’m slipping and sliding.
I grab onto the door frame instead. Clinging to it with my free hand, I kick Zarid with my legs.
His eyes go wide with shock because I’ve never been this violent with him. I’ve never put up a decent struggle, and for a moment, he’s the one who’s frozen while I deliver blows to his stomach. His groin. I even get high enough to kick his throat.
My little feet don’t do a ton of damage, but the fact that I’m aiming for the susceptible soft spots is giving me results.
Zarid barks with pain when my heel connects with his nose.
A second later, he releases a frustrated roar, and his temporary pause ends.
He catches my ankle while focusing his eyes on my hand. I’m still holding onto the door frame, but the wood beneath my grip becomes hot. It smolders. I try to stay strong, but the pain becomes too intense, and I have to let go before my skin is seared and blistered.
With his grip on my arm and my leg, Zarid jerks me forward until I almost collide with him. At the last second, he uses my imbalance to his advantage, moves out of the way, and pushes me to the floor.
Then he pounces on me. He’s not above raping me wherever he can. He doesn’t need the bed. As long as I’m on the bottom, he has the upper hand.
Still, I keep scratching, kneeing him, slapping, and punching.
Surprisingly, I’m actually causing some injuries. His nose is bleeding. There are numerous streaks on his arm where I scraped his flesh away with my nails. I got one good wallop on his face, and his cheek is red.
“Stop it!” he yells, but I don’t.
If anything, I get more violent.
I’m slightly aware that I’m making animalistic noises. The desperate cries of a creature just trying to survive.
I don’t even feel like myself. I’m detached in a way.
