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Alistair places me under the shower’s spray before I can protest. Water cascades over me, warm and reassuring. I scream from the sting of water hitting the fresh carvings on my back—reminders of a ritual I never asked for.
The sacrificial blood that paints my body—the evidence of the nightmare beneath our feet—washes away. I watch it swirl into the drain, a scarlet spiral of horror and disbelief. Then, as gently as a man like Alistair can manage, he lifts me from the shower’s assault and lowers me into the bath.
The warm water embraces me as I sink in, every movement reminding me of the pain between my legs, the raw ache of my lost virginity to him. His hands, now caring, confuse me more than his violence did. They all do—their touches, their looks.
As the tension knots inside me, I wonder what their care means. Am I more than a pawn now, more than just another plaything? Or is this just another form of control, a softer cage crafted by the Four Cardinals?
Ben hovers with a quiet intensity as he reaches for the soft washcloth, his movements careful, deliberate. His touch is lighter than a whisper against my skin as he starts to clean my body, each gentle stroke seeming to ask for forgiveness. I wince from the pain but also from the rawness of being so exposed, so vulnerable under his care.
“Forgive me,” he murmurs. The words hang in the steam, as heavy as the scent of soap. His plea doesn’t undo the roughness that came before, the way he claimed my body with no mercy, but I see the regret flicker across his usually composed features.
“Can you all just leave? I need to be alone.”
Alistair’s frown is sharp, a shadow passing over his face. Damien’s lips press into a thin line, and Charlie’s hand pauses at the doorway. They exchange silent looks, a conversation without words, before Alistair gives a curt nod.
“Of course, angel,” Alistair says, his tone gentle. He leaves first, the others following, their movements stiff as they retreat from the bathroom. The door clicks shut behind them, leaving me wrapped in solitude.
The silence after their departure presses in, filling the space where their presence had been. Alone, I’m left adrift in the warm bathwater, the void echoing with the absence of their complicated comfort.
Before I take my next breath, tears streak my cheeks, hot and unchecked. I break down, the grief gnawing at the edges of my soul as I mourn everything that’s been ripped away from me. My old life, a distant memory now, shatters with each sob that wracks my body. The pain is a relentless tide, overwhelming,pulling me under with the weight of blood spilt and innocence lost.
“Fuck,” I gasp between ragged breaths, cursing the day I got caught in the twisted gravity of the Four Cardinals. The cool porcelain rubs against my bare skin as I slide further into the tub, knees drawn up to my chest.
My sobs bounce off the bathroom walls, the echoes a hollow symphony to my agony. But with each tear shed, something inside me shifts and lightens. It’s not healing—not yet—but it’s a start. A cleansing, perhaps. Letting the sorrow flow feels like purging some of the darkness, clawing its way through my insides.
A baptism.
“By fucking fire. Shit, shit, shit.” The curse is a rag to cling to as I allow myself this moment. This small, fragile moment where I’m the girl, broken but still here. Still breathing.
Unlike some.
I know there’s a winding road ahead, filled with shadows and probably more monsters than I can imagine. But right now, in this echo chamber of pain and release, I let the tears fall. I let them wash over me, taking pieces of the horror, the heartbreak, with them, and I hold on to the sliver of hope that maybe I can find my way out of this darkness.
The water has gonecold by the time I stop crying, and my skin is puckered with goosebumps. I push myself up, limbs heavy as lead, the ache in my body a stubborn reminder of what’s been taken from me—what I’ve been thrust into. Grabbing the edge of the tub, I hoist myself onto shaky legs. There’s a towel ready forme, white and plush. The irony strikes me it’s the antonym of my soul right now.
Clutching the fabric around me, each step away from the bathtub feels like wading through treacle, but I trudge forward. The door to Alistair’s room stands open, a portal back to the world I’m not sure I belong to anymore.
Still alone, I leave his room and make my way back to mine, a sanctuary just down the hall.
As I push through the door to my room, Charlie breaks the silence that’s enveloped me since the bathroom. He’s standing there; all casual charm and easy smiles are gone, replaced by a furrowed brow and eyes that are too damn knowing.
“Hey, love,” he murmurs, his voice soft, like he’s talking to a spooked animal. He’s holding a tray—sandwiches and a bottle of water, looking ridiculously pristine.
I shake my head, the motion more weary than defiant. “Not hungry,” I manage to say, my throat raw as if it’s been scrubbed with sandpaper.
“I’ll leave it for later,” he replies, setting the tray down on the table near the window. His movements are careful, deliberate, like he’s afraid I might shatter into a thousand pieces if he makes any sudden moves. Maybe he’s right. “You need to keep your strength up after everything.”
“You mean upchucking all over the floor downstairs?” I asked sardonically, the morbid humour coming from somewhere in my battered soul.
“And everything else.” But I see the flash of relief in his eyes that I’m not catatonic, even though I wish I were. For some reason, there is a will to keep conscious, to keep, if not one step ahead, but on equal footing with these guys. If I fall back, even a fraction, I’m giving them the opportunity to drag me even further into their fucked up world.
No fucking thanks.
Charlie’s gaze lingers on me longer than I can stand before he quietly leaves the room.
I’m alone again. The silence rushes back in, filling the space where his presence had been. I drop the towel and curl up on the bed, pulling the covers around me. They’re soft, they’re safe, they’re not enough. But for now, they’ll have to do.
Moments later, the door creaks open, and Alistair walks in with a presence that fills the room. He’s got this way of moving—confident, like he owns every inch of the space, metaphorically speaking. His serious, intense eyes, like the summer sky, lock onto mine, and for a second, I can’t look away. It’s like he has gravity on his side, pulling me in without trying.
