Chapter 5
MARA
Splinters from the wooden floor dig into my knees, but the black boots and polished mahogany cane methodically circling me are the greater danger.
Burning droplets of sweat trickle from my hairline into my eyes again, blurring my sight.
With other men, I can almost always hide myself away and imagine I’m in a field of flowers, but not with him.
The stinging in my eyes intensifies from his overwhelming cologne, and before I can think better of it, I wipe it away.
Then I freeze in horror, fingers resting limply against my cheek.
“Hands.” Only one simple word, but the dark satisfaction in his voice ices my blood and makes my hair stand on end even in the sweltering heat. “Don’t make me repeat myself, Mara.”
A whimper hides behind my lips, but there’s no getting out of this now. He always makes good on his threats. Swallowing down the sour tang coating my tongue, I extend trembling arms, palms laid bare before him.
“What did you do wrong this time, my little half-breed?” he croons with false pity.
A tear falls and moistens my dry, cracked lips. “I…I moved. Moved w-without permission.”
The cane that he doesn’t even need for walking sways back and forth in his gloved hands for a long, drawn-out second before my lashes fall shut. “Yes, you did. I wonder how many strikes you deserve?”
I already know he doesn’t want my answer. No, he just wants to add to the torment. My heavy heartbeat drowns out the silence as I search for that dark place in my mind. Not even the flowers can help me now.
Escape.
Please, just let me escape there before it’s too late.
But it already is.
Pain blooms across my palms, crawling up my arms and into my shoulders. Instinct screams at me to tuck my hands into my armpits to protect myself, but I know that will only make it worse.
“I know you can count to at least three.” Another smack from his cane. “Shall I teach you to count higher?”
The insult to my intelligence hurts almost as bad as the punishment to my hands. Blow after blow he gives, and soon the fiery pain fades into a dull nothingness even as my skin splits and blood paints my wrists.
“Thank me for your correction.”
I choke on the words as I repeat them to him.
Just submit. Even the devil himself can’t go on forever.
When pressure from his cane lowers my arms, I know that at least this part of my punishment has ended. Blood drips onto the floor as my throbbing hands come to rest against my thighs.
Then his boots resume their circling.
He’s the hunter, and I’m the dying prey.
Tap.
Tap.
Silence.
Tap.
Tap.
Silence.
Silence.
Silence.
Where is he?
One quick and secret sweep through my wet lashes doesn’t reveal him in front of me, so that means—
A gloved hand rests on my shoulders, beckoning for my quiet cry to break free, but I swallow it back down.
Behind me.
He’s behind me.
The leather touch is deceptively gentle as it glides over my shoulder.
Over my collarbone.
Over my neck, where it stops.
Dreaded anticipation of the unknown dries my tongue and throat even more as his fingers tighten ever so slightly.
Then he speaks, his voice too smooth to match the monster I know him to be.
“You have something that belongs to me, Mara. A baby that bears my mark.” Every trace of gentleness disappears as his fingers jerk my head back and harshly choke the breath from me.
Wicked eyes as dark as night burn into me. “I want it.”
Emmaline.
“No!” I jolt awake, my own hands clutching my throat as I frantically search the darkness for my baby. She’s not beside me. Where is she? “Emmaline!”
“What’s wrong?”
The sleepy male voice is much too male and much too close to me, so I lash out, fist making contact with something solid.
“Shit,” the voice groans. “My nose.”
Arm drawn back to strike again, I falter slightly when I realize the voice wasn’t him.
It was Warren.
But too late to stop the motion, my fist lands uselessly against a hard arm. “Emmaline,” I breathe out on a sob, shaking the sting from my throbbing hand. My throbbing hand that doesn’t feel wet with blood anymore. “Where is she?”
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Warren soothes in a nasally tone. “I cleaned out the drawer for her, remember? She’s right beside you on the floor.”
Heart in my throat, I glance wildly to the spot beneath the window where I laid her.
He’s right. There she is, illuminated in a beam of moonlight, hands balled into tiny fists as she sleeps soundly in the drawer Warren arranged for her.
Cool reassurance wars with the fear that felt so real.
While we might not be entirely safe, at least we’re safe from him.
For now.
“You all right?” Warren’s husky voice sounds a bit more like himself now. “Was it a bad dream?”
The worst of them, but I don’t answer him. Is my baby breathing? The stillness of her little chest frightens me, but then she lets out a small, hitching breath as she settles again.
Barely does relief trickle through me before the bed creaks behind me.
Flinching again at the noise, I turn my head sharply to see a shape rising in the darkness as Warren lifts up onto an elbow.
Shadows drape over his bare shoulders, making him appear twice as large before my eyes adjust and home in on his worried expression.
Supposedly worried, anyway. Feigned sympathy often leads to the complete opposite.
He’d better stay on his side of the bed like he promised earlier.
“I’m sorry you had a bad dream, Mara. I can sing you back to sleep if you want,” he offers as he rubs his eyes. “It’s still early.”
“Sing?” I scoff shakily, hugging myself for comfort. The man wants to sing to me. “Do I look like a baby?”
“Of course not.” A soft chuckle, and then, “Actually, you look like a ghost in the moonlight. A very pretty, angry ghost who needs to get some rest so she can keep frowning at her husband. The poor sap won’t know how to act around her if she doesn’t.”
Something tickles my rib cage at being called pretty, but the foreign feeling isn’t enough for me to soften or crack a smile at his silliness.
No need for him to know this mindless conversation keeps me from feeling the phantom squeeze around my throat.
I certainly don’t want to go back to sleep because I can still feel him waiting for me there.
On second thought, maybe the man in bed with me isn’t so menacing after all, even without his shirt. So far he’s kept his word on not touching me. Slowly mirroring his position as he lowers back down, I warily hug the soft pillow.
Even in the dim light, I can see him staring at me before he nods to my fingers. “You’ve got quite the swing, woman. You okay? My momma always says my head’s so hard it’d bend a woodpecker’s beak.”
I flex my digits, testing the sensitivity. “I’ll live.” This is nothing compared to the hell I’ve lived through.
“Oh, I don’t know,” he cajoles. “Maybe you better let me hold your hand so I can make sure nothing’s broken.”
Quicker than my next blink, I tuck my fingertips into my palms. “It’s fine.” I can still hear the ghostly crack of the cane from my nightmare. Still see the blood dripping onto the floor. No man will ever touch my hands again if I can help it.
Warren’s charming grin falters. “You can go back to sleep now. I’ll keep you safe.”
This man’s naivety knows no bounds. “Not even you can guard my dreams, Warner.” If I thought calling him the wrong name would end the conversation, I would be very clearly wrong.
“Warner?” He shrugs off the name with a soft, easy laugh.
“How you wound me, forgetting your husband’s name so quickly, Mara Shay.
I may not be able to guard your dreams, but I can hold your hand afterward and tell you everything’s gonna be okay.
Don’t look like that. Everybody needs a hand to hold, wife.
Even me. And when you decide you want mine, you just reach out and grab it.
It’s plenty big enough to protect yours and keep it safe. ”
I bite back my startled dismay when the bed jostles, but it’s only Warren rolling to his stomach. “Besides,” he yawns out, “I’d much rather you than Old Widow Hester. She pinches.”
A ghostly smile attempts to form but falls away at a snuffle from Emmaline. I crane my neck away for another peek, but there’s nothing. She’s still asleep.
She’s safe.
I’m safe.
My eyes see it, but my head doesn’t believe it.
Not with the heavy silence in the darkness.
Buh-boom buh-boom goes my heart, each pounding beat filling my throat.
A wheeze whistles through my lips as the shadows play tricks on my mind.
Without Warren talking anymore, the darkness tries to swallow me whole.
Breathe, Mara…just breathe. A shameful part of me is ready to start an argument with him just so I don’t have to hear the cruel words from my dreams.
And then a soft hum fills the room. Low in pitch, but loud enough to break through my thoughts.
Strong enough to chase away the cloud of evil hovering behind closed eyes.