Rosalind
ROSALIND
I stood there, a damn sacrificial lamb in the cold halls of Hunter's mansion. My heart thudded, each beat a rebellion against my fate. The marble beneath my feet might as well have been a gravestone. A place from which I couldn't escape. I was happy once, a creature of nature and sunlight, but darkness loomed in the shadow of the mafia king, eager to swallow me whole. The worst part was that I would likely succumb. It was in my blood.
The air reeked of old money and my own fear. Hunter's house, more a fortress than a home, stretched around me. It was our wedding day, and this is where he chose to hold it. Hidden away so I don't become a 'target'. My dress, white as snow, clung to me, a joke given my innocence had long been lost .
Footsteps . His footsteps. The predator of the New Mexico chapter of The Cinder Crew prowled toward me, power radiating from him. He wore violence as comfortably as the tailored black suit that hugged his muscular frame, the fabric straining over bulky muscles. He'd probably be conventionally attractive if he wasn't such a brute. Crew -cut hair with almost black eyes and a permanent 5 o'clock shadow. It's unfortunate he was... this.
His nearly black eyes fixed on me, a glint in them sharp enough to cut. They were eyes that had seen death, delivered it, relished it.
He reached for me, his hand engulfing mine, calloused and strong. I thought about the bodies of water I loved and how their depths could soothe or swallow. I should never have come up that last swim with Luce . Life would have ended with peaceful sips of where I felt at peace.
" Hello , bride," his voice rumbled low, every syllable a claim.
With a pull, he led me forward, my feet reluctantly following. Each step towards the makeshift altar was a descent. The priest waited there. Not a shepherd but a harbinger, the words he'd soon recite not vows but a verdict.
Hunter's grip tightened like a vise that promised possession and pain. I dared a glance up at him, searching for a crack in his face, some sign of humanity. But there was nothing. No life. No light. The more I tried to tug my hand from his, the more he squeezed until my fingers were tingling and beet red.
" Stubborn beauty," he muttered, almost appreciatingly, as if my resistance pleased him, a challenge to be conquered.
No altar had ever felt less holy, the priest's presence a mere formality. This wasn't a union of love but a forging of chains designed to keep the powerful in power.
This was it—the precipice of my old life and the dark abyss of the new. Hunter Desmond's wife. A queen to his dark kingdom.
I held my breath until my lungs burned as echoes of our footfalls died away. The priest's droning voice cut through the tense silence.
" Thorn ," the priest said, monotone, bored. " Do you take this man..."
Escape plans swirled in my head—a dash for the door, a struggle, anything to avoid the chains I was about to wear. Maybe if I run, if I don't comply, he will stab me with that knife he has hidden in his socks. But my feet were rooted, as if the marble beneath them had grown over my shoes, sealing me in this nightmare .
" ?" Hunter's voice, a low rumble, prodded at the edges of my resolve. It wasn't a question; it was a command.
" Speak ," he growled, not loud enough for the priest or shadows lurking as guests to hear, an order.
" I - I take this man..." My voice was a traitor, quivering with bottled fury rather than the fear that threatened to spill from my eyes. I cursed myself internally, rage burning through my veins, scorching the path of any tears before they could form.
" Until death do us part." Death might be the only release from the iron grasp of the man who now called himself my husband.
Hunter's gaze bore into me, a silent challenge. He relished the fight, the spirit in me he sought to dominate, to bend until it snapped under his will. But I refused to be broken. He would find that out.
" Good girl," he murmured, a smirk on his lips.
The priest's voice cut through the tension like a knife, slicing the moment into before and after. " I now pronounce you husband and wife." Those words slammed into me. The finality of it.
Applause echoed, hollow and half-hearted, from the few guests that stood witnessing this macabre union. Servants to Mr . Desmond and his ilk. A few guards. A random old lady.
His lips twitched, a cruel mimicry smile as he turned us to face the scattered applause, raising my hand above our heads, a display of victorious possession. There would be no reception. No joyous bouquet toss. No celebration. We were wed, and that was that.
The last whispers of the guests slithered away, leaving a void filled with our solitary presence.
" Listen close," Hunter turned to face me. " You're mine. Your every breath, your every goddamn heartbeat is under my command. Whether you accept it or not."
I met the darkness head-on, turning my chin up and refusing to look away. His lips twisted into a semblance of a smile—not warmth, but the baring of fangs.
" Is that so?" I shot back, tilting my head and laughing, the rude sound echoing in the expanse of the hall.
" Defiance suits you." He leaned closer, and his scent—sweat and some spicy cologne—filled my senses. " You'll be such a prize to break."
His hand settled on my waist, pulling me towards him, holding me firmly in place as he looked down at me. My skin crawled beneath my dress. I wanted to run, to leave, but he was bruising me as he held me.
" Break me?" The laugh that bubbled up was hysterical. " You forget, Hunter Desmond , poison only works if it can corrode the spirit. Mine's armored with more than you know."
His dark gaze appraised me, taking the measure of my soul as if it were territory to conquer. But this land, the expanse of my will, would not yield to darkness without a fight. Any softness within me died; his domain over me would be nothing but ruling over a statue.
" Armored or not," he whispered, "everyone has a weakness. I'll tear down your walls, brick by fucking brick. And then I will rebuild you as I will it."
I squared my shoulders, my heart racing. " Then prepare for war because I am no silent submissive, no passive prize. You may have forced me into this marriage, dragged me into your filth—but roses have thorns, remember that."
His nearness was oppressive, pulling and pushing me simultaneously. And as the silence stretched taut between us, I knew: this union would be the fight of my damn life.
" Can I go now?" I asked sarcastically.
" No , you cannot." His growl reverberated off the walls as he hauled me up the sweeping staircase, each step thumping into my body as he dragged me.
" I'm not going to fuck you."
" You don't have a choice, wife. "
I stumbled into the bedroom as he pushed the door shut behind us. He threw me onto the bed, the impact stealing my breath. The world spun, and I squeezed my eyes shut. This cannot be happening.
" Fuck your defiance," he spat.
He pulled me against him, our bodies crashing together with an unholy force. His touch seared my skin, every cell screaming as I gasped for air, my chest heaving as I tried to breathe.
His presence smothered me, impossible to escape. The raw strength of him enveloped me, caging me in. I tried to struggle, to get away, but he held me in place, a hand wrapped around my neck, squeezing just enough to make it hard to breathe but not enough to kill me. His free hand tore open his shirt, pulling it off as the hand around my neck lifted to pull the sleeve off. Tossing it on the floor, he grinned, pulling my breasts out of the corset of my dress, hiking the skirting up so my legs were exposed.
His mouth crashed onto mine, a brutal claim that left no room for resistance. The taste of iron bloomed as his lips moved against me with primal urgency. His tongue forced entry, the sweep of it an invasion that branded my soul with the fire of his dominion.
I fought against him, my fists beating on the broad expanse of his back, scratching and clawing. For all my efforts, I earned myself a chuckle. My body betrayed me, heat pooling at my core in a treacherous response to his touch. Goddamnit , no, no, no. This couldn't be happening. I tried to think of anything, anything but this, but all I could feel was the panic being replaced by desire. A need to hate fuck this man who had ruined my life.
" Fuck ," he muttered against my lips, the curse a caress that only served to stoke the flames within me further. His hands were everywhere, tracing the lines of my fear and shaping them into something darkly carnal.
His grip shifted, one hand tangling in my long black hair, angling my head to deepen the kiss, while the other roamed down to grasp the softness of my thigh, hitching it over his hip in a silent demand for closeness that I couldn't deny. The fabric of my dress bunched between us as he ground his hips into me.
" Tonight , you break," he growled, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through my bones.
The bed dipped beneath his weight as he pressed me deeper into the mattress. I tried to close my legs, to hold myself together, to ignore the heat building between us. But it was useless. His knee wedged between my legs, parting them easily. Unzipping his pants, he pulled his cock out, long, thick... angry looking. He pushed my panties to the side and slid home in one go, his smile faltering .
" Thought you'd be pure," Hunter all but sneered, pulling back just enough to survey my flushed face with those dark eyes. " Not a virgin, eh? Who is he?"
Silence was my weapon—the only one I had left—but it was as futile as everything else. He chuckled, a sound that promised retribution. " Gonna find out anyway," he vowed, his breath hot against my skin. " No matter, I'll replace every memory you have of him and make them mine."
My nails dug into his shoulders, the sharp sting a futile attempt to ward off the inevitability of what was to come. With each movement, with each relentless thrust, he claimed not just my body but the very air I breathed. His scent filled my being, becoming a part of me even as I sought to reject it.
The room echoed with the sounds of our union, flesh against flesh that resonated through the hollow chambers of my heart. Pleasure wound its way through the brutality, even as I tried to shut off my mind and ignore it.
" Mine ," he grunted with every push, the word etched onto the walls of my soul with each punishing stroke. He bit and nipped at my skin, his fingers bruising as they held my thighs in place, taking what he wanted .
The line between hatred and desire blurred, smeared by the chaos of sensations that he roused within me. The thing I never knew I'd ever want.
The room spun, the darkness punctuated by the dim glow of the bedside lamp. His hands, those weapons of possession, traced the line of my stomach—gentle one moment, punishing the next.
" Goddamn , such a perfect little whore," he muttered into the crook of my neck, his breath hot and heavy. The coarse stubble of his jaw grazed my skin, leaving a trail of stinging sensations that I couldn't ignore. He was everywhere and nowhere at the same time.
A tear escaped, carving a silent path down my cheek. It wasn't sorrow—it was rage, a wildfire spreading through my veins. I wanted to scream, to fight, to run, but an orgasm ripped through me, responding to his with a hunger that tasted of regret. Pushing deep inside me, he came with a low groan, holding himself there for a moment before pulling out and wiping the tip of his cock on my dress with a smirk.
" Good girl," his voice gave a low rumble of satisfaction as he sensed my reluctant surrender. His mouth claimed mine once more, a kiss that was anything but tender. I'd never tell him, but those words did something to me. Something I'd never say out loud .
Exhaustion clawed at my limbs, the hours of struggle and ecstasy leaving me hollow. I lay beside him, the sheets twisted around us. In this quiet aftermath, the chaos of our joining receded, leaving a silence that screamed inside my head. I hated this man.
I stared at the canopy above, the intricate patterns dancing in the dim light, mocking my dwindling hope. Could I ever break free from this man, this monster who had stolen my will, as easily as he'd taken my body? Or would I become a twisted reflection of him, a queen in a kingdom built on fear and violence?
The mattress dipped beside me. His weight shifted away from me, his presence as suffocating as the silence. No tender whispers or caresses here; this was the domain of death.
Moonlight sliced through the darkness, lighting Hunter's tattooed back; it was a maze, but the frog splayed in the center, crawling up towards the base of his neck. I'd heard the rumors. He enjoyed killing using poison. I guess this was his form of poetry.
My gaze tracked over his scarred arm, each mark a story of violence etched into his skin. And as much as my mind screamed in protest, my body had been witness to it, the bruises and bite marks that vividly sang his violent victory. My fingers curled into fists, nails digging into my palms—the only fight left in me as I lay defeated yet defiant.
His breathing slowed, a steady rhythm that mocked the chaos churning inside me. And in the quiet, I felt it—the pull of something dark and compelling. Power . It surged through me. A calling from my heritage to my future. Embrace . Accept . Rule .
The mattress creaked as I turned away, putting miles between us in the expanse of Egyptian cotton. It would never be enough.
I closed my eyes, letting the darkness envelop me. In sleep, perhaps I could find solace. One thing was certain—though the battle lines were drawn, this war was far from over.
And when dawn broke, painting the sky with streaks of gold and red, it would find us still there, held in a silent standoff—a dance of power, desire, and the unyielding spirit of a woman who refused to be broken.