Page 103 of Aine

Owen chuckles as he continues to rub his thumb over the spot Damien’s mark is supposed to be.

“Had you consummated it, the bond would’ve broken but the scar remained. A visual reminder of the man you promised to be with,” he explains. “But it’s gone, my sweet girl. You’re going to be all mine.”

My heart shatters. Every time I think I have nothing left, Owen finds something new to take away.

Owen ignores my pain and brings his hand to my breast.

I feel nothing.

I am nothing.

When his hand lowers to my waist, I instinctively clench my thighs together. I don’t want him touching me. I don’t want him inside of me.

His fingers drop to the tops of my thighs before digging painfully into the flesh and forcing my legs apart. His beasts stop and stare as he touches me, their gazes heavy as they look over my exposed flesh.

My body tenses as I desperately shake my head. I don’t want to be taken like this. If Owen’s to have sex with me, I at least wish for it to be in private. I want to face my shame in secret.

He frowns at my refusal, and I let out a silent prayer when he finally removes his hand.

“You’re right,” he admits. “We should wait until your next bleed is here and you’re pure again.”

I don’t dare tell him my body won’t produce a period when it’s being starved and tortured. It won’t grow a baby until it’s healthy enough to do so.

“I love you, Aine,” he whispers.

My throat burns with the effort it takes to look pleased by his admission. I won’t tell him I love him. He’ll have to kill me before forcing such lies out of my mouth. I’m unsurprised when he backhands me. My head slams against the pole, and I experience a few seconds of blurry vision and hazy thoughts.

Inhaling slowly, I turn toward him as I recover from the strike. He likes when I do that.

He repeats the hit, but this time with more force. I’m a bit slower to recover, but I still manage to meet his gaze afterward. I can feel my consciousness wavering, my body unable to stay awake for long these days.

I’m unsure whether it’s a product of starvation or abuse, but I’m not complaining.

I blink and struggle to remain awake, hardly aware of my surroundings as another beast approaches Owen and hands him a plate full of food.

“I told you I’d provide you with substance,” Owen proudly says, scooping the mashed potatoes with his fingers and bringing them to my lips.

I open my mouth just wide enough for him to set the items on my tongue. I can barely taste or enjoy it as I shut my jaw and force my throat to swallow. It’s dry and painful, but I do it anyway.

I’ll take him handfeeding me over beating and fondling me any day of the week.

Time seems to pass slowly as he stuffs me full of food. I’m grateful it’s warm and not covered in mold like the other dishes he’s served me. It’s kind of him to give me such fresh food.

Owen stares as he shoves the last bit in my mouth. I stare back.

“Aren’t you going to thank me?” he asks.

I open my mouth, but fear keeps me silent. I can’t speak to him. If I talk, he’s going to beat me. He always does.

“Thank me, Aine,” Owen repeats.

Once more, I open my mouth to thank him, but the same fear overtakes me and I’m unable to get any words out. I can’t do it.

“Thank me, Aine,” he says. “Or I’m going to be forced to punish you.”

My eyes tear up as his nail elongates and presses against my thigh. The muscle is covered in tiny puncture wounds, dozens of them in various states of healing. It’s his favorite form of punishment and, naturally, my least favorite.

Despite my desperation to give him my thanks, my mouth and throat refuse to cooperate. I struggle even to squeak, and my cheeks grow wet as Owen begins to sink his nail into me. It tears easily through my flesh, filling my body with fire. I slump against the pole as I wait for him to finish with my punishment. I’ll work on my speaking tonight when he leaves for bed.

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