Page 51 of Tethered In Blood

My father sighed with annoyance. “Don’t be ungrateful, Eden.”

My mother’s nails dragged along my arm. “Smile. Please, just smile.”

I tried, but it felt like swallowing glass.

Marcus lifted a hand to brush the hair behind my ear so soft and slow, like the knight had. I flinched harder this time. His expression darkened, and the room suddenly felt wrong. The candlelight flickered, casting a warped glow over his features, and shadows twisted across his face.

The whip cracked again, closer now. The walls curled inward. Marcus’s grip on my hand became iron. The shadows behind him stretched, turning monstrous.

“Why do you look so scared?” Amusement played at the edges of his insensitivity. “Don’t you know? You are mine, Eden.” The darkness swarmed and swallowed everything but his emotionless, hungry eyes.

“You should be grateful,” my father’s voice rasped from beyond the abyss.

“You should be honored,” my mother whispered. The sound was ice against my ear.

No. No, no, no.

The whip cracked and split the air as if it had struck my skin. My mouth opened in a scream.

I woke up with a gasp. My body trembled, and my wrists ached. My chest heaved as my lungs strained for air that felt too heavy for them to hold.

The room came into focus. Dim candlelight illuminated wooden beams, and the air carried the scent of smoke and old parchment. Not that dining room or that mansion.I was at the inn, far from Wickloe, far from them.

My eyes landed on Oberon’s.

He sat on the floor beside the bed, his dark eyes searching my face with furrowed brows. His fingers pressed against my arm.

Had he been trying to wake me?

I swallowed hard. My heart throbbed in my chest, and my throat was dry and raw. I tried to look away, grounding myself in the candlelight, the worn blanket tangled around my legs, and the distant sound of footsteps. Not on the crack of a whip or the sound of his voice that replayed in my mind.

Oberon remained still and silent. He simply waited. I clenched my hands against the sheets. I needed to say something to reassure us both that I was present. But I could only muster a raspy whisper when I finally spoke. “I’m okay.”

We made eye contact again, and his eyes narrowed. He didn’t look the least bit convinced. “I’m fine,” I said, unsure if I was trying to convince myself or him. “It’s fine.”

It wasn’t fine.

It was anything but fine.

The echoes of the nightmare still gripped me. The faint crack of the whip continued to resonate in my mind, and the scars on my back had reopened into fresh wounds. The weight of Marcus’s hand against my skin remained palpable. His way of always calling me “Darling” suggested that he believed I belonged to him—a possession, a prize to display on his shelf.

A shudder ran through me, urging the memories to fade. Oberon’s fingers flexed. I had been trembling. His voice was hushed and cautious. “Liar.” I pushed myself upright with a shaky breath.

My cheeks were damp.

I froze.

When did I cry?

A laugh bubbled up, sounding forced. “Gods,” I muttered, dragging the heel of my palm across my face to wipe away the evidence. “That must have looked dramatic.”

I hated the way Oberon looked at me. It stripped me bare and made me feel exposed, as though he could dissect everything I didn’t say—everything I wanted to bury. I took another deep breath and released a lighter laugh. “You can let go now. I’m awake, see?” I waved my hand in the air, attempting to appear nonchalant and conceal that I had crumbled in my sleep.

My jaw slackened as I stared at my hand, and I frowned. The cuts and burns had been bandaged. I didn’t do that. I intended to, but fell asleep when my head touched the bed. I didn’t even remember dozing off.

My eyes darted to Oberon’s, and the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding collapsed in my chest. The intensity of his gaze and how he saw through me was overwhelming. A fresh wave of tears welled up in my eyes. I gritted my teeth, but the more I tried to suppress it, the worse it became.

Shit.

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