Page 56 of Writhe
Her body stiffens, fingers clutching at the lapels of my vest, like she’s trying to anchor herself.
“No,” she whispers, shaking her head, the word fragile and desperate. “No, no, no, no.” For a moment, I think she might claw at her own skin again, rip herself open in a futile attempt to prove she’s still real. I can’t allow that. I catch her wrists, forcing them down into her lap. She struggles, weak little jerks of her arms, but I hold firm.
“You’re slipping, Eliza.” I press my lips to her forehead again, letting my breath ghost over her skin. “Iwon’t let you.” Her body jerks as if struck, a strangled sob catching in her throat. Good.
I stroke my hands down her arms, tracing the delicate lines of her veins, the places where she’s bruised herself in her hysteria. “You made a ghost of him, pet.” My voice is low, threaded with something deeper, something possessive. “And now, I’m here to bring you back.” A fresh sob wracks her body, and I drink it in, savoring it, letting the weight of her collapse into me completely. She is so soft like this, so helpless, her body curling into mine as if seeking warmth.
And she will have it.
From me.
Only me.
I press my palm against her stomach, fingers splayed, feeling the soft rise and fall of her breath. “You don’t need him.” My voice is honeyed, soothing, my grip tightening just enough to remind her who holds her now. “You have me.” She stills beneath my touch, her pulse a frantic little thing beneath my fingertips. “I have such wonderful news for you, little one.”
I feel her tense before she even speaks, her muscles coiling as if she might run.
She won’t.
She can’t.
“You are carrying our child.”
She goes rigid, as if the words have frozen her from the inside out. It is beautiful, the way her mind stops. The way her body barely dares to move, trappedbetween disbelief and horror. Her lip’s part, but no sound comes out.
I hum with a quiet approval, my thumb stroking gentle circles against her stomach. “You’ve done so well, little one,” I murmur, my voice dipping lower, warmer. “Our pup is growing inside you, and I will take such good care of you both.”
Her reaction is slow, delayed by the fractures in her mind, but then, a strangled noise, raw and desperate, rips from her throat. “No.” A single word, choked out like a prayer.
“Yes,” I correct, a quiet warning lacing my tone.
Her hands press against my chest as if to push me away, but there is no strength left in her limbs. She is nothing but trembling breath and wet, red-rimmed eyes, her fight dying before it can even begin.
“You will never leave this place.” I slide my fingers through her hair again, relishing the way she flinches at the tenderness. “But you will never need to.”
Her body shakes, tiny, broken movements. She tries to turn her face away, but I don’t let her. Instead, I tip her chin up, forcing her to meet my gaze. “I will cherish you,” I tell her. “I will protect you. You are my pet, my perfect little thing, and I will never let you go.”
The sobs come harder now, wracking her body, but I hush her, drawing her closer, pressing my lips to her damp cheek.
“It’s all right, pet.”
A sharp inhale. A tremble. I can feel her slipping, spiraling down into the space I’ve carved out for her.
My fingers slide to her throat, a light, possessive pressure. Not enough to hurt, just enough to remind her who owns her now. “I will take care of everything.”
Her breath shatters against my skin. Her body curls into mine, as if seeking something, anything, to hold on to.
I smile, slow and satisfied, stroking my thumb over the bruises forming beneath my grip. “You don’t need a ghost when you have a master.”
My fingers press against my stomach. Could my own touch erase the wrongness beneath my skin? A shudder rolls through me, deep and visceral, as the realization slams into me with sickening force.
I haven’t bled in weeks.
A dry sob catches my throat. Six weeks? Seven? How long has it been since my body was my own? The Doctor’s voice slithers through my mind, smooth, honeyed venom.
Our child, you’ve done so well, little one.
I gag. My stomach churns violently, but there’s nothing left in me to expel. Only the poison of his words, his touch, his claim. No. No. No.
