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The sound stirs a cold tickle of nausea in my chest, and I grimace at the wet steam of his breath that lingers when he steps away.

Mother Chilson’s voice echoes inside my head.

It’ll be over soon.

I clamp my eyes shut, fingers curled into the metal loops.

Seconds tick, counting off to the moment when I’ll finally crack and break open.

In the deafening quiet comes the whoosh of leather slicing across the air.

A hard smack sets off a splash of tingling numbness, before a streak of fire licks my flesh. I cry out, knuckles burning with my grip of the loops. Tears trickle from the corners of my eyes, still screwed tight.

Remus moans again.

Another whoosh, another crack.

An involuntary scream escapes me, the burn of the first strike fading beneath the agony of the second. Every muscle trembles, tense and anticipating the third.

It comes again, this time on my bottom, and I snap my lips shut over the scream that begs for release.

I won’t give him that satisfaction.

More strikes.

My chest punches with every outcry I refuse to let go.

I think of my mother and brother, how much I miss them and our simple life back in Szolen. How complicated things became once I grew of age for the Daughterhood. I long to go back to those days of playing in the open fields, where we were safe and protected.

The strikes fall harder, as if he’s angry, and a layer of heat clings to my skin, like a wall of pain across my back and bottom. Another strikes the back of my thighs. Another hits where he’s already struck once, the tender flesh flaring with new pain.

I pray to God in a whisper, “Help me, Father. Please.”

I’m clinging so tight to the cross I don’t even notice where I’ve bitten my own arm until the coppery taste of blood hits my tongue.

I don’t even notice, at first, that the strikes have stopped.

Or that the protective numbness I felt seconds ago has given way to a more intense pain.

The sounds of pounding flesh are the only warning, before warm fluids hit my back, oozing down my raw and inflamed skin.

The sound of Remus climaxing is what finally breaks me, and I sob.

Chapter 14

My fingers curl into the purple sheets, where I lay on my stomach, refusing to open my eyes to the beam of sunlight shining in on my face. In spite of whatever ointment Agatha spread over my skin, the wounds still ache and remain sensitive to the thin fabric of my nightgown, given to me by Agatha, which scratched against them all night.

On a groan, I push up from the mattress, tearing up as the wounds bristle with new agony when they stretch over my muscles, after being allowed to rest through the night. A glass of water from the night before sits on the nightstand beside me, and I guzzle the fluids, which practically hiss going down my throat.

As thoughts from the night before slip through my head, I lodge my fingers into my hair, flinching at the snap of pain against my scalp when I squeeze too hard. I have to stay focused.

Think of Will.

Of escape.

Going home.

Across the room on the floor is a stack of clothes and a pair of what looks like military-issued boots, provided, I’m guessing, by Lisbeth. I push to my feet and pad across the cell to dress, flinching as I remove the nightgown and slide a light cotton shirt over my shoulders in its place. The pants take exceptionally longer than usual to fit on, despite their light cotton material that reminds me of something a prisoner would wear.