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Hot wax pours over Edwin’s back. The dark liquid glides, clings, hardens. He inhales sharply. A tremor runs through his arms. His head dips as he centers himself, then lifts again.

Still no sound.

Patrick screams.

Tears well in my eyes as I watch. I want it to stop. I want to run to Edwin. I want to put myself between him and the next strike to shield him from this. But I can’t move.

The proxies step in again, and the whipping resumes. When Edwin twists, I see his back is striped with welts and dark wax. The tears burn, but I force them back. If he can endure that without breaking, then I can stand here and endure this.

Sweat slicks my skin from the fire behind me while freezing water drips beneath my feet. The ice is getting lower to the floor. My feet ache and slip, and the pole presses deeper, forcing me into an unnatural posture.

The tip pushes against the back of my pussy painfully. No amount of shifting my weight relieves the pressure.

Then, finally, it ends.

The proxies stop their assaults. Masked men uncuff Edwin and Patrick. Edwin pulls his hands to his chest and evens his breathing, shoulders rising and falling slowly. When he stands, he sways once, then forces himself upright.

He comes straight to me.

The ice is almost gone. The pole presses so painfully hard I can barely breathe, but all I want to do is comfort him.

Edwin lowers the pole quickly, removing the metal sphere from my pussy and sparing me the worst of it. The tormenting pressure disappears.

That same instant, he drops heavily to his knees in front of me and rests his head against my stomach with his arms wrapping around my legs as if he can’t hold himself up any longer.

My hands smooth over his hair, holding him to me, trembling as I look down his back. Bloody welts stripe his skin, and black wax clings in uneven trails.

I swallow the sob that wants to escape, refusing to fall apart when he’s the one suffering. I sink to my knees with him and cradle his face in my hands, kissing him with all the tenderness I have.

My own pain fades into nothing. All I want is to take his away, even if I don’t know how.

He looks up at me as though I descended from heaven itself just to keep him from burning alive.

Maybe I am his angel.

But somewhere along the way, Edwin became my salvation.

CHAPTER 36

ZAIYA

In our suite, the lights are low and the curtains are drawn, hiding the view of the town below and the manor up on the bluff. The outside world doesn’t exist right now. There is only this room. Only us.

Edwin sits on the edge of the bed, shirtless, his shoulders slightly bowed. He tries to look unaffected by everything that happened in the chamber, but I can see the tension lingering in the muscles along his spine. Pain is woven so tightly into who he is that he barely notices it anymore.

I dip the cloth into cool water and wring it out before pressing it gently to his skin. His back tenses.

“I’m fine,” he says, his voice steady.

“I know you are.”

He’s trying to convince me, so I don’t push. I just keep tending to him. The cloth glides over raised welts and tender patches of redness. I brush a few remnants of wax away.

My eyes drift to his tattoos. Dark ink curls around muscle only to be interrupted by pale lines. Fragments of stories scattered across his skin, like a book someone tried to burn.

The cloth trails down his arm and pauses when my fingers brush one of the older scars.

He notices the hesitation immediately. “Ask.”