Deadly Vows (Lizzie Grace 6)

“Truth seeking is a young person’s game, to be sure,” Jenna agreed. Her gaze returned to mine. “Drop your shields and relax. Once I make the connection, I’ll ask you to think back to the day you were first informed about the marriage and then I’ll control the direction from there.”

I nodded and drank some coffee. It didn’t help with the nerves; didn’t help ease the churning in my stomach.

Belle removed her fortifications, and then I let my shields fall. I felt naked without them; vulnerable.

“I should warn you,” I said, “One of my psi skills is psychometry so—”

“That’s fine,” Jenna cut in. “Skin on skin contact isn’t necessary.”

She scooted the chair forward until our knees touched, then placed one hand palm up on my thigh and the other palm down.

“Right,” she said. “Think back to the first time you were informed about the marriage.”

I took a deep breath and then closed my eyes and reached for the memories I’d long kept shuttered. For an instant nothing happened; I’d built the walls around them very well indeed. But, gradually, the memories stirred. Walking into my father’s study, stopping when I see Clayton. Hating the way he looks at me, like I’m a prime piece of meat, ready for the market. My father, telling me he has some news, asking me if I want a drink, giving me a Coke that’s already been opened. It tastes odd, and that oddness sweeps through me. I sit frozen, unable to move, to react, as thin threads of his magic curl around me—through me—pushing away my growing fear, holding me still.

Clayton has petitioned for your hand in marriage, my father says, and I believe it would be a good match.

No, I want to scream, No!

But I’m held immobile as my father continues, I have given my consent. All we need now is yours.

I open my mouth. Try to say no. What comes out is yes.

Horror sweeps through me. Horror and hurt and a deep sense of denial. Clayton steps forward to kiss me, his lips consuming mine, cold and horrible. I shudder, shake, but cannot deny him. Cannot move. I stare at my father beseechingly, but all I see is anger. Anger and a deep need to get rid of the child he believes should have been the one taken.

Clayton releases me, steps away, and the two men shake hands. The agreement is finalized, the marriage to be formalized within the next week.

I sob but the sound never makes it past my lips… not then, not later. The spell lies within. No one sees it. Only Belle knows that something is wrong…

The images stop, only to jump forward to my wedding day. Or night, as it’s late. No white dress, no fanfare, and no bridal flowers. The ceremony is a simple one, performed at home with only my parents present. The spell still controls me. I speak as required and obediently sign all the documents. There’s no celebration. No congratulations. Nothing is said. I’m simply handed over to my new husband and led from the room.

Again there’s a time jump. I’m in Clayton’s house, in his bedroom, and he’s pawing at me, ripping my clothes from me, touching and kissing me, his hands cold and clammy, his breathing hot and heavy. I want to fight, want to run, but I can’t. I scream and I scream but there is no sound, no means to call for help.

But my rage—my fear—finds voic

e in another. Belle. She breaks into the room, her hands alive with power unlike anything I’ve ever seen before; it’s hers and mine and something else, something that looks like lightning and moonlight combined. He reacts, his magic spitting out almost instinctively. She knocks his attack away and casts a spell that freezes him, casts another that causes his erection to deflate, then pushes him off me. As he crashes from the bed to the floor, she grabs me, pulling me to my feet and helping me dress.

We run. Into a waiting car, into the arms of Belle’s mother…

The memories fade, and it’s only then I realize that I’m shaking and sobbing. Belle’s holding me fiercely, her tears wet against my cheek, her body trembling as badly as mine.

Jenna removed her hands from my thighs, but for several minutes, no one says anything. Eventually, I take a deep breath and gently pull away from Belle. “Well, that was every bit as bad as I thought it’d be.”

“I can see why you shored those memories up so tightly.” Ruby’s voice held no emotion, but her fury rolled across my skin. “I think there’s more than enough here to start an investigation. I don’t believe we need further testimony from Belle.”

“Are you sure?” she said, doubt evident. “I’d rather get it over with now and have a watertight case against these bastards.”

“We’ve already filmed your mother’s memories—”

“She did that?” I cut in. “Willingly?”

“Yes,” Ruby said. “Her memories corroborate some of what we’ve just seen.”

“And the ones that don’t?”

“Involve situations where you were not present.”

I hesitated, but couldn’t help asking, “How did she react when you told her the marriage was forced?”