Her Beast (Beauty and the Captor 1)

The scrape of the lock jarred me out of the dark place my mind had wandered. I dropped back down to my knees, noticing it wasn’t as difficult to do as it had once been. When had that happened?

The door opened, but it wasn’t Derek who walked in. The man wasn’t the least bit familiar. Older than Derek, dark eyes. Dark, sinister eyes that sent a chill down my spine. I thought of what Derek had said about handing me over to a new master—was this him? Had I already lost the chance to end this before it began? Oh god, without him saying a word, I already knew I’d rather be dead than be this man’s slave.

He walked toward me, and I wrapped my hands around my body, trying to cover myself. I’d gotten used to being this way with Derek, naked, with his eyes free to peruse every part of me. As wrong as it was, I’d come to like it, to feel my body revving up when his eyes grazed over me.

But this man…I didn’t want him looking at me.

He stopped in front of me, looking down disapprovingly at where my hands covered me. I skittered back on my knees, but he reached out and grabbed a fistful of my hair before I could get more than a few inches. He yanked me back and my hands flew out automatically to stop from falling forward.

When I moved to re-cover myself, he yanked on my hair again, so hard I was surprised it didn’t rip it out at the roots. Tears stung my eyes, but I held them there stubbornly.

“If you cover yourself again, I will break your arms to keep you from making that mistake again.”

He wasn’t joking. I didn’t think this man was capable of it. I dropped my arms to my sides while anger and fear warred inside me. Fear won out, and I knelt there unmoving. I’d thought Derek was the devil, but I was beginning to suspect I’d been wrong.

If I’d behaved better if I’d tried to please Derek, would he still have sold me to this monster? Would he still have delighted in handing the supposed-daughter of James Donovan over to the vilest creature he could find?—certainly that’s what this man was.

Or would I have mattered to him then? If I hadn’t fought him constantly, would he have felt too much guilt to do something so horrible to an innocent girl? Was he even capable of that emotion, or had the years in his own hell numbed him to it? I had no answers. And why the hell was I thinking about Derek when I should have been thinking of the fastest method to check out?

“You are very appealing, slave, but you are far from adequately trained,” he said and I started to shake with fear. Pure terror, unlike anything Derek had ever evoked.

But then, maybe Derek was worse. He’d never hurt me the way I now knew this man was going to, but he’d handed me over to him. Wasn’t that worse?

“Stand up. I want to inspect you, slave,” he demanded.

I wanted to run, and the stupid thing about it was I wanted to run to Derek. I wanted him to wrap his arms around me and protect me, to refuse to let this monster hurt me. Tears spilled over, knowing there was nowhere to run. And even if Derek was here right now, he wouldn’t save me.

I stood up, willing my knees to hold me there while the man made a tight circle around me, touching my breasts, my hips, my backside. I wanted to scream at him to get his hands off me. I was Derek’s, and he wasn’t allowed to touch me. But it wasn’t true. And screaming at this man was sure to incite him. Derek hadn’t punished me for it—when I’d screamed like a banshee and couldn’t stop—but this man would.

He stopped behind me, his hands still on my cheeks, and I could feel his eyes grazing over my back.

“No wonder you’re unruly. There isn’t a single lash mark on you. You have not been disciplined nearly enough.”

I cried harder, knowing without a doubt he was going to rectify that.

“Bend over and grab onto the backs of your calves,” he said, already pressing down on my back.

Oh god, no. No, there had to be a way out. But he kept pressing and when I didn’t comply, I felt a hot, vicious sting across my backside. It wasn’t his hand that had struck me. No hand could hurt that much. I jerked my head back as I cried out. Bile rose in my throat—the sick monster had brought his own whip.

I started to run—it was innate. I couldn’t have stopped it any more than I’d been able to stop my body’s response to Derek. Derek…I begged him silently to save me, knowing he wouldn’t.