2. Two

Two

Willow

I swore to myself, a man would never make me cower in fear again.

That was a lie.

The frigid temperature of this room does nothing to fight off the sweat glistening across my practically naked body. I'm burning up, yet my blood feels cold, frozen in my veins, and the uncontrollable, involuntary tremors surging through me cause the coarse stone to scrape across my skin.

It's not painful.

Yet.

It's an annoying feeling as if I'm lying on a hard, scratchy carpet that leaves behind a never-ending itch I can't reach. Once I start thrashing around, it'll tear my back up like I've been slung across the concrete.

When Gish and his Nexus first dragged me in here, I didn't notice the fine details of this table. I was too focused on their actions. Now, as I dig my fingertips painfully into the stone, I feel the sunken grooves, the riverways carved into the surface.

I know what's about to happen to me.

It's happened so many times before in my life.

If there's anything I can give my father credit for, he's very meticulous, precise. He'll know exactly where to slice, how deep to cut to make sure I bleed the most but don't bleed out. Not that it would matter now. Not in this realm. I know a healing vial or a healer would have me back to tip-top shape in no time, and he could do it all over again.

"When your mother pulled this same nonsense after she ran off on me, she was returned with a mark much like this one." My father states boredly, pressing the tip of the knife against Draken's mating mark.

My dragon rushes to the surface, fighting tooth and nail to break free when the sharp edge nicks the silver teeth imprints, and the moment she does, the cuffs send absolute agony searing across my wrist. The sizzle of my skin is louder than my screams, and the smell of my flesh burning instantly fills the room. The scent causes a wave of nausea to hit me, and I can't stop gagging as I choke back tears and bile.

The onslaught is so sudden my vision blackens, and I force my lungs to take deep breaths until I can see again. Mentally and physically, I was prepared for the sting of the blade, not for my hands to nearly be burned off.

I can't stop the whimpers falling from my lips. I have no choice but to lay my hands flat, as still as possible, because excruciating pins and needles shoot up my arms every time I flex my fingers, and the skin that's still attached to me but stuck to the cuffs pulls tightly.

"I figured with your emerging, you'd attempt to fight back. That's why I made sure we enchanted these nifty little contraptions to burn you every time you attempted to use your magic, element, or shift into whatever little mongrel you emerged as." My father tsks while mindlessly tracing my mark with the tip of his knife.

Elementra, this is only the beginning.

Slamming my eyes shut, I take another deep breath and force the tears, the bile, the pain, the hurt, everything, down when I feel blood running underneath my concealed bracelet. Think of them, only them.

Div—

"Don't, Willow. Don't call upon your magic in any way. It'll burn you every time."

I release a long-drawn-out breath as CC's voice fills my mind. For a moment, I forgot they were with me. The undistinguishable sound gives my heart a little hope. I won't endure this, again, completely alone.

"Why didn't you warn me if you knew that's what the cuffs were going to do? And how can we still speak like this if using my magic will trigger them?"

This is truly not the time for a conversation and ambush of questions, but I need a distraction. I don't want to think about how badly I'm hurting, how I feel my melted skin and blood drip onto the table, or how my father is still gazing at my mating mark with pure, unfiltered disgust and hatred.

"Because we're not using your magic, it's the Memoria stones. It's attached to your mind, yes, but it's still the conduct. And I'm limited to what I can see happening or what I'm supposed to tell you to do. I'm so sorry filia mea."

The sincerity and guilt in their tone causes my chest to pull tight and the little hope I had evaporates slightly. They'll help me where they can, I know it, but they don't have to admit it for me to understand this is one of those obstacles Elementra said I'd have to figure out on my own.

Did it really have to be this of all things, though?

"Don't be sorry. You're here for me right now, and that's what I need." I whisper in my mind quickly as my father drags the knife across my new scar on my stomach.

Of course he'd notice both the mating mark and that. They're two new markings that he didn't put there himself.

"Your husbands are going to be quite upset to find out you've been whoring around since coming here. My, my, the mess you've truly made." He sighs deeply.

Yeah, well, Donald can fuck—

Wait…

The slash of his knife across my stomach, from my belly button to hip, is rapid, abrupt, and it takes a second for the pain to register, but as soon as the blood pours down my side, I cry out. My wails echo off the four walls, piercing my own ears sharply.

He gives me no reprieve, going in again, slicing directly over the first cut. Drawing more blood and more guttural screams from my throat. I feel the river of red already starting to flow down the table. Some of it is soaking into my underwear, while the rest continues its path through the chiseled grooves.

I remember the first time he ever strapped me to a table like this. I was eight. It was right after a miserable and messy attempt to draw my blood like they'd been doing since I was six. I hit, kicked, screamed, and finally, I bit the doctor, or whoever the hell they were, so hard I tore the skin and made them bleed.

That was my father's final straw.

He dragged me by my hair from his study, through the house, and down a set of stairs I'd never been allowed to see. That's where he kept his table. His torture room.

I swore after that, I'd never fight them again if they wanted to draw my blood. I'd grit it and bear to never have to experience that again. I laid on that table alone, crying out and screaming for hours after he finished and left me there strapped down, unable to move.

My behavior never played a role again in whether I'd have to face that table. I could sit still like a perfect angel, no matter how careless they shoved the needle in me, and I'd still end up strapped down whenever he saw fit.

I was a teenager when I realized it didn't matter if I was defiant, polite, curious, or cautious, my father enjoyed inflicting pain on me.

The rhythmic drip of my blood flowing into whatever contraption he has down there catching it draws me out of my pain-induced memory, and I glare at my father as he takes deep, satisfying breaths. A disgusting smirk plays on his lips, and with his eyes closed, head tilted back, he looks truly peaceful.

"What have you been using my blood for?" I ask firmly, proud my voice didn't crack despite the tremble in my body.

"Such questions are of no concern to you."

"It's obviously my concern. It's my blood. Are you giving it to the creatures in the Forsaken Forest?" I push. His eyes widen for a split second, then narrow on me.

"What do you know about the forest?"

The second he asks, I know I fucked up by bringing that up. They can't know that we know about the portal in the forest or Keeper. I mentally berate myself for opening my big mouth while focusing as hard as I can on keeping my face the same mask of fury and scrutiny it was a moment ago. I know I can't get away without telling him something now, though. He'll slice me up until I finally cry it out.

"That someone, assuming you and your little friends, are feeding the creatures that live there."

"So you've been studying at least somewhat on this realm since arriving. Good to know. Who gave you that mark?" He follows up, his eyes burning holes into my hip like my mark personally offends him.

This time, I do refuse him an answer. Not a peep will fall from my lips about who they are to me. I don't care what he does. He won't hear a word about them.

Turning on his heels, he takes purposeful steps toward his weapons display, not touching any of them, just staring. Clenching his fist, his shoulders rise and fall, faster and faster.

"Answer me," he bellows, causing me to flinch at the unexpected noise. He never raises his voice. His words and actions are cruel enough without needing to.

His patience wears thin rapidly, and before I can take a deep breath to steel myself, he whips around. His hands are free of the sharp filet knife he just used, and unfortunately is replaced with that torturous, enchanted dagger. A ferocious sound leaves his mouth as he cuts me deep, right down the middle of the teeth marks. A rage like I've never seen or heard from him takes over his entire demeanor as he slices away at my hip.

Over and over and over, the sharp dagger tears, and burns into my mating mark chaotically as if he's trying to carve it from my skin. Slice it so completely, it's unrecognizable.

He's ruining it.

NO!

Draken, I'm so sorry.

Mentally, I apologize countless times to Draken. I tell him how much I love him and hold onto the thought of him for dear life as I try to shrink in on myself to protect my side. My legs try their hardest to kick out of the restraints and my back bows as far off the table as it can. But it's no use.

The air leaving my lungs as I scream and the force I'm having to use to hold my dragon and bond at bay are suffocating me. I can't breathe. My body is at war with itself on what to do and my dragon and bond are at war with me.

She's withering, raging in my chest. Scratching her claws and beating her wings furiously against the fortress I have her locked in. Her need to tear him limb from limb swells everywhere within me, and I swallow down the roar trying to break free.

My bond pounds against my rips. Begging, pleading, pushing against its cage to reach out to my other halves. Seek their comfort, their help, anything. It just wants to feel them.

"You're so much like her, it disgusts me. If you'd been a son, I have no doubt you'd have fallen in line with me. You'd have been incredible, unstoppable. But no. You had to turn out just like her. A defiant, no good whore." He snarls.

Spittle flies from his gritted teeth as he stares down at me. It's acid burning through my skin and my tears can't wash it away fast enough. A whole new wave of fear hits me when I focus on him because I've never seen him like this.

Unhinged.

His eyes typically carry such emptiness. If not emptiness, resentment or disappointment. He'd never allow anyone to see him other than perfectly tailored, poised, and professional. A respectable, honorable member of his community. Right now, though, he's anything but that. He's letting his hatred bleed through unchecked. He's no longer the enemy I know.

He's a whole other beast I'm not prepared for.

I have no clue about the time that passes as he continues to tear into me carelessly. As soon as he's pleased with the sight of my mark, or lack thereof, he takes a few small, calming breaths and switches back to a normal blade.

Back to torturing me relentlessly.

His knife slices anywhere he can throw his arm out as he maneuvers around the table like he's dancing around a bonfire. The only skin that's safe from his blade are the areas my bra and underwear cover, and he leaves my face unharmed.

My eyes nearly bug out of my head and my mouth falls open on a silent scream as he drives his knife through my hand. Ringing in my ears starts a moment before the pain hits, nearly blocking out the sound of the tip breaking against the stone beneath my palm. The thought, the knowledge, the agonizing feeling of it going all the way through, has me leaning to the side, spewing my guts up.

The bile burns so bad as it continues to crawl up my raw, hoarse throat and my vision swirls as I fight back the desire to pass out, enter the darkness that's desperately calling my name. It takes every ounce of my energy to keep my eyes peeled open, fight through the dark spots, and force my fingers to relax.

"I adored that knife." My father sighs as he snatches both the knife out of my hand and a pitiful cry from my mouth.

Violent tremors vibrate through every inch of me as white-hot agony consumes me completely and honestly, I can't tell if it hurts so much I'm numb, or I'm numb because I'm going into shock.

"Take a small break while I find someone to clean up your mess. I'll be back in a moment," he says so calmly, almost sweetly that more bile forces its way through my lips. With one last pitiful glance at me, he shakes his head and walks out of the room.

I wait until the door shuts, then…

I shatter into pieces.

"I can't do this. I was wrong, so wrong. I can't handle this. Why do I have to endure this again?" My voice is barely a whisper as I sob harshly.

"I asked myself that question so many times, Willow. Why did I have to endure? Why did you have to endure? Why couldn't Elementra fix this and be done with it?"

"Very valid questions," I murmur. Even in my mind, it's a small, broken sound.

"She gave me the answers I sought. I didn't want to accept them, not because they weren't right, but because I was so angry with her for choosing me and choosing you.

"Elementra was once a power that could take shape as a being. She wandered through space and time, searching, looking, hunting for someone, something. She was far too powerful for any other realm or creator to accept. They wanted to destroy her, while all she wanted was someone to love. She was lonely. So she made the ultimate decision to create a realm of her own. She'd share her power, use it to fuel the entire creation."

My foggy mind slowly clears as I become solely focused on their voice. I block out the pain to the best of my ability and I hold onto their words like a lifeline. It's the only tether I have and if they've decided now is the time to tell me this, I'll listen.

"In order for her to do that, she had to become one with the fabric of this existence, merge herself into a single entity with the realm itself. In doing so, her power flows into each of us, into everything. All living things in Elementra and any being that made a home here have her power flowing through them.

"She told you, if she were to step in too much, it would be complete destruction. She meant that. For her to step in, crossing the line of balance, it would pull her power from her creations back into herself. It'd kill us all. And she refuses to do that. We are the only love she's ever known. So her way of keeping the balance, while maintaining our way of life, is by blessing some of us with a little more. We are tasked with keeping the realm safe through our purpose.

"She knows what is to come, many, many, millennia before, and she begins her preparations. She aids and guides those of us she has chosen as much as possible without tipping the scales."

The feeling of my heart breaking for Elementra, the woman, adds to the pulsing anguish I'm trying to block out. So much more about this realm's structure makes sense. Why she set up the Nexus bonds the way she did, why she recycles the power, why she's come to me, but I still don't understand why I was chosen for this.

"That still doesn't answer the why me."

"Because of who you are to her."

"I'm just Willow."

"You are so much more, filia mea."

I don't respond. Instead, I lie still, sobbing silently as I fight through my external and internal conflict. I want to be furious with Elementra, curse her for putting this on me, but at the same time, the what-ifs assault me.

What if this happened to Oakly?

To Aria?

If it weren't me, would I have ever met the guys? Gaster?

So many what-ifs and other scenarios run through my mind in the span of a few seconds, it almost makes me forget that my body is throbbing and there's a stream of my blood flowing down the table. That is, until the door opens wide and my father strolls in ahead of another man.

"Don't heal the cuts or stop the bleeding but take away some of the pain. We have things to discuss, and I need her awake. And clean up the vile mess she made. The smell is horrendous," my father orders, and the man accompanying him steps up beside me, glaring as though the sight of me is repulsive.

Freezing water floods my mouth and nose as he damn near waterboards me to clean up the throw-up that's dripping down my chin. As I cough and snort, trying to force the water back out so I can breathe, he gathers up the mess and slings it off somewhere out of sight.

All the air I was able to suck in gets pulled right back out when he latches on to one of my wrists tightly. His fingers dig in to the burnt, bloody flesh and I scream out, attempting to pull free.

That causes him to grip me tighter, and I quickly give up my fight, letting my poor, mangled wrist fall limply in his hand. Slowly, the pain fades as his slimy magic starts flowing through me.

My magic shudders in my chest from the intrusion. Unlike Dr. Evie and especially Jamie, who is extra sensitive when he uses his magic on me, this man's magic feels tainted. Like his allegiance with the Mastery has somehow made it dark, disturbing rather than comforting.

When he pulls his hand away, I hold in my sigh of relief. I refuse to be thankful to this asshole or my father for taking the pain away. A father should never do something like this to their child, and any normal person would never be okay seeing someone having this done to them, when they've done nothing to deserve it.

"That'll be all." My father dismisses the man without bothering to turn from the table to acknowledge him.

I give the guy the same courtesy and keep my eyes trained on my sorry excuse of a parent now that the pain isn't affecting all rational thoughts, and I can process some of the things he's said.

"Did you kill my mother?" I ask coldly.

The sound that falls out of him startles me once again. It's yet another reaction I've never seen come from him.

He laughs. Loudly.

"Unfortunately, I did not get the pleasure of ending her. That would be you who did that, daughter."

My jaw slacks and all the blood in my face drains away as the realization of what he said sinks in.

What?

Did he just say…

"It's not as he's making it seem, Willow," CC says gently in my mind, cutting off the frantic thoughts about to run wild.

"What are you saying?" I mumble, shock taking hold of my voice, barely letting it surface higher than a whisper.

"I'm saying you killed her. She was already a fragile, broken woman. Your birth did her in. She apparently lived long enough to hold you and name you. Then died right there with you in her arms. Pity really. I had more plans in store for her." He says so callously, anger burns through every fiber of my being.

"Are you even my father?" I grit out through my rage, my eyes narrowing on the vile, disgusting piece of shit standing over me.

"One hundred percent. I had you tested, although it was pointless because there would've been no one to have her after me. But I needed to be sure. It wouldn't have surprised me if she somehow found a way out of the cage I kept her in to whore herself around to the men who accompanied her."

"How dare—"

I cut my rant short when pieces of the puzzle start putting themselves together in my mind. His words from earlier ring loudly, clearly in my ears.

My mark did personally offend him. She ran away from him. She was mated to someone else, then was brought back to him somehow. She didn't want to be with him. Those men…what if they were her Nexus.

She…

He…he…

Oh God. Oh Elementra.

I'm the product of rape.

He raped her.

I can't hold back the sorrowful cry that leaves my lips, followed by the sound of my stomach turning completely upside down. There's nothing in there. It's empty, hollow, but my body dispels anything that's willing to come out.

My mind and my heart are a conundrum of feelings. It's so overwhelming, reminding myself to breathe is almost impossible. At any moment, my lungs are going to pop, and my heart is going to explode inside my chest.

I want to hurt him. I want to rip him limb from limb, then have someone heal him, just so I can do it all over again. I want him crying, pleading, begging for mercy at my feet for the atrocities he's committed against me and her. I want to kill him.

I also want to weep and mourn. I want to weep for the woman who had to endure Elementra fucking knows what at his hands. I want to mourn the life she could have had, we could have had, if not for him.

We wouldn't have had anything, though…

The thought causes me to take a deep, tortured breath. If there was no him, there'd be no me. That woman would've been free. Free to love, to be loved. She never would've had to go through the hell I assume she had to live through.

If she had lived, she never would've loved me. How could she possibly?

"Don't think like that, Willow. She did love you. Unconditionally. I assure you," CC states firmly.

"How could you remotely know that? You couldn't. Don't give me pretty, untruthful words in an attempt to make any of this better." I cry out in my mind.

I don't want to be coddled right now. I don't want empty reassurances that mean absolutely nothing. This truth hurts. It hurts like a bitch, but nonetheless, it's the ugly, gut-wrenching truth.

My father, my biological father, is a rapist.

My mother endured his cruelty.

Resulting in me.

And the pattern continues.

"Your feelings are all valid, Willow. You have every right to feel this anger, this rage, this hurt. But you're wrong about your mother. I don't have the power to prove to you her feelings, but Elementra does, and one day she will." CC promises gently, knowing now is not the time to tell me I'm wrong, but they obviously believe I need to hear it.

Sitting in my sorrow for a moment longer, their calm, their love, washes over me. I hold onto their promise like it's glue holding my sanity together because I don't know if there's anything Elementra could say or explain to me to make these feelings any better, but I'll hold a shred of hope.

"Ahhh, your pain is so much more potent here. I don't know if your physical or mental anguish taste better." My fath—Franklin's cheery voice pierces through my mind, pulling me out of the deep despair I'm feeling, placing me right back into the inferno burning inside me.

"What the hell does that mean?" I snarl.

He shoots me a look of fury at the language I used directed at him, but the menacing glare isn't what makes me shudder and bite my tongue.

It's the color of his eyes.

Gone is the lifeless, dull hazel. The gold rings that surround his pupils are bright, stark, almost glowing. They're so much sharper, like they can see right through me.

Taking in the rest of his pissed off features, the wrinkles on his brow from years of frowning have smoothed out, and the natural give in his face that comes with age has tightened, like he's been injected with Botox.

He looks…younger.

Like he's…aging backward.

"You have magic. A gift. You're from this realm," I whisper in horror.

"You've always been far smarter than I would've cared for in a daughter. The silent, illiterate ones are so much more compliant. You've always had to figure things out fast, never satisfied with any answer given to you if it didn't please you. Raising you was utterly exhausting."

The exasperated sigh he releases pisses me off even more. He knows good and well he didn't raise me. He had no hand in any part of my upbringing other than his torture sessions.

Just as I open my mouth to say that, he slams his finger to my lips, silencing me. I have half a mind to bite the digit off when suddenly a wave of magic zaps across my face.

The sensation of my jaw being pried apart, seconds away from being torn off, mingled with every tooth being ripped out of their sockets engulfs me. I thrash my head back and forth, trying to sling him off, but it's no use as he snatches a handful of my hair and holds my head in place. A scream tries to escape me, but it's muffled as he presses his entire palm so hard against my lips, my front teeth cut into the tissue and the salty tang of my blood awakens every one of my taste buds.

The moment he snatches his hand away, the entire sensation stops. The pain's instantly gone, aside from the tenderness I feel when I flex my jaw, opening my mouth over and over. It's like it never even happened.

"Pain, that would be my gift, daughter. I can inflict any sort of pain I wish to and not leave a single trace of it behind. Or I could trap you in it entirely until I feel like releasing you. I don't feel any agony whatsoever. The pain of others or myself feeds my gift, keeping me charged, but with you, your pain feeds me like no other I've ever experienced. The first time I ever felt it, it stopped the aging process that miserable realm brings forth," he says giddily like he's high on cloud nine with the power flowing through him.

"You were no more than two, running through my study like an insolent child, and you fell, cut your head open on the fireplace. Your pain caused my gift to flare to life, stronger and more potent than I had felt in years from being assigned to that realm. It soaked your pain up and flourished throughout every cell in my body. I knew then you most certainly had an extraordinary gift flowing through you, and if it were to emerge, it would power me fully until we could return here for good.

"I waited and waited, upping our sessions in your teenage years to force your emerging. When it didn't happen, I figured a new brand of pain was needed and Donald was rising quickly through the ranks. I knew he'd be a very suitable match for you. Your emerging, of course, didn't happen until his initiation, but I knew the moment it did. I could feel your agony all the way back to my estate. I didn't have to seek out any pain for a full week after that."

To know he's been feeding, fueling himself off my pain for so many years, since I was a child, and that he sold me off to Donald, knowing what would come from it, makes me feel disgusted, violated. Just another thing that's been taken from me unwillingly to make an unworthy man more powerful.

The sick, pleasured smirk on his face and the subtle glow in his irises tell me he's feeding right now. Relishing the mental and physical torment I'm currently in. I try to block out the pain, the heartache, to the best of my ability, but it doesn't work. It doesn't stop.

I want to burn the look right off his face despite knowing he wouldn't feel it. Even if he can't experience the pain, I find peace in playing his hypothetical demise in my mind. His lips melting away from my flaming purple fire. Both Draken and Caspian cheering me on, giving me tips and tricks on how to make it more exciting.

Draken would make some sexual comment about how sexy I am burning him to a crisp or he'd suggest we play catch with his body like a chew toy in our dragon forms. Then he'd declare we eat him.

Caspian would put the flames out with his water, just so I could start again. He'd insist or rather take over, once he grew impatient, not one to be left out of getting his pound of flesh. But he'd let me finish him off if that's what I wanted.

Tillman would sit back, telling me to correct my stance or raise my hand higher. He'd take this as a teaching opportunity, show me how to hone my torturing skills. Then he'd stand in front of me protectively to block out the gruesome sight.

Corentin would pinch my chin, forcing my eyes up to his. I can hear his voice clearly in my mind asking, "What do you need, princess?" I'd tell him I need to end the man who started my suffering, and he'd smile down at me with soft eyes and tell me okay, he's got me.

Each of them would handle my fury, my rage, so differently, but equally supportive. Each would match my emotions, balance me so completely. Despite my current predicament and the fear I can't force away when I look at Franklin, the thought of my men causes my lip to twitch.

Knowing that his life is on borrowed time makes my mouth curl up in a smug grin.

The bright golden rings start to fade and his eyes narrow on me like I've stolen away his favorite treat. He sneers, taking a step forward, and I brace myself for whatever he's about to do, but a knock at the door stops his outstretched hand.

My body relaxes as the momentary distraction takes his attention off me, but that was a premature move. Faster than I can prepare myself for, he turns on a dime and lays his finger to my forehead before strolling happily to the door.

Electricity zaps through every nerve ending in my body like I've stuck my hand to a live wire, causing every limb to convulse, and the surface of my skin twitches uncontrollably. The blood flow from my cuts that had previously slowed comes roaring back like wild rapids. The sticky mess smears all over me as I wither violently.

Sauntering back over to me, there's a pep in his step that has my stomach sinking deeper. Either being here brings out emotions in him that the nonmagical realm couldn't or something grueling is about to happen to me.

"Wonderful news, Willow." He smiles, laying his finger back to my forehead, ceasing the electric shock. "Your husbands will be here any minute now."

There are still muscle spasms wracking my nerves and his words make my entire body shiver more wildly. That's the second time he's said it like that.

Husbands…as in plural.

"I…I don't have a husband," I stutter, refusing to acknowledge what that man "legally" is to me. Here in this realm, he isn't shit.

"I suppose that's true now. You have four."

"What?" I whisper, mortified.

A sense of dread spreads through every inch of me. I already know what he's going to say. I feel it in the depths of my soul.

"I'm sure you've learned of Nexuses while being in this realm, so we'll use the proper terminology. Your Nexus is on their way to get you. Donald has found his brothers and they've solidified their bond. All they're waiting for is to bind you to them, then they'll be at full power."

Bind me…

Full power…

Donald has power. There's no way.

"Donald doesn't have power. He can't have a Nexus," I argue, not willing to accept anything that just came out of his mouth.

My mind turns the pages of information over and over about any and everything I've read and know about Nexuses. Elementra herself decides the members and their bonds snap into place instantly. There's no way to force or fake that.

"Donald didn't have power, but that's not the case anymore. He's coming into his gift exceptionally well, and two of his brothers are Elementra born, so they've been guiding and teaching him at a spectacular rate," he says proudly, using the same tone he always has when it comes to Donald.

"It's not possible. You don't just get a gift or a Nexus. You're born with those blessings from Elementra."

"Elementra chooses the wrong people to bless," he shouts as his chest heaves up and down. His blown pupils stare at me with such malice, I gulp, readying my body for whatever's coming, but then he just stops and rights himself. The mood swing is so fierce, so unpredictable, it gives me whiplash. "Regardless, our leader does bless the right people, those who are truly deserving, and Donald is one of those."

"Your leader has the power to give people gifts and create Nexuses?" I ask incredulously, arching my brow.

I knew stealing gifts was a possibility. I couldn't ignore that inkling I had. So maybe this was my purpose for being sent to tolerate this torture.

Get answers we wouldn't have been able to get any other way.

His palm lands across my cheek so hard my head ricochets off the table, and the sound echoes throughout the room. I didn't see him strike out, it happened so fast. I blink repeatedly, clearing my blurry vision, and when I do, my sight collides with his crazed, furious gaze.

"He is everyone's leader, this realm's rightful leader, and you will speak of him with the utmost respect. He's eagerly been waiting to meet you, and I will not tolerate you speaking of him as if you have some right to think less of him. You are property of his, of mine, of your Nexus's, of anyone in the brotherhood who decides it, and you will learn your place."

I spit the wad of blood that was pooling in my mouth off the side of the table and avert my deadly glare. There's no way I can hide my unrestrained hatred in this moment. I'm no one's property.

My true Nexus would never dare call me property.

Taking a calming breath while trying to soothe the fiery temper coursing through my veins, a knock sounds at the door and the heavy pounding resonates throughout the space like bombs going off.

I don't have to see who's behind it to know. My soul itself shivers. My gifts, magic, elements, dragon, and my bond wither inside of me, huddling together closely for extra protection.

The sound of Franklin unclicking the lock reverberates through the room like a gunshot, and the bullet flies straight through my chest. I desperately try to swallow down the panic, but it's like choking on my own blood. My airways are constricted by the fear pulsing through every part of me.

As the door is shoved open wide, I watch with bated breath as the embodiment of my nightmares comes into view. My demons use this opportunity to pounce. Seeing their leader, the devil reincarnated, gives them the power to dredge up every fear I've ever felt.

Time seems to slow as he approaches me with a dark, crooked smile, running his hand down my face gently.

"Hello, wife."