Torn (A Wicked Saga, #2)(75)

“No.” The word was weak, a whisper. I cleared my throat. “No,” I said louder.

He stilled, and I saw pieces of his chest and stomach. His shirt was undone. My stomach churned. He can make you do anything. I squeezed my eyes shut.

“You want—”

“No.” The word scalded my tongue, and it felt like I was fighting quicksand. It took everything to force the words out. “No. I don’t want this. I don’t want you. No.”

For a moment, I thought he would continue, that he would keep speaking and force my eyes open. That I would fall under that spell again, and even though I had a hard time remembering why it was bad, I knew it was terrible. It was evil. It was something I wanted no part of.

The prince grunted in exasperation. “Soon.” He lifted himself up, but I could still feel his weight, and I thought I might be sick. I no longer saw rainbows. “Soon you will say yes,” he said. “There is no other option.”





Chapter Twenty-Six


I slept for what felt like forever.

I didn’t remember the prince leaving the bedroom or the door closing behind him before I fell asleep, but the sun had set and rose before I woke up. I was a little disoriented upon waking, only because I wasn’t sure of how much time had passed, but I sat up and I was full . . . of energy. Like I’d received the deepest, most rejuvenating sleep possible. It wasn’t an abnormal level, like I’d done speed or anything, but I felt good and I . . .

And I remembered everything.

I fed on a human yesterday.

I jolted forward and winced as the heavy chain dragged over my still-sensitive skin. I realized that I wasn’t chained to the bed, but I didn’t move. I sat frozen, realizing something else. My dress was torn, the material pooling around my elbows. Scratches marred my upper arms. The woman—she had done that, because of what I had done to her.

“Oh God.” I leaped from the bed.

Dragging the chain behind me, I raced into the bathroom and dropped to my knees. Seconds later, everything that I’d eaten in the last day came back up. When I was done, my sides ached. I sat back, holding the top of the gown to my chest and supporting my weight with my other hand. Cold sweat dotted my forehead.

Oh God, I had hurt that woman. I’d taken from her what was not mine to take. I didn’t even know if she was okay or if I had taken too much. Feedings could kill humans.

I hadn’t known I was capable of feeding like a fae.

My fingers curled around the top of my dress as I stared blankly at the tile floor. I didn’t know who I was anymore. My breath caught in my chest. I’d forgotten how easy it was to fall under a fae’s control. It had happened to me before, when I was younger, but I’d truly forgotten how easily it could happen.

One look and I’d been under the prince’s control.

I’d been in complete control of myself, and a second later I hadn’t been, and I’d done something that went against everything I believed in.

That poor woman.

I knew I hadn’t willingly fed on her, but that didn’t lessen any of the guilt festering deep inside me, and that guilt quickly grew, because it wasn’t just a consequence of what I’d done to that woman. My stomach churned again.

I couldn’t remember the details of what had happened between the prince and me. After I . . . I’d fed, it was like I’d been detached from my body, gone someplace else. It was like being slipped a roofie, but I was somewhat lucky, because he had stopped. I remembered that, but it didn’t make me feel any real sense of relief.

An oily feeling settled over me, blanketing my entire body. I felt heavy, weighed down, and my skin, the bones and muscles, didn’t feel like my own. And they hadn’t been my own yesterday. I had no control. I knew that. My brain told me over and over that what happened yesterday with that poor woman wasn’t my fault. I’d been under a manipulation, a compulsion, and I hadn’t given Drake permission to touch me, to do anything with me. It wasn’t my fault, but I still wanted to flay layers of my skin off. I wanted to strip off the dress and burn it, along with the bed and this entire house.

I wanted to cut what little memories I had out of my head with a butter knife.

What he had done wasn’t remotely okay. I hadn’t been in the right frame of mind. He’d controlled me, forcing me to feed, and then took advantage of me being as high as a kite.

My stomach twisted again and I lurched forward, clutching the toilet. I heaved, and the only thing that came up this time was spittle and air, but it burned my throat and hurt my stomach. Once I thought I wouldn’t be sick again, I pushed away from the toilet.

I leaned back against the tub and dropped the end of the chain in my lap, closing my eyes and waiting for my heart to slow down. I focused on taking deep, even breaths and figuring out what my next steps would be. I had to have next steps. Something. I couldn’t sit on the bathroom floor.

I needed to shower.

I could do that.

I opened my eyes and forced myself off the floor. I closed the bathroom door, and was dismayed upon realizing the lock had been removed. I had no idea when that had happened. I cranked on the water, turning it up as hot as I could stand, and then I placed the chain on the sink. I stripped off the gown and picked up the chain without looking at my reflection.

I stepping under the hot spray of water, gasping as it hit my arms. The scratches stung as they got wet. I didn’t care if showering rusted the stupid band and chain. I stood under the hot water until my skin turned pink. Then I grabbed the bar of soap and lathered up not once but three times, and I still felt like I could do it again. Hot tears burned my eyes.