The loud bang of the door shutting echoed through Anya, shaking her to her core.
She lay frozen on the huge bed, caught in the torn remains of her clothes and the cool silver sheets.
Her body shook without control. Quiet sobs tore from her, tasting of blood from her split lip.
Every breath was pain. Her chest felt sore, bruised from his heavy frame. But the worst ache, the one that throbbed with a sick beat, was in her shoulder.
It burned. A deep, pulsing hurt where his teeth had pierced her skin.
Shame hit her in hot waves, then cold fear. He had touched her. Marked her. Claimed her like a beast.
Property. His property. His icy voice repeated in her mind.
She didn’t know how long she stayed there, lost in pain and horror. Time felt shattered. Soon, the harsh shaking turned to a tired tremble. Her tears dried, leaving her face tight and salty.
The urge to see it, to face what he’d done, grew sharp under her skin. Moving felt like dragging heavy stones. Her muscles screamed. Slowly, painfully, she sat up. The ripped bits of her shirt fell off, leaving her in just her bra and panties.
