Chapter 39: Chapter 39: Broken Bones and Battered Flesh

After the sand episode, Issar decides to experiment with me. He wants to know how far this whole salt water thing goes.

He beats me over and over, breaking my bones, battering my flesh, and when I think I might be close to death, he carries me broken to the bath and tosses me down like I’m worthless.

He fills the bath with life-giving water, and patiently waits for me to recover.

And then he does it again.

It’s been weeks now. Weeks of his torture, weeks of his pain. He likes fucking me when I’m at my most broken.

I think the sounds of my broken gasps must turn him on, because he seems to turn into some kind of frenzy when he hears it.

I made the mistake of crying for Helos once.

Just once.

After the first time, he broke my legs, and the rage that followed made me fear he really would kill me.

He beat me, whipped me, and when I thought my body could take no more, he pulled a dagger and carved his name into the skin of my abdomen, as if he was somehow branding me.

But his fury was more after he dumped me in the bath to recover. I’d healed entirely.

His name was gone, his branding washed away. I was perfectly healed and ready for him to abuse again.

He pulls me from the bath as I cry out, fully healed from his latest torture session. He dumps me on the floor and dries me haphazardly before dragging me into the room and leaving me at the foot of the bed.

I can smell the food; whatever it is makes my mouth water.

He hasn’t let me eat anything but bread.

Awful dry bread every few days.

Just enough to keep me alive, but never enough to make me feel even the tiniest bit full.

I glare at him, watching, as he sits by the fire, digging in, dropping bits from his fork. Clearly, whatever it was tastes just as delicious as it looks.

He scoffs it down, not looking at me once, and then he gulps his wine before turning his eyes back on me.

“How much more do you think you can bear?” he asks.

I gulp, dropping my eyes.

I don’t have an answer because it’s too awful to admit.

I can bear all that he is doing to me as long as he keeps sustaining me with the salt water.

I am trapped, locked in this world he’s created, and though I know I won’t die, I am fearful that all this abuse, all this torture, might actually make me lose my mind.

“You’re strong. I’ll give you that,” he mutters, getting to his feet.

I shift back. Whatever he is planning for tonight’s entertainment, clearly, he’s itching to get started.

“Stand up,” he says.

I glare at him but don’t move.

He snarls, grabbing me by my arm first and then my leg to toss me onto the bed.

I land with a thump.

He wrenches my wrist up, wrapping a piece of rope around it, tying it to the bedpost.

I cry out, grabbing it, desperately trying to undo the knot with my spare hand, but he wrenches it away before tying that off to the adjacent post.

I am held perfectly taut between them with my entire body laid out for him to leer at.

I kick my feet up, aiming for his goddamn face, and he tuts, grabbing one of my ankles and tying it off, and then he ties the other.

I’m essentially spread-eagled now, tied to the bed, unable to move, unable to fight.

He walks around, staring at me as I cuss him. He pulls his clothes off and clambers up from the foot of the bed, his eyes running continuously from my breasts to my exposed pussy.

“You were created for pleasure, girl,” he murmurs. “Men’s pleasure.”

I scrunch my face up and look away. I don’t want to hear his words. I don’t want to see the awful desire in his face.

“Stop fighting it. Give in and let us both enjoy what the gods intended.”

“I will never enjoy you,” I snarl.

He shakes his head, his hand gripping my thigh, and his nails dig in so hard that I know they are piercing my skin.

“I’m going to fuck you over and over. I’m not going to untie you. You’re not going to leave this bed. You’re not going anywhere until you give me what I want.”

I gulp, shutting my eyes, waiting for the horror of it to start because clearly he’s realized his physical torture has done nothing.

He runs his hands up my legs, bringing them down to stop on my mound.

He’s leering at me. I can feel it, even though I can’t see it.

His fingers start probing me, jabbing me, as if he’s never touched a woman before, and he doesn’t know how to even turn a girl on.

I try to jerk away, but the ropes hold me tight. He shoves his fingers in and I cry out. There’s no lubrication, no pleasure, just the awful dryness of his hand as it penetrates me.

“Get wet,” he growls quietly.

He starts thrusting, over and over. I can feel the friction of it, the burn. I think he is ripping my insides with his ferocity.

“Get wet,” he says louder.

He’s a fucking idiot. He thinks that he can somehow manipulate my body into doing what he wants, that he can push some magic button, and that I will just transform into the wanton creature of his dreams.

He continues assaulting me for another ten minutes.

I lie there, taking it because there’s nothing I can do to get away. When he grows bored, he starts masturbating himself, making himself hard before ramming into me.

“I’m going to fill you so much you’ll be dripping out my seed for days.” He spits and again there’s nothing I can do but simply lie here and take it.

When he’s finally done and his disgusting body is off me, he lies down and starts molesting my breasts instead.

The whole time, I’ve kept my eyes shut, trying to block it out, his assault.

I have a good idea what he’s trying to do now. What his new tactic is.

He’s reverting back to the first rape, after the auction, when I was weak, when I was stupid, when I just wanted the pain to end and I let her out, not much, just a little.

But I gave him a taste.

A hint at what he could have and he knows it’s there.

He’s pushing at my pain threshold, pushing at my sanity too, and he knows if he pushes hard enough, he might just break me enough to give in again.

***

I’m lying here. Spread-eagled. Exposed. Exhibited for him.

I’ve been like this for two days.

He unties me first thing in the morning and then last thing at night to use the toilet, and each time, he ties me back up. When he thinks I need to eat, he breaks off bits of bread and feeds it to me like I’m an invalid.

I’m trapped.

There’s no escaping this.

I shut my eyes, drifting off into the hazed world of my own thoughts. I’ve been doing it more and more since I’ve been here. It feels like my mind might actually be going. That I might actually be losing it.

The creature is here with me. She’s been more my friend than ever before.

When he’s hurting us, when he’s torturing us, she comforts me, she helps me through it, and thankfully, not once has she offered to take my place because I don’t think I have the courage now to say no if she does.

I hear the door open and I brace myself. I must have been daydreaming for most of the day because it feels too soon for Issar to be back, and yet here he is. No doubt ready to torture my night once more.

I hear the footsteps and shut my eyes. This is the moment I think I hate the most.

Not the assault, not the actual rape, but the look of him.

The desire in his eyes, the lust.

It turns my stomach that there’s nothing I can do to fight him. That I’m paralyzed, immobilized, just a thing for him to use.

I hear shuffling, more footsteps—too many footsteps—and my eyes flash open.

It’s not Issar. It’s the man from the Council. The one from the feast. Beside him are two other men.

I whimper when I see them. They’re all standing at the foot of the bed, staring at me, at my naked body.

“He has her tied to the bed,” one of them says, and from his tone, he sounds impressed, not horrified.

“Wouldn’t you if you had a siren?” the Councilman says, tilting his head as he examines my pussy.

“What do you want?” I ask, hearing my voice shake with fear.

They grin at me.

“You,” one of them says.

My stomach lurches. It was a stupid question to ask because we all know what they want. What every man wants when they see a siren.

I scream. As loudly as I can. As loudly as my lungs can muster.

I scream over and over.

One of them moves to grab me, covering my mouth with his hand, and I bite into it. He curses, smacking me hard, and pulls something from his pocket.

He rams it into my mouth. The cotton sticks to my tongue and I try to spit it out, but it won’t budge.

“There are better things to fill her mouth with than your damn handkerchief,” the man on the left says as they snigger.

“All in good time,” the man replies as he starts undoing his belt and trousers.

He’s right by me now, and we both know what his next move is. The other two are clearly keen to get in on the action and they have a minor scuffle over who gets to climb between my legs.

The Councilman pulls the other to the floor, leaving him to land with a thud.

“I get first dibs,” he snaps.

I cry out again. The cotton muffles it and my panic starts to soar. There is no Helos to save me this time. No guards that are on my side.

I have no one. Not even myself.

The creature is screaming in my head. She’s crying to be let out. Not to play, not to enjoy herself, but to fight.

They’re all over me now, two of them caressing me, while the Councilman is on the verge of getting his jeans off.

And then we all hear the snarl.

Issar is here.

The monster, the warlord, and in this moment my perverse savior.

He grabs the Councilman first, driving his sword through his body from behind, and the other two are caught between their lust for me and their fear for this man.

“She is mine,” Issar cries, his eyes flashing with fury and bloodlust. “No one touches her but me.”

He grabs one of the men and then the other, killing them both, covering my body with their blood.

I scream out again. I can feel the warmth of it, the wetness. My body is absorbing the metallic taste of their blood, and it’s making my stomach twist.

The creature is raging. She’s still calling to be let out, to be set free.

She’s ready. She’s angry. And she’s had enough of me protecting her.

I struggle against the bindings. Issar walks up to me and pulls the fabric from my mouth, and I know I should be ashamed, but I sob with relief.

He lets out a long, low breath before turning on his heel and walking to the bathroom. I hear the water start and I wonder if this is his answer to everything with me now: douse me in water.

He comes back and unties the bindings.

“Let’s clean you up,” he murmurs.

I don’t fight. I just lie there, mute.

He carries me past the dead bodies and gently, almost lovingly, puts me in the bath.

I gasp as the water soaks in. I can see the tinge of crimson from all the blood, and I huddle under the surface, wishing I could stay there, safe, submerged, and never get out again.

I stay under there as long as I can. My eyes are shut and I pretend I am anywhere but here.

I pretend I am swimming, diving, far away in the ocean, where this monster and every other monster cannot touch me.

The creature is calling to me. She still wants out and I shake my head.

I can’t let her.

I can’t give in.

She whispers to me, she calls to me, she screams at me, and in my desperate, frenzied state, I listen.

And she takes over in an instant.

She’s in control.

Just like when she took my body with Helos, she moves, but it’s my body she’s moving. It’s me that’s moving. She pulls herself up from the water, letting it splash everywhere, and we hear Issar cuss.

She turns to look at him, fixing him with her beautiful, seraphic eyes.

He frowns, confused. I haven’t looked at him properly since he caught me. Even when I glare at him, I cannot hold his eyes for more than a few seconds, at the most.

He gets to his feet, narrowing his eyes, as he stalks toward us. He can see the change. He can feel the change. I am not the same person I was only moments before.

“Take me to the sea,” she says, cutting across whatever the hell he was about to say.

He shakes his head.

“If you want a taste of the siren, if you truly desire what I can give, then you will,” she states.

“How do I know you won’t try to escape?” he asks.

She shrugs. “Cuff me to you, tie me to you. It makes no difference. But decide now, Warlord. This is your only chance.”

He snarls.

He knows this may be a trick, but all of us know the temptation is too great. He has spent weeks breaking me, weeks torturing me. How can he turn down the opportunity now that it’s presenting itself so perfectly for him?

He yanks us from the bath, and all I can taste, all I can smell is his need.