The Toll (31 page)

“
No, no,” he buried his
face in my neck, wetness bathing my shoulder, “you want me. You
love me. I know you love me.” Chest heaving, his shoulders shook a
little as his voice cracked. “I never wanted to marry Otvla, I
swear. I only love you. Only you!”

“
I. Don’t. Want. This! I
don’t love you!”

“
You do!” he shouted,
fisting the grass on the ground. “Nothing’s changed! I’ll prove
it.”

Flailing wildly, I beat at his back
uselessly, pummeling him to get him off of me as he forced his lips
to mine. My body locked up as he shoved his manhood into my
entrance, his slicked up shaft making headway, my mouth opening on
a silent shout as my eyes widened. It hurt beyond words, as if my
body was purposely tightening to avoid his invasion, shutting
tight, like a vice. It felt as if he was searing my insides,
scalding them with hot oil. Pressing his advance, he grunted and
closed his eyes, groaning out loud, long and low, his body
shuddering as mine had no choice but to envelop his.

Searing pain, along with my anger, the
hurt of betrayal, lancing through, the rage that consumed me at his
violation, filled me. I thought I might be sick, right
there.

Taking my supposed silence for
acquiescence, the crushing pain coursing through me stealing my
breath, he gripped my hips as he pulled out, pressing his body
forward until he’d forced his way in. With a sickening groan, he
gave a harsh pump before he started shuddering in climax,
whispering my name, how much he loved me, into my hair.

My loud, pain filled scream as it was
ripped from my lungs, my body feeling as if it was being torn in
two, was the only sound I heard before it became too much, all too
much. I started convulsing, my eyes rolling back into my head,
Trystan’s distressed shout, frantically calling out for me, someone
shaking me frantically, and then everything went black.

****

It came to me, as fast as it left, and
I heard loud, gut ripping sobs coming from somewhere far off, but
everything hurt and I was focused on that.

Let someone else deal with
the crier for once,
I
thought
. I hurt. So much
pain...

A hand was gripping mine, clutching it
tight as hot tears bathed it, but it wasn’t the one I
wanted.

This isn’t
him
, my mind told me.
This isn’t the hand of our one.
It
burned, as surely as the rest of me.

****

A cool cloth came down on my chest and
I sighed in relief, my eyes twitching behind my closed
lids.

Mamma’s voice registered above me, and
it sounded like she was talking to someone—a scratchy, deeper male
voice—but it was as if it came from somewhere far off.

My skin hurt everywhere and I groaned,
my legs sawing restlessly under a cool, comfortable
sheet.

The skin on my chest, especially,
hurt. It felt as if it had been melted clean off. Crying out
softly, I grunted and winced whenever anything touched
it.

A hand came up to smooth down my
crinkling brow, trying to soothe me, even in sleep, whispering
something to me softly, so softly, of which I was incapable of
processing in my current state. A second later the washcloth
returned, cooling off my heated skin. The small bit of relief it
offered was enough that I let out a long sigh, but I still chose
sleep instead of wakefulness, drifting off into quiet
oblivion.

Whispers In The
Dark

“
Wake up, nugget. Dinna be
sleepin’ so long, eh?” Troll’s voice sounded tremulous, shaky and
brittle to my ears. His hand trembled as he ran it down my cheek,
the other one lightly tracing what must surely be blistered,
festering, burnt flesh across my neck and chest.
Was he scared?

No, I reasoned, couldn’t
be.
Troll’s never scared.

“
I need ye ta be comin’
back ta me, luv. So, wake up now, ye hear?”

“
Hurts,” I mumbled, my
voice a hoarse whisper, lids drifting open a smidgeon at the quaver
in his voice.

Staring down at me worriedly, his
fingers stilled and lifted, about to pull away. Panicked at the
thought of the loss, through the haze of confusion and pain, I
reached for his wrist, using up all of my reserves to yank it back
to my chest.

A shot of pain jolted through me as I
pulled a little too hard, and I gasped, but I didn’t want to lose
my lifeline, the tether that comforts me, makes me feel
safe.

Gentle as he could, he tried to
carefully take his hand back, but I wouldn’t let go. “Dinna want ta
be hurtin’ ye.”

“
Doesn’t.” I gave my head a
slight shake, my eyes slowly sliding shut. “Touch me.”

His fingers gently ran up and down my
raised, welted flesh, soothing me with light caresses. Were it
anyone else, I would have been screaming, the thick pads smoothing
over me like magic to my charred flesh, though it still didn’t take
all the pain away.

Breath shuddering out of me, I
swallowed thickly and whimpered when the novelty of being awake to
grit through all of this wore off, hoping for sleep to once again
take me, taking everything else with it.

“
What happened, nugget? In
the field?” he prompted. “Did... Who did this to ye? What did this?
What Other, luv? Caster? Fae?” His voice was getting low and
growling, menacing, but I’d already started to slip away, and I let
it.

****

Ears prickling again, I came to
slowly, picking up stray bits and pieces of the conversations going
on all around me.

“
A curse, you say?” the
deep voice I’d heard talking with Mamma before murmured, closer to
my person than I found comfortable.

I hadn’t opened my eyes yet, laying
there quietly as I soaked everything in.

“
Can you do anything for
it, do you think?” Papa’s voice was tight and strained, rasping as
if his throat was sore.

A form leaned over me, looming above
me, a thick, warm hand coming forward to lower my sheet slowly,
carefully prodding my injuries.

“
Honestly? I’ve never seen
anything of the like. We don’t learn about treating curses, you
know.”

The prodding resumed and I tried not
to move, unwilling to give up my game of possum.

“
Hmmm. Does she practice
the craft?” There was slight press to my sternum, putting just
enough pressure on it to make me call out.

“
The craft?” Mamma scoffed,
as if she’d never entertained the thought.

“
Mm. Yes. Witch
craft.”

“
Our Daphie aint a witch.
Child’s a good girl.” Papa’s voice vibrated angrily.

Crying out in protest, I winced as the
prodding continued, cringing as a gasp escaped me.

“
You’re hurting her! Stop!”
Trystan’s voice shot out, frantic and panicked, the heaviness
pinning my legs lightening as an oomph and a grunt rang through the
air.

Grunting under my breath, I frowned
and tried to lift my heavy lids, struggling at the
effort.

The hand quickly pulled away, the
sheet replaced, a heavy weight on my legs again, someone or
something shifting on top of them.

“
Daphie?” Papa called,
somewhere by my head. “Are you awake now, child?”

“
The craft?! Oh, lord... Do
you think?” I heard Mamma mumble.

“
Don’t touch her!” Trystan
again.

Mamma gasped and there was a
scuffling, rustling noise.

“
Son, you have to...” I
heard Papa murmuring coaxingly, as if talking to a small, scared
child.

“
NO!” he choked out, “I...
no... I won’t let him hurt her...” A hand came up and smoothed down
my hair, a few drops of wetness falling on my face.

A chair creaked and a hand picked mine
up, clasping it desperately, solid and warm, but it left me feeling
cold. My insides crawled and I jerked.

“
She’s hurting enough,”
Trystan whispered hoarsely, “I won’t let anyone else hurt her. I
won’t!”

There was scuffling and whispering,
and then the shuffling of feet.

The door shut quietly and a harsh,
choked sob came from the man beside me, a cold cheek pressing into
my palm as warm tears bathed my skin.

“
I didn’t...” Trystan
blubbered, babbling over and over, murmuring tiredly into my hand.
“Oh, god, Daphie, I’m so sorry. Please, I... I’m so sorry. I
didn’t... I thought... Oh, god,” he moaned, “if I could I’d... Oh,
god... It wasn’t’ supposed to be like this.”

Forging my way through the pain filled
fog, I forced my eyes open enough to look down at his bent head.
“Go.”

Letting out a shocked, choking
sounding, his head shot up and he quickly wiped his eyes on his
shirt sleeve. “Daphie?”

It made me sick, just seeing him, even
more at the sight of him still wearing the same clothes he’d had on
in the field.

“
Go,” I mumbled again,
trying to weakly tug my hand from his.

“
You’ve been asleep for a
week,” he croaked, sadness filling his eyes as he released me,
setting my hand gently back on the bed. “I... oh, Daph, I thought
you were going to die.”

“
I said no,” I rasped,
staring at him intently as I watched his face change.

It crumpled right there in front of
me, head bowing as his shoulders shook.

“
I know,” he cried quietly,
“I know, and I’m sorry. I didn’t... I wasn’t...” His head shot up
and his eyes pleaded with me, searching for
understanding.

I had none.

“
I had no idea that would
happen. You have to know I didn’t want to hurt you.” Fingers
shaking, he gestured at my chest, but I hadn’t looked yet, and I
wasn’t ready to. “I didn’t know the curse would do that. If I had,
I never would have...”

“
Forced yourself on
me?”

Reeling back, he flinched as if I’d
slapped him.

Though my body was battered and sore,
he’d pierced something much more damning, deeper, more permanent.
It was worse than any scar he could have put on my
flesh.

No, this was much worse. I felt like
he’d tried to take a piece of my soul, ripping it from me without
my consent, stealing a solid part of me, deep down inside of me,
and it hurt worse than the wounds bathing my skin ever
could.

“
I told you no,” I
reiterated, my lips tightening as my eyes narrowed. “Curse or not,
you should have stopped.”

Tears trickled down his cheeks as he
stumbled at what to say, how to respond.

“
I said no.” The grit in my
voice had his eyes darting away, unwilling, or unable to keep with
mine anymore.

“
I’m sorry,” he mumbled
into his cupped palms.

“
I want you to
go.”

His head snapped up and his hands
fell. “Daphie, love, you can’t mean...”

“
I want you to go,” I
growled, “now.” Using all the strength I possessed, I lifted a
shaking arm and pointed it towards the door, glaring into his
stunned face as he slowly got up, his body slumping in defeat,
shuffling slowly towards the door.

“
What... what can I do to
make it right?” he asked quietly, turning to peer at me from over
his shoulder.

“
You can’t.” I shook my
head. “You should have stopped when I’d said no. I didn’t want it.
I said no.
God...
you shouldn’t have done anything in the first place!” I
snapped. “You’re married, if you’ll remember, and to my sister! You
attacked me! Do you not see the wrongness of that? Of what you’ve
done? You violated me!! You should hang!”

“
Oh, Daphie, please,
I...”

Hissing out an expletive, I held a
hand out when it looked like he was going to rush across the space.
“Don’t. Just... just go.”

Expression crumbling, he
opened his mouth, but I cut him off. “Trystan,” I stressed, forcing
the words past thick lips, “I don’t want you here. Do you hear me?
I can’t stand the sight of you. Just seeing you makes me
sick!
Go.”

Shoulders shaking, he nodded and kept
swiping at his eyes, hurriedly making his exit.

“
To hell with you. I hope
to never see you again,” I muttered, tiredly sighing and closing my
eyes. All the fight in me left and I suddenly felt drained, worse
than before, as I slowly tried to sit up. It wasn’t worth the
effort and I gave up after a few tries.

Flopping back into the
bedding, I turned my head a little to the side and closed my eyes,
preparing myself, but I just couldn’t find the guts to do it. The
sheet stayed put and my eyes stayed shut. Ashamed, I ground my
teeth at my cowardice.
I can’t look. I
can’t.

When the pain
stops
, I promised.
When the pain stops I’ll look, and I’ll face this head
on.