Elma
I surface from the dark a few days later. The king’s healer visits daily, tending my wounds with bitter-smelling salves. My flesh slowly mends, but beneath it, I am shattered-still reeling from the horrors of the past week.
Staring at the untouched roast on my silver plate, Xander’s final words to his mother echo in my skull.
“You have no right to strike her. Not while she belongs to me.”
“To your bed, you mean!” the High Luna had spat, right before I slipped into oblivion.
“Where else, Mother? Keep your whip off my property.”
Property.
I am nothing but a possession, my fate tethered to the whims of the Lycan King's lust. Bile rises in my throat. The food loses all appeal, and I shove the tray aside just as a sharp rap sounds at the oak door.
The maid doesn’t wait for an invi
