Abused and Bought

Pretty Little Stains

TW!!!! This chapter holds mature language and SA!!!!! Also dark and depressive thoughts!!! The latters are closer to the middle/last part of the chapter, so if that makes you too uncomfortable, I advise you to skip over that part until you feel safe enough to continue reading, I apologize beforehand if anyone gets uncomfortable or triggered by my writing. But I hope you enjoy the chapter either way!!!

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An icy wave shot across Grace's face, flooding into her mouth. Chilled droplets dripped from her bangs and chin. Sharp pricks of pain sank past her skin, a startled gasp rubbing against her lungs as she shook awake.

The sickening truth dawned on her as she blinked awake. She was still in the cell, whipped and cold, beaten sore. The warmth of her blankets was still out of reach.

She nearly choked when she tried to breathe through her nose. Ah, that's right, Francis had broken it. Blood now clotted the nostrils. The pain had dulled to sore throbs, pulsing slowly through her face. The scars on her back, however, had yet to heal. When she shifted, they spoke their protests. Grace worried they were infected.

How long has it been? Since Francis drugged her and chained her in this cell? How many days have passed since Francis ordered the whipping? Just how many gashes now littered her back? The bruises around her wrists had turned vibrant and angry, her fingers numb even as they twitched.

"Are you awake?"

Grace jolted, a knot jumping in her throat. The bored drawl came from Francis. A bucket, wet from the recent use, clattered deafeningly on the other side of the room, tossed from the vampiric woman's hand. Dressed in black, the woman stood bored above her, looking down past her sharp nose.

"I would have thought that the future queen of our country had more of a backbone," A disappointed sigh left her. "Once again, I was wrong."

Grace choked on sharp words, biting her tongue. A scowl stretched sharply across her face. There were scars on her tongue and cheek from constant biting, scabs that scratched her molars. Her throat rubbed sore with every breath, indeed red and swollen from the screams she couldn't hide.

Francis strolled across the room, grabbing a long, thin whip from its hook. When the weight seemed right, she nodded approvingly. "You know," She drawled. "I'm getting tired of these visits. All the screaming, all the crying, it does get bothersome."

A long pause.

"Did you know?" Golden locks curled around her neck as she tilted her head back, staring hard at Grace. "When a vampires beloved rejects them, they run the risk of dying of agony."

The knot in Grace's throat rubbed uncomfortably.

"However," Francis continued. "If their beloved dies, the risks run lower." She scoffed harshly. "So ironic. The old vampire instincts would rather die than live without them."

The implication was obvious, painfully obvious. Grace would have to be truly stupid not to understand. Still, the words chilled her skin with sweat. She was going to die. She would be killed by who she used to see as her best friend. The revelation made her stomach curl.

Francis laughed from her chest, hearty and full. "Oh, don't worry, your pretty little head." The mocking coo came with a sick chuckle. "I won't kill you swiftly." The words softened as she grew closer. "I'll make your death as painful as possible." The wicked grin showed in her words, hot against her ear. "See it as a farewell present."

Grace jerked away, as far away as she could, chained to the floor. Francis tossed the whip from her hand, most likely to her goon. Another hearty laugh echoed in the section before Francis strolled away, plopping into her cushioned chair. Her leg threw itself over the other, and she lounged as if she sat in a theater, simply watching a show.