Abused and Bought

Trusted Touch

The mansion was in chaos. An uproar exploded with the news of Grace's disappearance, and another flared when she reappeared, only with scarred wrists and ankles and a back so bloody the shirt plastered against her skin, so much darker, and very, very wet.

Willy was horrified, tears spilling from her eyes. Ushering Hunter and Grace into the infirmary, needles, threads, and alcohol were placed on the table.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God," Willy repeated, hands jerking with her shock. "Oh, God. Grace, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, Grace." She whipped around, eyebrows furrowed. "My King! I'm sorry, but I can't get the needle threaded. I'm so sorry; I'm so sorry--"

Hunter snarled, fangs bared. "Stop apologizing and hurry the hell up!" He shook his head. "Screw it, let me."

Before Willy could protest, Hunter swiped the blue thread and silver needle from Willy's hands. Grace felt his hands pull her thighs.

Oh God, no. Grace sank her nails into his shoulders blades, locking her legs tighter around his waist even as pain pinched in her back and limbs.

"Grace." Hunter's voice trembled, and his body racked with quivers. "Let me go. Willy has to sew your wounds."

Her nose rubbed against his shoulder as she shook her head desperately. She didn't want to let go; she couldn't let go. If she let go, he'll leave again. She'll wake up, still be in the cell, arms chained and back open to whipping. Francis will still be alive and laughing. Besides, the thought of Willy touching her made her sick. The idea of anyone touching her except Hunter made her skin crawl.

It could only be him. Only Hunter. Only him, only him, oNLY HIM!

Angry red lines clawed on his shoulders as she grappled at him, trying desperately to be closer, to feel his skin, to feel the breath in his chest.

She needed him.

Even when he strengthened his tugs, she only clawed deeper, desperate sobs whimpering from her wobbling lips.

"M-M-My King-" Willy began. Rustling from behind. "My King, we may have to put her under anesthesia. She isn't going to let anyone touch her in this state. We won't be even to get close to her-" 

Hunter's angry snarl ripped her sentence short. Sharpened claws dug into the soft skin of Grace's thighs, piercing the flesh; blood peeking past the sharpened points. "Like hell we are! God knows how long she was in that dungeon! We don't even know how long-"

"Hunter!" Willy snapped. "We don't have much choice; if we don't stitch up those wounds soon, they'll turn infected! They might already be infected! Do you want to risk her getting sick?!"

Hunter's jaw ground so hard Grace could hear it. His hands stayed tight on her thighs until they finally loosened; his chest sagged with a heavy sigh. The weight of his hand left her leg, settling onto her head, and stroked the damp locks.

The chill of his skin seeped through her hair and into her skull, and she found her body going limp, almost to the point of purring. God, that felt good.

"Grace..." Hunter muttered. Strands shifted and twisted around his finger as he weaved them into her roots. "I'm sorry."

His fingers curled into a tight fist. Dull pain pinched her skull with the yank of his hand, ripping her face from his nape.

Betrayal clawed from her lips in a desperate cry. Chilled rubber slapped over her mouth and nose, and cold air rushed down her throat.

Tears leaked down the rubber. She didn't want Willy to touch her! She couldn't let her touch her! Why was Hunter letting her do this?!

Darkness throbbed in the corners of her vision. Painful thuds from her chest slowed. The millions of thoughts melted until there was nothing. Her iron grip slacked.

Then there was darkness.

********

The ringing wasn't the best thing to greet her. It wasn't on her top ten that was for sure. She would have rather had Hunter's hands brushing down her back, a chilled thumb stroking her cheek. Or cold lips kissing softly on her eyelid. Or even maybe-

Oh...

That's right.

She couldn't go to Hunter. 

He betrayed her. 

Sandbags weighed down heavily on her eyelids, and she let them. There was a presence next to her bed. Soft, subtle, but there. She didn't want to see him. A chilled hand was beside her, brushing her barely with its fingertips. 

She knew who it was. 

And she couldn't be angrier. 

He had betrayed her! Betrayed her! Instead of refusing the easy way of anesthesia, he pulled her away from what she deemed trustworthy, what she deemed safe! And he took that away!

She Hated Him!

"Grace..." 

His broken voice snapped her back from her thoughts. Now that she noticed, she couldn't see him, not if she lifted and twisted her neck. Her back was exposed, her face cushioned by a round pillow, open so she could breathe. The light grey tile met her vision when she finally peeled her eyes open. Her back was tight, almost too tight. 

"Willy gave you stitches." His voice whispered. Her skin rippled in disgust, and her lip curled into a grimace. "I'm so sorry, beloved. I-I know that you-you didn't want it, but you- you were in so much pain, you were covered in so much blood!" His voice broke again. His throat cleared. "I...I needed to make a decision, beloved. I have no practice in medicine, so I couldn't stitch your wounds, besides, you were still conscious! I couldn't do that, Grace! I couldn't put you through more physical pain than you'd already been through!" 

His fingers crept closer. They barely ghosted Grace's hand. She flicked it away. 

A pained gasp beside her nearly made her break her resolve. There was so much. So much pain in that little hitch, like he was trying not to cry out. There was a heavy swallow. 

"I'm... I'm not surprised you-you-you h-ha-ngh-" He could barely say it. "H-Hat-Hate me... but please know, beloved." 

A soft kiss fell on the crown of her head. A kiss that spoke so many words Grace nearly cried.

"I did it so you could be happy again." His voice hardened, nearly a snarl. "I will never, never, let something that horrible happen to you again, my Queen. As long as I live," The next words were whispered, lips cool against her head. "I will keep you safe, even if you hate me." 

Grace didn't move. She refused to let her fingers twitch closed around his fingertips when they danced against her flattened palm, curling longingly through the creases of her fingers. They vanished like a cloud of warm breath in the chill. Soft clacks of shoes disappeared, albeit slowly, until the door clicked shut. 

Grace let the sandbag-like weight of her eyelids close, and prayed the grey tile beneath her wasn't sparkling with tears.