Chapter 27

The sight of his face slammed Adara with a memory she could have done without.

Like a horror movie, the kind that flashed grotesque images, she streamed through a series of horrific events. Him, between her legs, his face twisted in cruelty, his scarred body nude, the better he might rape her over and over.

His fists, the studded band across the knuckles giving him maximum effect. The kicks by his booted toes. His laughter and encouragement as the demons he commanded desecrated her body. Scarred her soul.

This thing in front of her, who wasn't quite a demon, and was definitely not a man, was the reason she hurt. Over and over. Because he'd also healed her. Whenever she would find herself on the cusp of death, begging for its sweet oblivion, he'd yank her back.

He. Healed. Me. So he could start over.

No amount of bravery in the world could have forced Adara to stay and face him. Not with terror making her muscles tense and limp at the same time.