her. Tiny shards of stone filled her nostrils, ears and eyes. A thousand fangs flew off, thrusting into her body, impaling her against a tree.
Her alabaster skin turned blood red. Her clothes were soaked in it, turning a rich mahogany. She looked back toward Roman one last time before the earth swallowed their remains.
Alexandria’s eyes flew open wide as she gasped for breath. It was the third consecutive night of reliving that nightmare. She searched the ceiling, convincing herself it was only a dream.
“What’s the matter, darling?” Lokee’s voice was arrogant, overly confident. He scratched the hair away from her damp face.
With blurred vision and lingering confusion, Alexandria reached up and pushed him away from her. “Don’t touch me, you foul creature!”
His pawing continued, rubbing at her belly, slowly moving down to her groin.
“What are you doing?” Her eyes widened as he plunged his fingers into her without warning. She fought him, slapping at his arms, ripping into them with her nails. “Stop it! No,” she cried, adrenaline pulsing through her, giving her the strength to pull away from him. She fell from the bed, landing clumsily on the hard, wooden floor.
Lokee apologized, sarcastically, reaching down to pull her back onto the bed. She hesitated at first, but her own weakness assured her that climbing back onto the bed would be the wiser thing to do. Shaking and panting, she managed to get herself back under the covers. The silence was deafening. It took only moments for Lokee to violate her again.
“Don’t touch me. What were you doing,” she panted, as he tried to turn her over to face him. She resisted, curling herself up into the tiniest ball possible.
“I am your husband. You cannot deny me,” he answered, proudly.
Commanding her strength to show against him, Alexandria straightened herself and sat up in bed. “You will not make love to me; I don’t care what you do, but you will not make love to me and I shall never bear your child,” she insisted, wide-eyed, bobbing her head crazily.
“Why do you refuse me?” He cocked his head like a dog, squinting at her.
“Because you are not Roman; I prefer to make love to a man.” Her cheeks were flushed with anger. She refused to give in to him out of fear. He would have to rape her, for she would not lay with him otherwise. Roman was all she lived for.
“You wench!” he hissed. “You mean to tell me that you are not a virgin? Did King Morgan lie to me? I’ll have the bloody bastard for dinner!” he promised, pounding his hand on his chest.
“As if you could hurt him.” She felt herself growing tougher; she could handle this. “He didn’t know; I couldn’t tell him something like that.” She backed herself as far away from him as she could against the headboard and pillows, glaring at him with contempt. “Can you imagine how many men would want to see you slain if you harmed him? You would be dead before you reached the gates.”
Huge hands shoved towards her, fighting the air, thrusting her onto the cold floor. She shook her head, struggling to remain conscious. She looked up at him from the floor, refusing to let him be victorious. Her mouth opened, releasing hateful words, words he had heard her say to him whenever she spoke.
Their voices crushed together. He stood above her as she huddled beneath him.
“Leave me? You’d be dead before you reached the door. I will make you understand pain!” he vowed in a voice just above a whisper.
“This house is damned! You are damned!” Waves of nausea swept over her as she crawled toward the door. She made it; she was not killed trying as he said she would be. He spoke only words.
She tried the handle. It was locked. She scratched at it, clawing at the knob, but it wouldn’t give.
“What do you care of a dead peasant?” he asked her, cruelly. “He is dead, you know; it happened right after we left that day. Your maid—what’s her name—confirmed it.”
She
Her alabaster skin turned blood red. Her clothes were soaked in it, turning a rich mahogany. She looked back toward Roman one last time before the earth swallowed their remains.
Alexandria’s eyes flew open wide as she gasped for breath. It was the third consecutive night of reliving that nightmare. She searched the ceiling, convincing herself it was only a dream.
“What’s the matter, darling?” Lokee’s voice was arrogant, overly confident. He scratched the hair away from her damp face.
With blurred vision and lingering confusion, Alexandria reached up and pushed him away from her. “Don’t touch me, you foul creature!”
His pawing continued, rubbing at her belly, slowly moving down to her groin.
“What are you doing?” Her eyes widened as he plunged his fingers into her without warning. She fought him, slapping at his arms, ripping into them with her nails. “Stop it! No,” she cried, adrenaline pulsing through her, giving her the strength to pull away from him. She fell from the bed, landing clumsily on the hard, wooden floor.
Lokee apologized, sarcastically, reaching down to pull her back onto the bed. She hesitated at first, but her own weakness assured her that climbing back onto the bed would be the wiser thing to do. Shaking and panting, she managed to get herself back under the covers. The silence was deafening. It took only moments for Lokee to violate her again.
“Don’t touch me. What were you doing,” she panted, as he tried to turn her over to face him. She resisted, curling herself up into the tiniest ball possible.
“I am your husband. You cannot deny me,” he answered, proudly.
Commanding her strength to show against him, Alexandria straightened herself and sat up in bed. “You will not make love to me; I don’t care what you do, but you will not make love to me and I shall never bear your child,” she insisted, wide-eyed, bobbing her head crazily.
“Why do you refuse me?” He cocked his head like a dog, squinting at her.
“Because you are not Roman; I prefer to make love to a man.” Her cheeks were flushed with anger. She refused to give in to him out of fear. He would have to rape her, for she would not lay with him otherwise. Roman was all she lived for.
“You wench!” he hissed. “You mean to tell me that you are not a virgin? Did King Morgan lie to me? I’ll have the bloody bastard for dinner!” he promised, pounding his hand on his chest.
“As if you could hurt him.” She felt herself growing tougher; she could handle this. “He didn’t know; I couldn’t tell him something like that.” She backed herself as far away from him as she could against the headboard and pillows, glaring at him with contempt. “Can you imagine how many men would want to see you slain if you harmed him? You would be dead before you reached the gates.”
Huge hands shoved towards her, fighting the air, thrusting her onto the cold floor. She shook her head, struggling to remain conscious. She looked up at him from the floor, refusing to let him be victorious. Her mouth opened, releasing hateful words, words he had heard her say to him whenever she spoke.
Their voices crushed together. He stood above her as she huddled beneath him.
“Leave me? You’d be dead before you reached the door. I will make you understand pain!” he vowed in a voice just above a whisper.
“This house is damned! You are damned!” Waves of nausea swept over her as she crawled toward the door. She made it; she was not killed trying as he said she would be. He spoke only words.
She tried the handle. It was locked. She scratched at it, clawing at the knob, but it wouldn’t give.
“What do you care of a dead peasant?” he asked her, cruelly. “He is dead, you know; it happened right after we left that day. Your maid—what’s her name—confirmed it.”
She
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