The bedding was a gentle shade of gold shot through with expensive silver thread.
A man stood nearby, perhaps ten years older than she was. He turned toward her. It was the thug. She drew air to scream and terror-filled blackness enveloped her again.
On and off she floated up from unconsciousness. Every time her eyes opened, the rough-featured man was there. Sometimes he was with another man she took for a doctor because of the way he frowned, fussed, and poked. For those brief times consciousness claimed her, she could see a little more and felt a little better.
Finally she surfaced from the lovely black nothingness she’d come to welcome and stayed aware. Her eyes open, she watched the thuglike man from the bed. His broad back was toward her as he talked to the doctor. They didn’t know she was awake and their voices drifted to her on the quiet air.
“How is she doing?” the man asked in a low, gruff voice that fit his face and body.
“Physically, she’s healing. Her broken arm and leg will take some time, of course, but her ribs and the lacerations to her face and body are doing well. Luckily I think she’ll have minimal scarring. She had some internal damage, but she’s been strong enough to endure most of it. However, she’ll never be able to bear children.”
In the bed behind them, Lilya jolted with a burst of grief. Pressing her lips together, she fought not to make a sound and reveal herself. She’d given up hope of surviving and had even prayed for death, but the cold, hard reality of her infertility still had the power to devastate her.
“Psychologically, I don’t know how she’ll fare. I have rarely seen such violence visited upon a woman. I suspect she will never fully recover from what’s been done to her. However, if she’s not been made insane, she might recover enough to live out the rest of her life in some semblance of normality.”
The man rubbed his chin, as if deep in thought, and glanced at her. Her gaze locked with his and his blue eyes opened wide as he realized she was awake. He turned to her, causing the doctor to notice she was aware as well.
The doctor walked to her with a kind smile on his face. He reached her bedside and tried to cover her hand with his. She jerked away. Rationally she understood this man had been touching her in order to treat her, but she didn’t like it. Not one little bit. If she had anything to say about it, no man would ever touch her again.
The doctor’s smile faded. “Hello there. It’s nice to see your eyes open.”
She said nothing. She only stared at him, feeling like a wild animal ready to bolt at the first false move he made. She wanted nothing to do with any man. She wanted them all to die. Every last one of them. They should have left her in the alley because there wasn’t anything remaining of her to save. She was empty of everything but hate.
“We won’t hurt you. What’s your name, dear?” the doctor asked. The other man hung back, saying nothing.
She only stared at him in response. She wasn’t even sure she remembered how to speak or remembered her own name, for that matter. Either way, she wasn’t talking to him . Neither of them. She’d kill them, though, if she could.
“All right, my dear. Take your time.” The doctor turned, gave a meaningful look to the other man. “I’ll be back in a while to check on her.”
“Thank you, Nicolai.”
The doctor left and the coarse-faced man approached her bed. She remembered him from the alley—black boots. He’d saved her life when she hadn’t wanted it saved. Interfering bastard.
She crushed herself backward into the pillows, trying to get as far from him as she could, and glanced around the room for a weapon. This man was huge. There was nothing she could use to hurt him and she couldn’t move, anyway. Her arm and her leg were broken.
Again, she was vulnerable.
Again, she was helpless in the face of a man’s will. Bile burned the back of her throat. She never
A man stood nearby, perhaps ten years older than she was. He turned toward her. It was the thug. She drew air to scream and terror-filled blackness enveloped her again.
On and off she floated up from unconsciousness. Every time her eyes opened, the rough-featured man was there. Sometimes he was with another man she took for a doctor because of the way he frowned, fussed, and poked. For those brief times consciousness claimed her, she could see a little more and felt a little better.
Finally she surfaced from the lovely black nothingness she’d come to welcome and stayed aware. Her eyes open, she watched the thuglike man from the bed. His broad back was toward her as he talked to the doctor. They didn’t know she was awake and their voices drifted to her on the quiet air.
“How is she doing?” the man asked in a low, gruff voice that fit his face and body.
“Physically, she’s healing. Her broken arm and leg will take some time, of course, but her ribs and the lacerations to her face and body are doing well. Luckily I think she’ll have minimal scarring. She had some internal damage, but she’s been strong enough to endure most of it. However, she’ll never be able to bear children.”
In the bed behind them, Lilya jolted with a burst of grief. Pressing her lips together, she fought not to make a sound and reveal herself. She’d given up hope of surviving and had even prayed for death, but the cold, hard reality of her infertility still had the power to devastate her.
“Psychologically, I don’t know how she’ll fare. I have rarely seen such violence visited upon a woman. I suspect she will never fully recover from what’s been done to her. However, if she’s not been made insane, she might recover enough to live out the rest of her life in some semblance of normality.”
The man rubbed his chin, as if deep in thought, and glanced at her. Her gaze locked with his and his blue eyes opened wide as he realized she was awake. He turned to her, causing the doctor to notice she was aware as well.
The doctor walked to her with a kind smile on his face. He reached her bedside and tried to cover her hand with his. She jerked away. Rationally she understood this man had been touching her in order to treat her, but she didn’t like it. Not one little bit. If she had anything to say about it, no man would ever touch her again.
The doctor’s smile faded. “Hello there. It’s nice to see your eyes open.”
She said nothing. She only stared at him, feeling like a wild animal ready to bolt at the first false move he made. She wanted nothing to do with any man. She wanted them all to die. Every last one of them. They should have left her in the alley because there wasn’t anything remaining of her to save. She was empty of everything but hate.
“We won’t hurt you. What’s your name, dear?” the doctor asked. The other man hung back, saying nothing.
She only stared at him in response. She wasn’t even sure she remembered how to speak or remembered her own name, for that matter. Either way, she wasn’t talking to him . Neither of them. She’d kill them, though, if she could.
“All right, my dear. Take your time.” The doctor turned, gave a meaningful look to the other man. “I’ll be back in a while to check on her.”
“Thank you, Nicolai.”
The doctor left and the coarse-faced man approached her bed. She remembered him from the alley—black boots. He’d saved her life when she hadn’t wanted it saved. Interfering bastard.
She crushed herself backward into the pillows, trying to get as far from him as she could, and glanced around the room for a weapon. This man was huge. There was nothing she could use to hurt him and she couldn’t move, anyway. Her arm and her leg were broken.
Again, she was vulnerable.
Again, she was helpless in the face of a man’s will. Bile burned the back of her throat. She never
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