Chapter 10: The Terror Of His Claim

Lorraine clenched her eyes shut, the wind of her fall biting her skin, her heart screaming with unspoken regret. Death loomed, a cold, black void ready to swallow her. Her breath caught, her body tensing for the bone-shattering crash. But suddenly, a fierce warmth surged through her hand, enveloping her icy fingers in a grip like iron. Shocked, her eyes snapped open, her gaze darting upward. Leroy towered above, his golden hair whipping in the night breeze, his strong hand locked around her wrist. He’d leapt from the window after her, his other arm straining, fingers digging into the stone ledge. Shirtless, his body gleamed under the moonlight, every muscle carved and glistening marble. His broad shoulders knotted with effort, chiseled chest heaving, taut abs rippling as he held their weight. His face, unmasked, raw and exposed, bore the crimson birthmark slashing his cheekbone, glowing faintly in the silver light. His eyes burned into hers, fierce and unyielding, a warrior’s gaze that pierced her soul. Her heart thundered, a wild drumbeat drowning her ears. Adrenaline roared through her, her pulse hammering so loudly it shook her chest. Her hands trembled, slick with sweat despite the chill. She heard the clanking of the wine jar against the rock far down. Mere seconds ago, she’d stared into oblivion, her life slipping away. Her bones should have shattered by now. But Leroy’s grip now tethered her to life, his impossible leap defying her despair. He jumped. For me? Her mind reeled, her thoughts a whirlwind of shock etching into her bones. The night air stung her face, the distant city lights blurring below, her breath hitching in short, frantic gasps. With a grunt of raw power, Leroy hauled them upward, his biceps bulging, veins stark against his skin. Her feet scraped the warm wood floor inside her chamber, but her knees crumpled, soft as wet cloth, unable to bear her weight. She’d brushed death, its shadow clinging to her like damp fog. Leroy’s arms caught her, his hands clamping her waist, their grip bruising but vital. She sagged against him, her body quaking, her thoughts trapped in the horror of her fall. I was gone. I was dead. He lifted her effortlessly, cradling her against his bare chest. Her cheek pressed to his skin, warm and firm, his heartbeat a steady throb beneath her ear, mocking her own frantic rhythm. The scent of him: sweat, leather, and something woodsy, filled her lungs, grounding her yet stirring her confusion. She clung to him, her fingers digging into his shoulders, still reeling from the abyss she’d escaped. I fell. How am I here? He carried her to the bed, his steps silent on the rug, and set her down. She sank against the headboard, her hands shaking, her nightgown clinging to her sweat-damp skin. Her heart pounded, her chest tight, the terror of her plummet replaying in her mind like a nightmare. Then, the world twisted. Leroy’s hand shot out, seizing her ankle with a roughness that jolted her. He yanked her down the bed, her nightgown rucking up to her thighs as he forced her legs apart. He settled between them, his weight heavy, pinning her to the mattress. His bare chest pressed against her, hard and unyielding, his breath hot on her neck. She felt the searing, insistent press of his arousal against her bare skin, a shocking heat that burned through her fog. Her mind froze, her thoughts scrambling. What’s he doing? Why? He shifted, trying to enter her, and pain flared, sharp and unfamiliar. They’d never been intimate, and her body clenched, resisting the intrusion. Her alcohol-muddled brain struggled, confusion tangling with fear. Why now? Why like this? The pain deepened, a burning ache that snapped her awake. No! I don’t want this! Her heart screamed, a silent cry of defiance against his sudden claim. Her fingers curled, nails biting her palms, her body rigid with rejection. She twisted, summoning every spark of strength, and drove her foot into his stomach. He barely flinched, his warrior’s frame like iron. Rage ignited, a wildfire in her chest. How dare he! In the dim candlelight, his eyes gleamed, cold and unreadable, his face hard, the birthmark a stark slash. She swung her hand, slapping him with all her might. The crack echoed, her palm stinging like fire, her fingers trembling with fury. Leroy was on the bed, still as a statue, his face unmoved. Lorraine panted, her breath ragged, adrenaline surging from her near-death terror and her blazing anger at this man who kept shattering her heart. She tugged her nightgown down, her skin flushed, her body aching from the struggle. Her hands shook, her thoughts a storm. You can’t treat me like this. Then, the cold truth stabbed her. She’d struck him. Twice. She’d kicked and slapped her husband, Vaeloria’s greatest warrior. Her breath stopped, her chest squeezing tight. Vaelorian law was brutal. A wife striking her husband faced amputation—a hand for a blow, a public shame for a man of his rank. Her thoughts spiraled. They’ll cut my hand off. My soft, little hand... She pictured the blade, glinting, her wrist bare, blood pooling. Her heart raced, her throat dry. Panic clawed her, her breaths short and sharp, like knives in her lungs. Vaeloria crushed women under its laws. Noblemen flaunted mistresses, their lovers praised in court whispers, while wives were chained to obedience, their desires erased. Leroy could parade Zara, but Lorraine’s defiance marked her a criminal. Her feelings meant nothing. The law cared only for his rights, branding her a sinner for saying no. She stared at him, still kneeling, silent, his bare face a mystery. Her mind flashed to his sword, slicing through her wrist. He’d felled armies, severed heads like cutting bread. Her hand would be nothing. And her kick...would he take her leg too? No! I’d rather die than live broken, no hand, no leg, helpless forever. Terror drowned her, a cold wave stealing her air. She felt trapped, a bird caged in Vaeloria’s iron laws, her wings torn. Panic pushed her to act. She scrambled off the bed, desperate to run. She wouldn’t wait for him to take her limbs. He’d have to chase her. But her knees buckled, drained by wine and fear, her legs like water. Before she could stumble forward, his arms wrapped her waist, yanking her back. Her back slammed against his hard chest, his strength a prison. Fear choked her, holding her mute facade, but a silent scream burned inside. She gasped, her breaths fast and shallow, her vision spotting with black. What’s he going to do?