Dead Tempted - BOOK 1 - Pomegranate Seeds

PART ONE - III

                  The sharp scent of smelling salts clawed its way to Bronwen's senses, wrenching her from a refuge of blissful unconsciousness. There was no way of fighting the reaction to the chemical and she took a sharp involuntary breath which sent a flutter of pain shooting through her side. She suspected she may have broken a rib but that was not her primary concern once Bronwen saw where she was.

The spirit of harts-horn was removed from under her nose and Bronwen focused on her surroundings. She was bound by her wrists and ankles to a hard, cold rock that seemed to dig into every inch of her like thorns. Her arms were spread wide either side of her and her feet were together, forcing the bones in her ankles to grind together uncomfortably when she moved them.

It was clear from the stars above that Bronwen was outside, but there was no way of telling where. Dense trees enclosed the clearing in a rough circle of shadows and bowing branches that seemed made for the purpose of shadowy things. Bronwen turned her head to the side, though it pained her to do so where her cheek was bruised.

Flickering candles encircled her and she shuddered in terror when she saw a cloaked figure stood by each one. Black shadowy wraiths of foreboding that did naught but stare at her venerable posture with callous expressions in their unconcealed eyes.

Bronwen let out a sob as she began to think of what they might do to her - she knew at least three of them were men. She frantically started pulling on her bonds, adding to the rope burns already beginning to rub her skin raw. They held fast, secured with metal rings embedded in the stone that refused to surrender her.

Her shuddering increased violently when one of the figures stepped forward and stood at her feet. Bronwen was too scared to speak or even make a noise, she couldn't think clearly, with hideous images of what was about to happen clawing at her mind from all the books she had read, all of Alda's stories about what happens to incautious women and her own imaginings she didn't know her mind could conjure.

The figure placed a hand on her lower leg. Bronwen froze, her eyes fixed on the figure's dark ones, the dim light making his eyes more menacing as they roamed her body hungrily. Someone cleared their throat behind him and he released her leg, the print of his touch still burning her skin.

He removed a silver dagger from the folds of his cloak and Bronwen's shuddering began anew. She shook her head from side to side, pulling at her restraints, not finding a breath of air to scream until she saw the blade come down and slice across her stomach.

She prepared herself for pain that did not come and struggled to pause in her screaming. The figure had cut away the material of her dress and corset in a neat cross, revealing her navel and the scar that surrounded it.

The group seemed unperturbed by her outburst and instead took a step into the circle of candles. The cloaked figure above her admired his work and ran a gloved hand down her exposed skin, orbiting her navel delicately before he ran a finger down the shaft of the knife, relishing its feel and deadly purpose. The light that danced off the ruby jewels on the handle shimmered across his face in a blood red frenzy and she recognised him as the man who had struck her in the alley. This frightened her more than anything. She didn't want to see that demonic face again that promised damnation.

"No. No, please God, no," Bronwen whimpered, her eyes shut tight.

The man was pulled from his distraction by her lamenting. Striding closer, he bent down towards her face. Bronwen sensed the proximity and unwillingly opened her eyes. She stopped struggling, tears rolling down her cheeks in silent sobs and she could do nothing but stare into his hidden face, praying for his eyes not to change again.