Elizabeth
It was dark and cold as always in the first weeks since we were imprisoned by Marie's mate. He left us starving, so we were weak and vulnerable, which left our senses diminished.
I had to be strong because Marie wouldn’t stop crying. My sister couldn't understand why her mate didn't want her. Why he didn't love her. She felt ugly, miserable, and confused. I had to be her safety net. I had to hold her and wipe away her tears, but I was as scared and confused as she. Why didn't he want her? How could he even want to kill her in the first place? The beliefs we had accepted as true had turned into dust.
Then the torturing began. Alaric would come down to the dungeons and laugh at us, call us names, and demean Marie by calling her a hybrid’s whore and all sort of humiliating names. He was a real demented vampire.
Despite his behavior, Marie tried to reason with him, tried to appeal to him through their bond. He laughed at her and told her the reason she was still alive was because of a curse that a witch had cast on him centuries ago. A curse that was his punishment for betraying the witch. Therefore, as soon as he found her or her heirs, he would kill us all and would end the curse. The curse dictated that when he would find his mate, he would be bonded to her physically, meaning that if he hurt her or tried to kill her, the same would happen to him. So, by hurting her, he would hurt himself as well. However, that didn't mean that he couldn't hurt the people she loved. To prove his point, he grabbed me and snapped my neck. I died momentarily, and when I woke up, Marie was sobbing, both of us alone in the dark.
The abusing, cursing, and torture continued for days. Feeding was rare. He would only let us have enough so Marie and I wouldn't die permanently, but we couldn't call that living.
Then it was time for the physical abuse. I don't know what changed, but he began to come often to see Marie. He noticed that she couldn't resist his touch. Despite him being cruel to her, my sister still shivered every time he touched her until it happened, the worst thing that could ever happen. To humiliate her, he touched her and made her feel as if he cared, to just insult her afterward. He kissed her, only to laugh at her weakness. He made her beg and crawl after him.
I had to watch all that, helpless and powerless. I couldn't make him stop or force him to keep his filthy hands off her.
All got worse when he found a better way to torment her. He couldn't hurt her, at least not enough to kill her, because the wretch seemed to enjoy hurting her physically even if it hurt him. The pain seemed to turn him on. Later, I found out that was true. The sick bastard liked to inflict pain. What worse pain could there be for Marie than seeing her soul-mate fucking a stranger and raping her own sister?
He raped me in front of Marie. I had screamed and begged him not to. I learned later not to scream, not to beg. It made him want it more, to inflict more pain. I had begged her not to look. She didn't obey, and, for a moment, I thought she hated me. Me and not him! Me for being raped by him, when she was the one who begged him to make love to her, to have her then and there as if nothing of what was happening was pure madness.
I never felt anything worse in my whole existence. I would rather have been whipped a thousand times or be beaten over and over again. Nothing felt worse than having him against me, his lips burning my skin, his voice whispering in my ear, his hands forcing me to look at him while he hurt me each time he moved inside me. It was repulsive. I felt disgusted. It hurt so much! I wanted to kill him, but if I did so, if I, by any chance, could do something to him, I would hurt my sister, too. I would kill Marie. The need to die and disappear haunted me. Still, if I left, I would leave my sister there, alone, without anyone to hug her when he left. I couldn't bear to let her live that hell by herself. I had no choice but to live and endure the abuse.
For some time, I had no idea how much Marie had begun to hate me. I didn't want him inside me, but she did want him inside her. She lusted for him. And I started to curse the mate bond. It was not a good thing, it was slavery, and it was madness. Something sick and disgusting. It was the most perverted thing that the gods allowed to exist.
“Eric!” I screamed, trembling, and bursting into tears.
I had just dreamed all the bad things that happened to me. I was feeling scared and alone. The past few days, screaming my mate's name was becoming normal when I was frightened. His presence made everything seem less frightening.
Eric was beside me, holding my hand, with widened eyes and out of breath. He had been sleeping in an armchair next to me. He never left my side. He knew I had nightmares, he knew I was damaged, and he was not. The only pains he had were the ones I was giving him. I was a terrible mate. He deserved so much better than me. Someone who wouldn't wake him up screaming in terror.
I focused on his voice to make the darkness go away. “It was just a nightmare. I’m here. Breathe. I won’t let anyone hurt you … ever.”
My mate was so naïve, so pure and innocent! Did he think I would believe that? No one would be safe. No one was safe. The gods were cruel; the world was filled with evil people. My sister was mated to a demon, who could be tormenting her at that very moment.
“You don't need to be strong all the time. Elizabeth, you can let your guard down. I'm here now, honey.”
I didn't know if I should laugh at his words or cry helplessly like a child. Was it a joke? He thought I was strong? I was weak and useless. I was afraid, and I could do nothing to fight that fear away.
“I'm not strong. I'm weak and pathetic,” I muttered. “Stop being so kind. I should have died! I should have saved her!”
“When you get better, we will both go and save her.”
Another lie. Another lie to make me happy, so he could also be happy. That idiotic bond! He needed me to be happy, so he could be happy too. If we weren't mates, he wouldn’t care less about me. He couldn’t care less about my happiness.
I shouldn’t be that resentful of him. Eric had done nothing wrong. He was sweet and kind. I was the cruel and damaged one.
“I'm too broken to be fixed.” I sighed, wanting him to let me go and let me hold on to my misery and all my self-inflicted pity.
I had become a masochist, just like Alaric. He had damaged me so much that I couldn't see myself allowing another man to touch me. How could I be happy if I couldn't let my mate have me just for him, touch me without making me scream from fear, and kiss me without remembering all the abuse I’d endured?
Eric was looking at me with lost and sad eyes. He didn't know what to say to my words. I think he might agree with me. He was disappointed and didn't know what to do with me. What to do to a mate that was abused and doesn't feel happy nor can they make you happy?
“I won't be better. He raped me over and over again!” I said finally out loud, bursting into tears, wanting to die, to disappear and never exist again. “Let me go. Give up. I’m useless like this.”
“I know, honey. I know.” Eric grabbed my hands and kissed them. “But I’m not going away. No matter what you say. I’m here.”
My mate remained quiet next to me, waiting for me to cry it all out. Waiting for me to ask him to get closer and hold me. But, I didn't ask, I didn't want that. I just wanted to die.
“Elizabeth …” I heard between my sobbing, “I still want you and will protect you and help you in dealing with all that happened. You need to know that it wasn’t your fault.”
Somewhere deep inside me, his words reached out and made me feel better. Less damaged, less dirty, and tainted. Eric wanted me. He wanted to help me heal.
“I was saving myself for you,” I blurted, remembering what hurt me the most.
I was strangely frank with him, but I wanted him to know. I needed him to understand why it hurt so much, why I felt so bad. Alaric had taken from me something I was keeping for a long time, so I could offer it to my true mate. All Alaric gave me was pain, hurt, and disgust. How could I lay with my mate now?
Eric gripped my hand harder. My confession must have made him mad. I tried to look at him between my tears. He was in his vampire form—showing fangs, pale, flawless, and beautiful skin, and the most amazing purple eyes. Purple eyes! Not black or red, just purple. My soul-mate wasn’t a monster.
“You are so beautiful,” I said, taking long breathes and touching his face.
Eric frowned and then smiled, making my heart skyrocket.
I wasn't expecting to tell him that. I felt my cheeks burning, my throat drying, and my salty tears stinging my eyes.
“You’re beautiful, too,” he said, pressing my hand against his skin. Touching him felt nice. I was tempted to believe his words. However, I didn't feel beautiful. Inside, I felt shattered and empty. On the outside, I looked like a two hundred year old vampire who’d lost all will to live.