The Bastard (Darling #2) [complete]

Chapter Seven

L O U E L L E  W A S sitting at her vanity, just staring at herself in her small handheld mirror. She didn't quite recognize the person staring back at her. Her bright eyes were dull; the dark circles under her eyes were deep; her cheeks were pale; and her lips looked dry. She looked unhappy.

She felt unhappy.

"You are a monster," her reflection spat out venomously, but it wasn't in her voice. It was in her prince's and he sounded livid; disgusted.

She quickly shut her eyes and slammed the mirror onto the vanity, attempting to shut everything out. She could feel him behind her and could feel him when he lowered his mouth to her ear. Louelle was unable to move. It wasn't that she was frightened of him. She never could be. She only was truly not able to move. It was as if a spell had been casted upon her to keep her entire body frozen.

She felt so helpless.

"You are a monster," he repeated in her ear with the same volume and tone used before. "You killed our child, and now you must pay."

She felt something cold press to the base of her neck and when she swallowed, she felt it did into her skin. It was sharp. Whatever it was, she knew it had the capability to draw blood. Is that what he meant by "pay?" Did he want to kill her?

Blood for blood, her own voice echoed in her head.

He reached over her to grab the mirror, raising it back up to her face. Just like she was unable to recognize her own self, she was also unable to recognize Thatcher. He had this evil glint in his eyes. The ones that were once full of love and admiration for her were then filled with hate and fury. He much resembled his father in that moment and it caused chills to raise across her entire body.

He grinned, but instead of it giving her stomach the butterflies like it had before, it made all of the blood in her veins run completely cold.

"I want you to watch as I slice open your throat and let your sinning blood pour out."

"This is not you," she whispered. She was unable to move her eyes away from him, no matter how hard she tried.

And she did try.

"It should have been you," he growled lowly into her ear. The knife was pulled tighter against her skin. "You should have been the one to die on that table, Louelle. You are a murderer!" His face was beet red. It looked as if it might have exploded. His hands were shaking with each word he screamed at her. His body was also beginning to tremble as his fury took over, begging for its release. "It should have been you!"

He drew his arm back to prepare to slice open her throat, just as he promised he would - to let her sins pour out.

"No!"

She awoke in a sweat, still shouting from her nightmare. It took a few moments for her mind to readjust to reality - it had all felt so real - to realize it was all it was. A nightmare. Thatcher had not hunted her down. He did not wish to kill her.