Scarred by fate
“You killed her. The love of my life. My mate. And for what? For you to stand there, looking like the useless runt you are.”
I try to back away, but he’s on me in an instant. His words cut deep, but the fist to my face cuts deeper. Pain explodes through me as he starts beating and kicking, his insults blending into a horrific symphony of abuse.
“You’re worthless,” he snarls, picking up something from the side I hadn’t noticed. Oh, Goddess, it’s a whip, but it’s got multiple strands, each with silver beads knotted at regular intervals and a hooked silver claw at the end. It’s a cat-o’-nine-tails, something that looks like it’s meant for prisoners. Then I smell it—wolfsbane. It must be soaked
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