Chapter 37: The Doctors Said Vitals Are Improving
The shower was hot, and it helped, it loosened some of the tightness in her throat, helped her feel human again instead of like a thing that had been used. But the water couldn’t wash away the marks. Couldn’t erase what had happened.
She looked at herself in the mirror.
The marks from the past week were still visible. Bite marks on her neck from the first night. Handprints on her hips that had lightened to yellowish-green. Bruises on her inner thighs. New marks blooming on her breasts from Lucian’s hands. Her throat was raw and red, already swelling slightly.
Tomorrow her mother would see these.
Or maybe her mother would still be unconscious and wouldn’t see anything at all. Maybe she’d just lie there in that hospital bed, unaware that her daughter was bruised and broken and bought with sexual servitude.
Maybe that would be better.
Lilith dressed in clean clothes. Found the salve that had been left for her, she suspected on purpose, knowing she would need it, and applied it carefully to her raw throat. It stung but it helped. Everything about this estate was designed to hurt her and then soothe the hurt, keeping her in a cycle of pain and relief that made her dependent on the very people causing the damage.
Then she went to the wall where her marks were.
The first week had been seven marks. She’d been counting the days until this hell ended.
She picked up the metal letter opener she’d been using, left on her desk, also, she suspected, on purpose.
And drew the eighth line.
Seven marks counted down from the first week.
Now she was counting what came next.
Twenty-two more days until she left this estate.
Twenty-two more days of being payment.
But tomorrow....tomorrow she’d see her mother.
She could feel her mother’s hand in hers. Could imagine her mother’s worried eyes opening, searching her face for truth. Could see the way her mother’s expression would change if she saw the marks covering her daughter’s body.
And Lilith would lie.
Would pull her sweater up to cover her neck. Would keep her arms crossed to hide her bruises. Would tell her mother everything was fine, that the Blackwoods were treating her well, that this was just temporary and soon they’d be reunited for good.
Would carry the weight of that lie back to this estate where three men were slowly becoming more than just her captors. Where the line between use and affection was starting to blur in dangerous ways.
She closed her eyes and held onto the thought of her mother’s face.
Because it was the only thing keeping her from completely falling apart.
And because part of her, a part she refused to examine too closely, was already counting down the minutes until she saw Nicholas again. Until Sebastian’s hands were on her. Until Lucian’s rough voice whispered that she was doing so good.
Twenty-two more days.
She could endure twenty-two more days.
She had to.
***
The clothes laid out on her bed were her own.
Not the omega rags from the closet. Not the practical grey sweater and dark pants. These were the clothes she’d worn at Shadowmere. Real clothes. Clothes that fit who she used to be.
A dark blue dress, simple but well-made. The kind of thing she’d worn to pack gatherings when her father was still alive, when she still had status. When she was still Victor Thorne’s daughter instead of his debt.
She dressed slowly, carefully, studying herself in the mirror. The bruises on her neck were dark enough that she’d need to hide them. The handprints on her hips could stay covered. But her throat....she’d have to be careful with how she moved her head. Had to avoid looking down too much.
The knock came soft.
"Come in," Lilith said.
Sera entered with a tray, tea and toast with butter and jam, the kind of breakfast that felt impossibly normal. The young warrior closed the door quietly behind her and sat on the edge of the bed without being invited.
"You’re scared," Sera said. Not a question.
Lilith looked at her. Really looked at her. Sera was only nineteen, maybe twenty, but she had the eyes of someone who’d seen hard things. Who understood survival.
"Yes," Lilith admitted.
"That’s smart." Sera poured the tea with practiced efficiency. "Fear keeps you sharp."
She handed Lilith the cup, and they sat in silence for a moment. The tea was perfect...hot and sweet, exactly how Lilith used to drink it before everything fell apart.
"Your mother," Sera said quietly. "Is she...."
"In a coma." Lilith’s voice was flat. "Mate bond rupture."
Sera winced. She understood what that meant. Everyone understood what that meant. The mate bond was everything. When it broke, it broke the person attached to it.
"She’s strong though," Lilith continued, needing to believe it. "The doctors said her vitals are improving."
"Then she’ll wake up," Sera said with absolute certainty. "Strong people always wake up."
Lilith wanted to believe that. Wanted to believe that her mother was strong enough to come back from the edge of death. Wanted to believe that she’d wake up to find her daughter and they could somehow go back to the way things were.
But they wouldn’t. Because even if her mother woke up, she’d wake up to a daughter who’d been on her knees in an Alpha’s office. A daughter who’d been used by three men in a bed. A daughter who carried marks that told a story Lilith didn’t know how to explain.
"You’ll handle it," Sera said, like she could read the spiraling thoughts. "That’s what you do. You survive."
She was right. Lilith had been surviving since the moment the Blackwoods took her. She could survive a hospital visit. She could survive seeing her mother unconscious. She could survive the pack’s judgment.
She could survive anything except her mother not waking up.
"The car comes at eleven-thirty," Sera said. She squeezed Lilith’s hand. "Eat. You need strength."
