The candles had burned out.

The room was quieter than it had been all night. The air still held their scent, thick and warm against her skin. Ariana lay on the bed, limp and silent, the blindfold now untied but still lying near her hand. Her wrists were red where their hands had held her down. Her body felt strange — not just sore, but marked in ways that had nothing to do with bruises.

She could hear them moving around the room. Slow. Unhurried. Like men who knew they’d taken what they ...