Destroy (Whispers From The Bayou #2)(7)

By: Sandra R Neeley

Rowan felt the fingers of Mr. Ashlar’s hand as he grasped the opening of her dress and ripped it straight down. Strips of cloth from the back of the simple garment fell in tatters about her legs as she struggled to get air into her lungs and to turn her head to avoid taking water into them as well.

Abraham was drunk, in a rage of need and frustration as he watched the girl clean her hands in the sink. He was angry, resentful. He’d welcomed this girl into his home, trusted her to do her part, work off her family’s debt in servitude to him. But his desire for her had grown, he was no longer able to control it, and he was known among all the circles he moved in for his immaculate self-control. It was witchery, had to be. He’d heard murmurings among others of his staff that the girl was a gypsy, a witch even. They’d said her entire people were known for their magic and spells. She should not hold any power over him, not at all. Yet she plagued his dreams, even his waking hours, and it angered him greatly. He couldn’t let her go, refused to let her go. He watched as her wet fingers ran across the back of her neck. His hard cock jumped in response. He’d been hard for so long now, he didn’t remember a time he wasn’t in need. He thought of her spurning his attentions last night in this very room. He thought of her refusing to answer him at her door, and his anger grew. He was Abraham Ashlar, he controlled the lives and fortune of many men. He would not be made a fool of by one lowly girl. Sneer on his face, his breath caught as she reached behind herself and undid her buttons; then, he lost all reason when she shrugged the garment from her shoulders and ran the damp cloth against her skin. He’d lost all knowledge of his actions by the time he’d slammed into her from behind, forcing her off balance and pressing her against the cabinet where she stood.

She fought him, and he liked it more than he did when a woman didn’t fight. But then she drew blood, using her nails against his arm, ripping his flesh. He reacted violently, punching her side until her fighting stopped. Then he adjusted his hold on her, tightening his hand in her hair and forcing her head and upper body deeper into the sink. He smiled when he realized it lifted her bottom higher into the air, making it easier for him to access her. He held her there, face down in the bottom of the sink while he took in the sight before him. He tore the dress away from her back, leaning forward to run his tongue up her spine, when a deafening roar shook the room.

Rowan was still feebly struggling against Mr. Ashlar. Her mind was now fuzzy, her side hurt, and she could barely take a breath between the water running down her face and her ribs where they throbbed. The water in the sink was steadily rising, and she may very well drown. She tried to turn her head to breathe, but Mr. Ashlar’s hand jerked her head back into place, and she ended up inhaling water instead. She was choking, coughing and had she been able to, would have cried out at the sharp pain radiating from her ribs. The water now completely covered her face and her tears mixed with the water, knowing this was it, this was her end. She held what little breath she’d managed to gasp, but it had only been a little, and she couldn’t hold it much longer. The fear, the anger, the outrage and unfairness of it all suffused her, and she loosed the hold she always held so fiercely on her powers. Rowan called on her ancestors, the elements, all in heaven and hell, to rain a curse down on the head and house of the man who was stealing her life from her just before blackness starting seeping into the outer edges of her watered vision. The weight of the man still against her back let her know there would be no reprieve. Then just as suddenly as she was hit from behind, his weight lifted, and she slipped toward the floor, unable to hold herself up, but aware that between her choking, gasping, water-filled breaths, she was at the very least managing to get a little oxygen into her body.

Lore misted into the kitchen where Abraham was attacking Rowan. He placed Destroy on his feet and while the mist cleared, he turned Destroy to the scene before them, whispering into Destroy’s mind, There is your Rowan.

Destroy only needed a split second to surmise what was happening and let out a roar that would have made Carnage proud. He rushed across the room and ripped the man from his Rowan, not even looking as he tossed the male over his shoulder and reached for Rowan as she slipped from the sink toward the floor. He caught her in his arms and went to the floor with her as he desperately checked her for breath and injury. He realized that she’d almost drowned when the water began to overflow the sink behind him and rain down upon the floor. The bastard had almost drowned his woman. He leaned close listening to her heartbeat — she breathed still, though shallowly. “Breathe, Rowan, deep, slow breaths. You are safe now. Breathe,” he said softly to her.