To Defend A Bride (Entangled with the Enduar #3)

Prologue

MELISA

NOTE: This entire chapter contains a serious trigger warning.

Nearly Five Years Ago…

“ I ’ll tell you what I tell all the first-timers. Run, and we’ll tie you down.”

The giant walks out of the small hut and leaves me on the icy table. Whoever arranged these godsforsaken rooms should've had the good sense to put down a bedding pad.

After Seranya died, I’d put this off as long as I could. I’d starved myself to ensure I never bled, and when drops of crimson spotted the threadbare fabric wrapped around my loins, I hid it.

Some people aren’t meant to be mothers.

It’s my mother’s voice that echoes in my mind now. She’d made two things very clear: she hated having me, and she was sure I’d do a worse job than her.

Just didn’t have the instincts.

The fur covering the hut’s entrance is pushed back. I look up to see the slave entering. The man, whom I’ve never seen before, wears a makeshift robe crafted from the same vegetable-dyed cloth that was used to make my simple shift.

Seranya once told me that the two best parts of the breeding pens were being clean and wearing fresh clothes, but I’ve thus far been underwhelmed.

Once the fur flap closes, I see the man’s face more clearly. He’s middle-aged, and deep wrinkles are etched next to his down-turned mouth. Dark, wet hair hangs in his mahogany-black eyes.

Though the reddish undertone of his brown skin is warm, his expression is anything but. He’s displeased with what he sees.

A familiar tightening in my chest starts. What could I have done in the last ten seconds that would have him so vexed?

I’m lying on the table just like the healer showed me. I’ve removed my undergarments and spread my hair around my head in a ‘pleasing manner.’ The man strides over, and his acrid sweat sours the air.

Did they just send him from the lumber yards?

“My name is Melisa,” I choke out.

He doesn’t respond as he reaches toward the bowl of oil. My cheeks burn in shame.

“Should we—” I clear my throat. “Can I at least know your name before we start?”

He unties the band at his midsection with his non-oiled fingers, still ignoring me, and the fabric falls open. Coarse, black hair is scattered along his chest and in a line from his navel all the way down to…

I swallow.

“Please. Your name?” I try again.

“Quiet.” He lets out an exasperated sigh. “You are my third today, and I’m getting tired.”

The admission hangs in the air as he begins to stroke himself. Watching causes invisible needles to prick my neck.

I look away, toward the exit, aware that they didn’t make good on the promises to tie me down. I could try to run, but it takes a surprisingly short amount of time for him to prepare.

He pushes back my simple dress, exposing me fully to the air, and inserts himself unceremoniously.

It hurts, and I gasp.

“Fuck,” he says. “This is your first year?”

Heat crawls all across my skin as I nod.

“You’re a little old to just be starting.”

“I’m twenty-three years old,” I bite back, feeling his member stretch and tear my insides.

He lets out a satisfied sound, and I bit back my disgust. I’d been told that the act of breeding was mostly pleasurable for the man, but the evidence of such things was painful.

Was this what it was supposed to be like?

The sensation of movement deep within makes me grit my teeth. If I could be like the beasts that shed their fur after winter and shed both him and this memory, I would.

“Are you just going to lay there?” he finally asks, moving his hips backward.

My nerves mount, wrapping a band around my chest. It steals all of my breath and makes the pain worse.

Can’t breathe. Can’t move. Can’t escape.

Looking frantically around the room, I wonder just how I am supposed to do anything with him pinning me down to this table.

He makes a frustrated noise, so I jerk my hips up. A groan slips out of him, and I freeze.

Gathering strength, I choke on another breath and do it again. It elicits the same reaction.

I choke back a sob when a fresh wave of pain radiates through my hips. Biting my lip, I look at the wooden ceiling above me. I try to pretend I am tending to the cattle or walking the forests.

I’d helped with animal husbandry, so I knew how this worked, but gods, it’s so much worse than I’d imagined.

Animals are drawn to each other by their very natures. This is… this is hell.

We continue like that for a few more minutes, and then he grunts and pulls out.

Something wet and sticky slides across my thigh, and my eyes unfocus.

“That was… Well, just stay like that for a while. I’ll see you again tomorrow.” His hand strokes my inner thigh, and the intimacy makes bile rise up my throat.

Now, it’s my turn to remain silent. I study the rotting wood above me, memorizing each knot and beam. As I do, one of those cursed tears slips out of my eye and down my temple.

Growing up, I’d fancied dozens of people. Both the boys flexing their muscles in the river, and the girls with pretty round faces and silky long hair.

As I grew, I’d wanted men—I’d wanted women—but denied myself both because I’d never wanted this .

When someone else plucks the strings of your life, you cannot avoid the bitter notes of their song. For the giants, we are animals. Devoid of sophisticated wants and passions.

Left to tables over beds.

The man who just rutted me haunts the back of my eyelids, and his voice sounds in my ears.

I’ll see you tomorrow.

I grit my teeth, wincing.

“Not fucking likely,” I whisper, forcing myself to open my eyes and look for something sharp. The examination instruments are nearby. Even though the man told me to stay on the table, I slide off. My bare feet pad against the pounded earth. I pick up a tool with the pointed edge.

I’d seen the inside of both animals and humans. I know that if I cut myself near my womb, they won’t let me continue.

Pulling up my dress, I expose my lower belly and try to ignore the seed slipping down my legs. Except, it’s not just seed.

It’s blood.

The sight of red makes my pulse race. I can’t stay here.

I can’t do this.

I take the tool to my belly and slice. A sharp, searing pain rips across me, and I let out a sob.

The sound is loud enough to have one of the slaves waiting outside barge in. When she sees me, she doesn’t even look surprised.

She makes an aggravated sound and grabs the tool from my hand, restraining me. The pain is radiating up my front, and I can hardly breathe. Blood is leaking down the front of my body.

“ Healer !” she calls, and then the same giant who sent me in here enters.

He frowns and shakes his head.

“I knew we should’ve tied this one down,” he grumbles, pushing me back onto the bed. The rope bites and scratches as I’m restrained.

He takes an agonizingly long amount of time inspecting the wound. Prodding at it. Stretching it back.

More tears stream down my face.

I’m never going to fucking cry again.

Then he grabs a needle and starts to sew my flesh together. I want to scream, to sob into the flat table beneath me. But something hardens and says, no .

I remain still, letting the tears crust on my cheeks.

“Will she be well enough to continue tomorrow?” another voice says—someone else who has come to watch the show.

“No. The cut is too deep,” the healer responds.

Good. Now, I can only hope I don’t get pregnant.