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 couldnât wash away the marks. Couldnât 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 Lucianâs 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 wouldnât see anything at all. Maybe sheâd 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. Sheâd been counting the days until this hell ended.
She picked up the metal letter opener sheâd 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 sheâd see her mother.
She could feel her motherâs hand in hers. Could imagine her motherâs worried eyes opening, searching her face for truth. Could see the way her motherâs expression would change if she saw the marks covering her daughterâs 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 theyâd 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 motherâs 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 Sebastianâs hands were on her. Until Lucianâs 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 sheâd 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 sheâd worn to pack gatherings when her father was still alive, when she still had status. When she was still Victor Thorneâs daughter instead of his debt.
She dressed slowly, carefully, studying herself in the mirror. The bruises on her neck were dark enough that sheâd need to hide them. The handprints on her hips could stay covered. But her throat....sheâd 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.
"Youâre 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 whoâd seen hard things. Who understood survival.
"Yes," Lilith admitted.
"Thatâs 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." Lilithâs 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.
"Sheâs strong though," Lilith continued, needing to believe it. "The doctors said her vitals are improving."
"Then sheâll 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 sheâd wake up to find her daughter and they could somehow go back to the way things were.
But they wouldnât. Because even if her mother woke up, sheâd wake up to a daughter whoâd been on her knees in an Alphaâs office. A daughter whoâd been used by three men in a bed. A daughter who carried marks that told a story Lilith didnât know how to explain.
"Youâll handle it," Sera said, like she could read the spiraling thoughts. "Thatâs 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 packâs judgment.
She could survive anything except her mother not waking up.
"The car comes at eleven-thirty," Sera said. She squeezed Lilithâs hand. "Eat. You need strength."