Chapter 8 THE PRICE OF BEING THIRSTY
CHAPTER EIGHT
SAMANTHA'S POV
Thirst dragged me out of bed.It crept into my throat. No matter how many times I swallowed, it refused to ease. My tongue felt thick. My mouth burned. It was as if my body was reminding me that pain was not finished with me yet.
The screams that had torn through the house earlier were gone.
The silence that replaced them was worse.
of warmth, stripped of safety. Nanny was nowhere in sight…the clocked before me ticked to 1. She'll be weird if she was awake. Not like everyone in this house wasn't weird.
I needed water. I needed something cold and real to remind me that I was still here, still breathing, still alive.
The maid’s warning echoed faintly in my head. It was late. Too late. Nobody was allowed to wander at this hour and definitely Kane’s anger wasn't down yet..I should be inside.
But who cared anymore.
What more could they take from me that hadn’t already been stolen.
Kane Draven would not be in the kitchen at this time. He would be in his room or probably with his little witch or angel that's making him murder people.
That thought was the only thing that pushed me forward.I clung to this fabricated fact like a lie I desperately wanted to believe.
I eased myself upright slowly, every movement deliberate. The aspirin I had taken earlier dulled the sharpest edges of the pain, but it was still there, lingering between my legs, deep and aching. The floor was cold beneath my bare feet as I stepped into the corridor and my private part still felt sore making it uncomfortable for me to walk.
Each step toward the kitchen felt like a gamble. Like a risk I might not survive.
The hallway was dim, shadows stretching along the walls like long fingers reaching for me. I kept my head down, my breaths shallow, my ears strained for the slightest sound. A footstep. A cough. A voice…..but I heard nothing.
When I finally reached the kitchen, relief washed over me in a weak, trembling wave.
I was alone. I reached for a glass on the counter, my fingers shaking as if they no longer belonged to me. I placed it beneath the dispenser, my movements rushed but careful.
The sound of running water filled the room.
Clear. Cold. Innocent.
Then I felt it.
A presence.Still!! Heavy!! Watching.
Watching me
My heart slammed violently against my ribs.
The air shifted, thickened, turned hostile.
I turned slowly, dread crawling up my spine, freezing me from the inside out.
And there he was.
Kane Draven..my master stood by the counter, leaning casually, his posture relaxed like he had been there all along. His eyes were fixed on me, unreadable, empty. No anger. No surprise. Just that familiar coldness that made my stomach twist.
He was eating sliced apples. Calmly.
Like this was an ordinary night.
Like I wasn’t standing there trembling.
Like my world hadn’t already been ruined by his existence.No pity.No remorse.Just him.
My fingers tightened around the glass. I couldn’t speak. Words refused to form. The thirst vanished instantly, replaced by something bitter and sharp. Panic. Agitation. Terror that clogged my chest and stole my breath.
The glass slipped from my hand.
It shattered loudly against the tiled floor.
The sound echoed through the kitchen, sharp and violent, final in a way that made my knees weak.
“The fuck!.”
His voice cut through the air like a blade.
He stared at me as though I had committed the most unforgivable crime imaginable.
“I’m sorry, sir,” I rushed out, my voice cracking apart.
“I’m so sorry, Master.”
“Sorry?” he repeated calmly, setting the apple aside.
“Who gave you permission to be in this kitchen. Or to even want something.”
My knees hit the floor before my mind could catch up.
“You are a mutate,” he continued, his tone bored, almost lazy.
“Since when do mutates have rights.”
The word sliced through me deeper than any blade ever could.Mutate.I felt myself shrink beneath it.
He stood up and began to walk away.
My heart lifted for half a second, foolish enough to believe it was over. Foolish enough to hope.
Then he stopped.
He turned back abruptly, his eyes dark, calculating, dangerous.
“On second thought,” he said softly, “you need to be taught a lesson. You need to understand your surroundings. Understand where you are…you are not much of a use to me. The sex yesterday was the most disgusting thing I'd ever had” he said with the contempt visible on his face
My body went rigid.
I stayed silent, bracing myself. I didn’t ask. I didn’t plead. I didn’t fight.
What was it this time.Death….Another violation…..I was so tired.
If it happened again, I promised myself I would end it. I would climb the balcony rail and jump. Let the night swallow me whole and end this suffering once and for all…I'm not letting him rape me again.
“Step on the broken glass,” he said.
My eyes snapped to him.
“What?” The word escaped before I could stop it.
“As you should know,” he replied calmly,
“questioning comes with penalties.”
Hot tears spilled down my cheeks instantly. My entire body began to shake violently, uncontrollably. I stared at the shattered glass scattered across the floor. Sharp edges glistening under the kitchen light. Waiting for me.
The pain hit me before it even happened.
He watched me like I was entertainment. Like my fear amused him. Like my suffering was something to be enjoyed slowly.
The scream tore out of me the moment my skin met the glass.
I tried to suppress it. Tried to bite it back. But the pain exploded through my leg, sharp and blinding, shooting straight to my head, my spine, my soul. I felt the shards pierce deep into my flesh. Felt warmth spill freely as blood began to slide down my leg and pool beneath my feet.
I cried openly then.
There was no strength left to hide it.
“Please, Master,” I sobbed, choking on my spit. “Please, Master. Please.”
“You had a lot to say earlier this evening,” he said, turning away. “You can say them now in the form of your tears.”
He paused at the doorway.
“And don’t leave there till seven a.m. on the dot.”
My breath hitched painfully.
I glanced at the clock on the wall.
1:00 a.m.Six hours…..Six hours of standing on broken glass.
“Please,” I whispered, desperation tearing through me. “Please don’t do this. Please.”
He stopped again without turning back.
“The moment you move,” he said casually, “you might as well get a bullet in your head.”
Then he walked away.
The kitchen fell silent.
Only my sobs remained.
Blood pooled beneath my feet, the glass biting deeper with every involuntary tremble. My legs burned. My body screamed for mercy, but none came. Time slowed to a crawl, each second stretching into unbearable agony.
I stared at the floor, tears falling freely, mixing with blood.
This was my life now.
And the night was far from over….and funnily enough I needed no water, my thirst flowed down in the disguse of my blood