Chapter 2
I lay on the cold haystack, my exposed thighs covered in malicious red pinches.
Ants gnawed at my skin, yet I felt no pain.
Such agony paled compared to all I’d endured.
The knife wound on my right arm refused to heal.
Moments later, I was dragged outside again, tightly bound to a wooden stake.
My cheek suddenly stung.
An arrow whizzed past my ear, embedding itself into the stake.
“Damn! Missed!”
Pamela gripped a longbow, pouting as she complained to Arthur beside her.
Arthur cradled a werewolf child, his expression gentle.
He pressed dried meat into the child’s hands, then lifted his gaze to meet mine across the distance.
I frantically looked down.
My breathing grew ragged, fingertips digging deep into my palms.
Arthur himself had strangled our child and fed it to vultures.
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Now he played the doting father to another.
I shut my eyes in anguish.
The mere memory of that tiny, lifeless form-
―made my world spin, heart wrenching violently.
“Let me teach you:”
Three arrows thudded into my shoulder before the words faded.
Excruciating pain lanced through me instantly.
My face drained of color, bean–sized sweat droplets rolling down my temples.
The arrowheads burrowed between bones, pushing the acupuncture needles deeper toward my heart.
I watched helplessly as Arthur draped an arm over Pamela’s shoulder.
Their necks nuzzled, breaths tangling.
This time their aim was true:
My heart.
Arthur curled his lips contemptuously, mouthing icy words at me:
Beg me.
Beg… you?
Bitter desolation flooded me as I swallowed blood.
Trembling, I closed my eyes, heart drumming wildly.
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Death was the one mercy denied me now.
How could I ever beg you for release?
Pamela quivered with excitement, fingers loosening on the bowstring-
-only for Arthur to clamp down on her hand, halting the shot.
She bit her lip, glaring at me with pure revulsion.
Then she abruptly twisted her stance.
As the bowstring snapped, Arthur’s eyes widened.
He shoved Pamela aside, lunging forward.
When the arrow veered off course, striking the stake beside me,
Arthur froze, his gaze inscrutable.
I slowly opened vacant eyes, staring into nothingness.
Still alive.
A beat later, Arthur recovered with a cold laugh.
“Killing her is pointless.”
“Pamela, the witch is immortal. Unless you pierce her heart–torture her as you please.”
I snapped my head up to see Pamela Jackson standing before me, dagger in hand, her lips curved upward.
She raised her arm high and drove the blade deep into my shoulder without hesitation.
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Searing pain shot through every nerve, forcing a choked groan from my throat.
Another stab followed, plunging into my abdomen.
Blood gushed forth, soaking my robes crimson.
My mouth hung open, only pained whimpers escaping–too agonized to
scream.
“Filthy wretch! This body’s how you bewitched Arthur Miller, isn’t it…..”
She twisted the blade violently inside my womb.
Watching my torment, her face contorted with perverse delight.
“Now you’re just used goods, trash men have worn out. Still hoping Arthur Miller would pity you?”
“He doesn’t want you dead. Should I grant that wish?”
The knife tip dragged slowly across my chest.
I stared numbly at the glinting steel, my heart a barren wasteland.
My silence–no tears, no struggle, not even fear–enraged her.
Just as she poised to strike, a child’s voice rang out behind her.
“Uncle Alpha! Little Feng wants to shoot the bow!”
Little Feng pointed at the bow taller than himself, cheeks flushed as he wheedled Arthur Miller.
Arthur Miller, lost in thought, ruffled the boy’s hair and flashed me a smile.
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Ice flooded my veins.
“Very well. Uncle will craft you a special bow from human bones.”
“That barren hillside–I recall a witch clan corpse lies there.”
My breath hitched. I stared at Arthur Miller in disbelief.
What was he saying…?
The only body on that hill was Nian Nian’s.
“No… NO!”
But my screams went ignored. Men soon hauled the tiny skeleton forward.
The fragile bones curled inward, as if still floating in amniotic fluid.
My vision went red. Ignoring the hemp ropes shredding my flesh, I thrashed wildly.
“Don’t touch him! I beg you, don’t—”
Please.
The plea finally tore from my lips.
Arthur Miller’s mouth quirked upward, triumph blazing in his eyes.
He arched an eyebrow at me.
Yet the next instant, he casually lifted Nian Nian’s femur.
I watched them grind the bone slender, drilling holes.
Rage surged through my veins.
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Suddenly, blood fountained from my mouth.
Before darkness swallowed me, someone cradled my face, voice raw
with desperation:
“Untie her!”
“Untie her NOW!”
