Blanche's POV
"Amara, what the hell happened to your face?"
My voice cracked.
Amara's cheek was mottled purple, her left eye swollen shut.
When she pulled off her cap, fresh bruises circled her scalp like hideous jewelry—some spots were bald where hair had been torn out.
My stomach churned. "Marquis again?"
Amara just nodded, tears all dried up.
Hope had rotted away long ago, yet she still clung to that monster's side.
To stay with him and survive—that was miracle enough.
I grabbed my phone. "I'm calling the police."
Amara seized my wrist. "Fix me up first."
I sighed and caved.
Just as I finished treating Amara's face and was about to strip off my gloves, Amara pushed up her sleeve.
The sight of bruised flesh and crusted blood made my stomach lurch.
"What kind of hex did he cast on you? He's pummeling you senseless and you're still there?"
Amara gave a bitter laugh. "Eight years, Blanche. I keep thinking he'll change someday."
