The residential palace sat high within the dungeon tower, bathed in that purple-pink glow that never quite faded.
In one of the chambers—ornate but simple, with walls that pulsed faintly like a living heartbeat—Helena sat alone.
Naked.
Her eyes were closed, legs crossed beneath her thick thighs, hands resting palms-up on her knees. Her massive breasts hung heavy, dark brown nipples pointing downward, still tender from Viktor's mouth hours ago.
Her skin—pale, soft, glowing with that unnatural radiance—was covered in marks.
Love bites. Bruises. Red fingerprints on her hips where he'd gripped her too hard. Bite marks on her inner thighs. A particularly dark hickey on her left breast, right above the nipple, shaped like his mouth.
She looked... used. Claimed. Marked as his.
Sweat beaded on her brow.
