Other than to make sure I watched and that the heavy silver bracelet remained on my wrist, my jailer never glanced at me. The bracelet kept me from shifting, reduced my strength, speed, senses, and slowed my healing. Thus, it was important it remained in place. It burned a little. Silver didn't bother us, when it wasn't constant. But I'd worn the bracelet for over six months I believed. Since I'd watched him fuck at least one hundred and eighty women. Most were repeats, but never in the same night. Part of my soul died a hundred women ago. It ached when he was buried in another, but I feigned ignorance. 
                          
After my jailer left my room, I waited until I heard the soft squeak of his mattress and moved to my bed. I hated laying in it, and smelling his scent mixed with another. It hurt my soul and more of my heart died each night. But I needed sleep. Otherwise, who knows what I might give away with my expressions? I couldn't cry in front of him. But I knew he fell asleep quick, and even though I could no longer hear his soft breaths, I let myself cry once I knew he slept. 
                          
My sobs were silent, but if I didn't cry now, I couldn't exhaust myself enough to sleep. So, I let myself feel the pain I ignored when he was in the room. It crushed my heart in a vice, and my soul radiated agony while I cried into my pillow. He brought me my sheets and pillows, so the bed linens always smelled like him. I wasn't sure how many nights he slept on them before he put them on my bed, but his scent saturated the cloth. 
                          
This was the closest I could get to my mate, these sad, pathetic crumbs. Still, my heart was desperate for it and I breathed him in until his dark, spicy yet sweet scent lulled me to sleep. In my dreams, he was worse. He slapped me, spit on me, threw insults my way until I cracked and cried. Once I sobbed, he'd nod and pin me to the wall with one hand and cut my heart out with the other. When he removed it, the pain stopped and he smiled while I stood there, bleeding and numb. He'd stroke my cheek and praise me for breaking like a good girl and grin over his shoulder at someone I couldn't see. 
                          
My eyes fluttered open and I cursed that dream for the hundredth time. It plagued me every night and I hated it. If I fell asleep after it, I saw him with his favorite woman. He took his time with her, was tender, and drove her wild. I knew it was a new week when he escorted her into my room, because she was always number seven. Or, number one, I suppose.
                          
Bored, I sat on the floor in the corner of my room and stared at the ceiling. He hadn't fed me in at least three days. So, something was on his mind since he usually remembered to bring me at least one meal. I'd say I was desperate enough to eat rats, but his fortress was clean, so there weren't any. But he did have spiders. It would take hundreds of them to fill my belly, but I preferred to watch them. 
                          
One visited my room every day, approaching me until something spooked her and she disappeared. Today, she touched my fingers with her legs then crawled on my hand with hesitance. Smiling, I raised my hand slow enough to not startle her and watched the small house spider on my palm. She looked similar to a venomous spider, but she was harmless. My twin brother adored spiders and bugs, so I knew a lot about them. He used to show them to me every chance he got so I learned to recognize the safe ones. Our older sister loved snakes, so I knew those well too. They weren't so bad if you were careful. 
                          
While I observed my new friend, the door to my prison opened and I raised my brow when my mate stepped through. His eyes widened when he saw the spider, then darkened and I moved my hand behind my back when he approached. By the time he grabbed my arm and jerked it so he could see my hand, the spider fled to safety. I smiled when he growled and he searched my hand for several tense moments before wrapping his fingers around my wrist and jerking me to my feet. 
                          
When he dragged me to the door, I tugged with all my weight but he tightened his grip and jerked me forward. I winced since his fingers bit into my skin but couldn't complain. He dragged me through the halls of his fortress and I winced at the stares I received. I'd been his prisoner for half a year, and looked it. I was dirty, I had dark bruises under my eyes, and I'd lost weight. Not that my mate noticed. No, so long as the bracelet remained on my wrist, he didn't care how I looked. 
                          
Every few days, a cruel woman dragged me into a tiny room where a wood barrel sat full of hot water. It burned, but she forced me into it and scrubbed me clean with a coarse brush, then dragged a brush through my hair. It hurt, and she ripped some of my hair out every time, which made her laugh. So, with my skin scrubbed raw, and bleeding in places, and my head aching, she forced me into an oversized shirt, a pair of boxers, and returned me to my prison. The skinnier I got, the rougher my bath. So, she knew, and thought it was funny. 
                          
I'd had my bath the day before and still had some scrapes to prove it. Not to mention the bruises on my legs where the woman manhandled me. There was a nail in the bottom of the barrel which left a deep wound in my foot, but it's not like anyone would notice if I limped. Except, everyone stared now. I furrowed my brow while I limped along until I glanced behind me and saw the bloody footprint I left behind. I winced, apologizing with my eyes when a couple young pups looked dismayed. I'd clean up my mess if I was allowed to, I wanted to tell them. 
                          
Still, once I saw I was bleeding, I realized my foot throbbed. Every step made the pain worse, but I ignored it to keep up. My mate was hell bent on wherever we were going until a woman stopped in his path and he eyed her for a moment then sighed. "Stay here," he growled, tapping my nose before he left with her. 
                          
With a shrug, I crossed my arms and leaned against the wall. I could disobey, but it was cold outside. If I ran, I'd freeze to death before I escaped. While I'd come to terms with dying, I didn't intend to seek my death with open arms. No, I didn't want to die even though it would be easier.