Bile rushed up Eliza’s throat. She would be ill. Her lips and fingers went numb. Whipping. Gods. Her own back began to burn. Through a haze of despair, she saw Adam’s long arms drawn wide. He caught her gaze and held it.

Horror raced through her. She did not want this. Never had she wanted this for him.

Mellan was speaking, his voice a buzz through the rushing sound in her ears. “Let us show dogs what happens when they disobey.”

The crack of the whip seemed to lash through her. Adam’s body flinched, his lips turning white. But he did not shout. Golden eyes burned into her. And she did not look away. Watch me. Focus on me, not the pain.

Eliza did not know if he heard her plea. But his attention stayed on her.

“He watches you,” Mab murmured in her ear.

“Perhaps he dreams of revenge,” Eliza whispered lightly. She suffered no illusions about what would happen if Mab thought she and Adam had reached an accord.

“Perhaps.”

Again and again the whip fell, till blood splattered and sprayed across Mab’s white marble floor.

Adam grunted now with every strike. He had to be in agony.

Eliza sat like stone within her chair, unable to do a thing. Make it stop. End this.

And then it did. Mellan, sweating now, lowered the whip. Blood flecked his once-pristine white shirt and dotted his pale brow. “I think,” he said, catching Eliza’s gaze, “that I take too much, when really the pleasure ought to go to you, Miss May.”

He stretched out his hand, offering her the whip. It hung like a dark snake, the ends glistening with Adam’s blood.

Her heart beat so hard within the cage of her ribs that it was visible upon the swells of her chest. Mellan’s gaze lingered there, his nostrils flaring as if he were taking in the scent of her discomfort and enjoying it. Lust crept into his eyes as he lifted his head. Bastard. Eliza drew in a deliberate and steady breath.

She forced herself to look at Adam, let her eyes rove over his battered and unclothed body. God, but he was magnificent, the way he refused to cower but stood as straight as the chains would let him, every tight and sinewy muscle bunched and ready for a fight.

Grimy sweat ran in rivulets down the valleys of those muscles, and along the taut wall of his chest and abdomen.

Mellan walked in front of Adam, turning a bit and pointing toward him with the whip. “He is unmarked here.”

Dear God. Despite her resolve, her gaze dipped lower. Adam’s sex hung heavy and thick below a thatch of ink-black hair. Strong thighs bracketed it, but would provide little protection against the whip. Already a few telling pink stripes marred their furred expanse from where the whip had lashed around his legs. Should Eliza take up the whip, she’d be striking him where he was most vulnerable. The cruelty of it gutted her.

But she could hardly refuse to engage in this little “revenge.” It would call suspicion down upon her, and likely lead to an even greater torture for the demon.

The silence drew out and pressed down upon her shoulders. And she felt Adam’s gaze upon her, the weight of it greater than Mab’s stare or Mellan’s taunting smile. She raised her eyes, and their gazes clashed. What did he feel at this moment? She could not tell. He gave nothing away. With a calm strength she did not feel, Eliza spoke.

“Physical pain is child’s play,” she said, not looking away from Adam. “Even humans excel in dolling it out.”

A rumble rippled through the crowd.

“Explain, my dear,” said Mab in a soft voice.

Eliza gave a negligent shrug, all the while aware of Adam’s eyes upon her. “Whipping lacks imagination.”

Mellan’s golden brow lifted. “Oh? And what would you suggest to liven the festivities up?”

“The demon endures too well. To a tiresome degree.” Her back tightened as she met Adam’s eyes once more and held his stare. “I suggest humiliation instead.”

Eyes of deep, angry gold held hers. A snare from which she could not free herself. From a distance, it seemed that Mab’s voice came at her. “Is this not a humiliation?”

“No,” said Eliza, still locked in Adam’s wrathful glare. “It is giving him what he wants, an outlet for his rage. True humiliation would be him chained at my feet, as I was chained at his for all those dark days.”

A pulse jumped in Adam’s strong throat. The only indication of any emotion he might have felt.

As for the crowded room, a murmur of approval broke out.

“Oh, my dear child,” said Mab, chuckling with delight, “how proud you have made me.”

Mellan bowed low. “As you wish, my lovely.”

No, she did not wish. If anything, Eliza wished herself far from this spectacle. She wanted to go home. To Boston. But if she thought about her old home, she’d cry. So she stiffened her spine and glared at Adam. “Come, demon, at my feet where you belong.”

The long length of his body tensed, but his expression remained unreadable. The servants release him, and Mellan gave his chain a hard tug, forcing Adam forward. And then, as if deciding not to fight, he moved of his own volition.

It did not matter that he was hobbled, that the chains forced him to shuffle his steps, he walked towards her as if prowling. She swallowed past the lump in her dry throat and lifted her chin in a show of defiance. It did not help. Dark humor lit his eyes, as if he knew precisely how she was affected, and reveled in it.

He stopped before her chair. Eliza gave him a long, bland look and then met his eyes. “Sit.” She was proud that her voice did not waver.