The side of her face, from her temple to the high point of her cheek, was covered in gauze. Very slowly she worked the tape loose in order to see the actual laceration. Her breath caught in her throat as she observed the jagged, puckered scar. Pain exploded through her and her body shuddered, remembering the pain of the claw tearing through her flesh. Her face, once pretty, had been patched together with tiny neat stitches. The actual stitches were gone, but she could see where they had been.

A small sound escaped but she choked it back and slowly undid the buttons on her dress. It was long, almost to the floor, and she let the dress slide off her shoulders to pool around her ankles. The material was soft and flowing to prevent hurting her skin when it touched her leg and back. She turned sideways to look at the laceration running from above her hip all the way to her knee.

Paolo’s leopard had held her down with his teeth—she touched the back of her shoulder without taking her eyes from the horrendous, ugly line of raised, red, stitched skin that looked as if someone had created her by throwing pieces of flesh together and then using a needle to sew them together. The stitches weren’t gone from that laceration; it had been too deep and they’d had to stitch up the inside as well as outside.

She couldn’t tear her gaze from the horrible sight. Bile rose in her throat. Everything she’d ever had was gone. Her grandfather . . . She blinked rapidly to keep tears from falling again. It seemed the only thing she knew how to do these days was cry. She had nothing left, and now she didn’t recognize her own body. How could everything in her life be ripped away in twenty-four hours?

She swallowed down the lump in her throat threatening to choke her and turned so she could look at her back. Her heart thudded loudly as she saw the four long furrows Paolo’s leopard had ripped down her back. The pain had been excruciating. Even now, after all the time that had passed, her body throbbed with pain.

The marks ran from the top of her shoulders all the way to her spine. Those stitches had also been removed, but she could see where they’d been. The marks had been deliberate. Paolo had shifted his head halfway down, placed his mouth against her ear and taunted her.

“No man will ever want you with my mark on you. You belong to me and, by God, you will marry me. You and all of this is mine. I earned it. A little slut like you is not going to take it away from me.”

No man will ever want you with my mark on you. You’re the worst I’ve ever had.