"Anastasius," she growled through the bloody ruin that was the front of her mouth, and her head tilted back, glare going once more to the dark and slightly splintered wood that overhung them both in the lanternlight. The single word of his name left her lips like a curse, vituperative bolstered by fresh hate and pain.<br/><br/>The rhythm between her thighs, though, was not one of pain - the tongs slid around her abused little knot, tightening and then sliding to tighten again, along with his fingers upon her peaked nipples, and she found her jaw clenching for another reason entirely. He was touching her as if she were already the brainless whore he intended to create of her.