The Sabrina Vaughn series Set 1 Read online

  The Sabrina Vaughn Series Books 1-2

  Carved in Darkness, Sacrificial Muse

  Maegan Beaumont

  Contents

  Also by Maegan Beaumont

  Carved in Darkness

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Chapter 85

  Chapter 86

  Chapter 87

  Chapter 88

  Chapter 89

  Chapter 90

  Chapter 91

  Sacrificial Muse

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Chapter 85

  Also by Maegan Beaumont

  Thanks for Reading

  Next in Series

  PROMISES TO KEEP: Chapter 1

  PROMISES TO KEEP: Chapter 2

  PROMISES TO KEEP: Chapter 3

  PROMISES TO KEEP: Chapter 4

  PROMISES TO KEEP: Chapter 5

  Read Promises to Keep

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2013, 2014 by Maegan Beaumont.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Published by Severn River Publishing.

  Also by Maegan Beaumont

  The Sabrina Vaughn Series

  Carved in Darkness

  Sacrificial Muse

  Promises to Keep

  Blood of Saints

  Waiting in Darkness

  Receive a free copy of Waiting in Darkness: A Sabrina Vaughn Novel, by visiting MaeganBeaumont.com/Newsletter

  Carved in Darkness

  A Sabrina Vaughn Novel

  1

  Yuma, Arizona

  December 22, 1998

  Waiting was the worst part. The sporadic stretches of time between his visits—when he came and hurt her—were the hardest torture to bear. She had no idea how long she’d been in the dark. No longer trusted herself to count the days. It’d been October first when he took her. What month it was now was impossible to figure out, but if every time he raped her marked the passing of a day—every time he cut her, the passing of an hour—then she’d been locked away for centuries and everyone she loved was dead and gone.

  Shifting, she felt the pull of dried blood and unhealed wounds across her skin. She couldn’t see them—the only kindness the darkness granted her—but she could feel them. Smell them. They were everywhere. Cuts, long and thin, ran the length of her spine. The inside of her thighs. Along the swell of her breasts. The soft flesh under her arms. The soles of her feet. The stench of old blood and infection mingled with the warm, revolting smell of the bucket she was forced to use as a toilet. She tried not to think about it. About what had been done to her body. About what she’d been forced to do to survive …

  Sounds penetrated the dense folds of black that surrounded her. Footsteps. Slow and measured.

  Terror gripped her, forced movement into limbs no longer totally under her control. Lurching to her feet, she swayed beneath the almost impossible heaviness of her own body weight. She took a few shuffling steps, kept one hand braced against the wall, while the other hovered out in front of her.

  He wanted to play.

  Her hands close
d on the knob and grappled with it. Her hands were encased in duct tape—wrapped round and round until her fingers were fused together and rendered useless. Without working fingers, getting the door open was difficult but not impossible. Using both hands, she gripped the knob and turned. The door unlatched and swung inward.

  Step by step, she forced her legs and feet forward until she slammed into the wall opposite the door. Pressing her battered cheek against it, she dragged cleaner air into her lungs in ragged gulps.

  Light glowed a dull, muted red against her lids. Instinct seized her, her brain sent the signal, tried to open her eyes even though she knew she couldn’t. Her lids wouldn’t budge—they hadn’t since she woke in the dark.

  Experience told her that going right was wrong. There were stairs to the right, but they led to nothing more than a locked door. He wanted to chase her. It was his favorite game. She could feel him, standing at the base of the stairs.

  Staring at her.

  Her heart started its frantic kicking. It bounced around her chest, tried to claw its way up her throat. Turning left, she moved her legs as fast as they’d go, her shoulder hugging the wall to keep herself upright.

  Footsteps echoed after her, slow at first but then faster and faster. He was coming.

  He reached the bottom of the stairs and smiled when the door flew open. Watched her stumble across the hall and slam into the wall in front of her. He took a deep breath—pulled the sweet smell of her blood into his chest and held it.

  Even at a distance, he could feel the heat of it. The way it tingled across his skin. His mouth began to water. The need to taste her was a fire in his blood. He’d fought against the burn for years. Not because he felt like what he wanted to do to her was wrong, but because he knew.

  Eventually he’d go too far and end up killing her. Killing wasn’t the problem; the problem was the more he had of her, the more he tasted her, the less he was able to control himself. Every time he drew his knife across her skin, the urge to push the blade in just a little deeper grew stronger and stronger. Sooner or later, he was gonna snap. Wouldn’t be able to stop himself. The thought worried him. He could feel it, circling closer and closer. Not that he didn’t like killing—no, killing was fun. He’d killed lots of times. Animals, cats and rabbits mostly. A dog here and there.

  Some people said animals didn’t have souls, but he knew that wasn’t true. Felt them plenty as they wriggled free of the meat and bone that trapped them. Sometimes he had to force it out, and sometimes that slippery thing seemed almost grateful to be set free. He liked it better when they put up a fight. Liked to peel back the skin—layer by layer—until the screaming thing beneath him simply … stopped.

  But his Melissa was different.

  There was fight in her. More than he’d bargained for—it thrilled him beyond measure. He’d had her for eighty-two days—eighty-three, if he counted today—and she hadn’t given in. Hadn’t wriggled free.

  Not yet, anyway.

  She lurched forward, her gait made slow and uneven by the drugs he kept her on. Her naked body was smeared with blood he’d drawn. Covered in wounds he’d inflicted.

  Beautiful. Almost too beautiful to be real. He swept his gaze over her face before it settled on her eyes and the neat row of stitches that kept them closed. He was sorry for it, not being able to see her eyes. He wanted to rip those stitches out of her lids and force her eyes open, make her look at him. Make her see him. But he couldn’t; seeing him would ruin everything.

  His eyes traveled downward. The blood was freshest between her thighs. Thick and dark. Moist and warm. Seeing it killed his amusement, dried it up. The thought of nesting there—pumping himself into that slippery hole between her legs, cutting her while he did, over and over—moved him forward. He could see it. Her blood-slicked skin, marbled with his semen. His hands and cock covered in both.

  Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the KA-bar he always carried. The knife had been a gift from his father for his twelfth birthday. If he knew what he’d been using it for, his daddy wouldn’t be too happy. Thinking about it made him smile. He flicked the blade open and gripped it tight.

  Looking at her always made him hungry.

  He started after her, took the distance slow at first, but every inch forward pushed him harder and faster until he was nearly running. He fell on her, dragged her under, and she went down swinging and screaming.

  Just how he liked it.

  She hit the floor, her skull bouncing off the unforgiving pad of concrete that had only seconds before been under her feet. Her arms swung wildly, hitting him again and again.

  The sound of his laughter told her he found her efforts amusing. Anger roiled around with the terror. The scream forced its way out, nothing more than a dry croak that burned her throat as she drove the flat of her foot into something soft. He grunted in pain and let go.

  Suddenly free, she rolled over. Tried to crawl but couldn’t. Digging her fingers into the rough floor, she pulled—dragged herself until she had nowhere to go.

  Dead end.

  Pressing herself against the wall, she drew her legs to a chest that heaved and wracked with dry, wordless sobs. He’d recovered from whatever minor damage she’d managed to inflict and was standing over her. He wasn’t laughing anymore.

  She heard the jerk and snap of his belt as he yanked it off. Felt the bite and hiss of his zipper as he drew it down.

  Battered knees forced themselves harder into her chest. Her swollen face buried itself against her thighs.

  Please … please let me die this time. Let me go. Please—

  His hand fell on her head, gripped her hair and flung her to the floor. He crouched beside her, his warm breath excited and hurried against her face and neck. Grabbing her arms, he looped his belt around her wrists, yanked them above her head. Bent them back until they felt like they’d snap in two. Her eyes rolled in her sockets. The red burn of light behind her lids went black.

  Hands fell on her thighs and yanked them wide. A fierce burn, accompanied by the horrible pressure of him inside her as he rammed his hips against her—faster and faster—his grunts and moans a dull roar inside her head.

  “Mine. Mine. Mine ...” He muttered it over and over, each thrust accompanied by the only word she’d ever heard him say. She knew him, but every time she tried to focus on the voice behind the guttural tone, she got lost. Let herself drift away from what was happening to her until the pain and horror faded away into nothing more than shadow.

  The tip of his knife sank in, dragged along her breast, skirted around the rapid, uneven rhythm of her heart, but she hardly felt it. His tongue came next, flat and wet against her breast, lapping at the blood his knife had drawn. The feel of it turned her stomach—she was almost glad when he pushed the blade in farther, and she prayed this time he’d force it deep enough to kill her. It bumped along her rib cage, its journey made jagged and broken by each brutal thrust of his hips. The blade skated along her belly. His muttering became frenzied, almost enraged. The pounding between her thighs came even faster, even more violent.

  Over. It was almost over—

  The blade at her belly sank in deep, a vertical breach that stole her breath and answered her prayers.

  The lift and drag of the knife being yanked from her torso set her on fire, followed by another thrust of both hips and knife. “Mine.” This time he sank the blade in at a diagonal angle.

  Lift. Drag. Thrust. “Mine.” Diagonal.

  Lift. Drag. Thrust. “Mine.” Vertical. It was the letter M.

  Something inside her broke free and floated away. The legs she’d tried so desperately to close, even with him between them, went lax. A sudden warmth stole over her, and she smiled.