Darius’s grip on my hand tightened and the rage and grief I felt from him hit me like a tidal wave as he watched what his father had done to her. “How often did he do this?” he snarled, his grip unyielding so he was crushing the bones in my fingers, though I was fairly certain he hadn’t even realised he was doing it. “Not as often recently. It was almost all within the first six weeks,” I muttered. “He stopped once she showed fear in response to every mention of you.”
