"Look at yourself," he growled. With a flick of his wand he undid the glamour charm she had used to cover the wounds that she hadn't bothered to heal – deep scratches down her thighs, across her chest, unspeakable bruises. She threw her head back and laughed shamelessly, dark hair cascading down her ravaged back. But he was in no mood; he had her disarmed before she had a chance to reach for her wand, barked a spell that bound her wrists and ankles, forced her to her knees. This was not playing around. This was not kinky, sensual violence designed for her pleasure. Rage distorted his features terrifyingly.

She stared up at him, eyes burning with defiance.

"Even I never thought you would stoop so low as to let yourself get fucked by a half-breed." His voice dripped scorn like acid onto the floor.

"Even a beast is more of a man than you," she spat back. He slapped her hard across the face. He wanted to strike the smirk from her lips, the arrogance from her eyes. He hit her again and she laughed. It infuriated him. He wanted to hurt her. She had damaged his pride and now he wanted to damage hers, that impenetrable Black pride that no one had ever managed to scratch. But no, she still stared at him with those heavy-lidded eyes full of malice and not the least bit of shame.

"Shameless whore!" he shouted, demolishing a cabinet of china behind her in his fury. Another spell threw her backwards into the broken glass and porcelain. She didn't even wince. She seemed impervious to pain. To Rodolphus, she did not even seem like a human, just a cold marble statue of a woman. But her blood on the floor told him otherwise.

He sighed, the anger drained out of him. He walked over to his wife and knelt straddling her waist, shards of glass pressing into his knees, cutting him. He grabbed a handful of her hair and kissed her. He could taste the blood in her mouth.

"I loathe you sometimes, Bella," he groaned into her mouth.

She laughed and bit his lower lip so hard that he had to stifle a gasp.

"I loathe you, too."