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Chapter Six: Claimed by Him
publish date:
2026-05-12 16:36:08
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A Bride for the Wrong Brother Chapter Eleven: The Rite
(Alondra's POV)I woke to the sound of metal.A soft slow clink, like a coin being turned over in someone's hand. My eyes opened to a ceiling of dark wood beams. A heavy chandelier hanging from a black iron chain. The bedposts I was tied to were tall and carved at the tops.I was not in the same room anymore.I tried to lift my left hand. It would not lift. The chain at my wrist drew tight against the post above my head and pulled me back down. My other arm lay loose against the silk sheet that had been thrown across my lower half. My right cheek throbbed in a slow heavy pulse where his palm had landed. The taste of dried blood sat at the corner of my mouth.This was his bed.I did not have to be told.The whole room smelled like him. That same dark clean scent from the staircase, pine and smoke and something colder underneath. The pillows. The sheets. The air itself. He had not slept here. I could tell from the coldness of the silk beside me. Yet every part of this room knew his body
A Bride for the Wrong Brother Chapter Ten: Crucifix
(Dante's POV)The wet star she had left on my cheek had finally finished sliding. It had reached the edge of my jaw and disappeared into the collar of my shirt. I lifted my hand to the place it had been and dragged the back of my knuckle across the skin and looked at the small wet smear on my hand as if it belonged to a rat.She had spit in my face.What nuisance.A girl who weighed half of what I weighed, half-naked under a filthy bed sheet, with a slap mark blooming red across her cheek. had looked me in the eye and spit in my face.A muscle moved in my jaw.I did not look at her again.I turned and pulled the door open in one motion. The two boys outside. Both men dropped their eyes the moment they saw my face."Move her.""Where, jefe.""My quarters."A small pause. They both knew what my that meant."Yes, jefe.""Chain her.""Hands or feet.""Hands. Above her head. To the post."A second pause.I let it sit."No food. No water. Not for the rest of the day. Not until I say so. Is
A Bride for the Wrong Brother Chapter Nine: Mamita
(Alondra's POV)"Mamita."My mother's voice was warm against my ear.I was nine years old again, curled into her lap on the small couch in our apartment, the smell of bread dough still clinging to her apron. Her fingers were combing through my hair the way they always did when I had cried myself out and there was nothing left in me to give. She was humming something low. A lullaby. I pressed my cheek harder against the soft warmth of her chest and I let her hum carry me somewhere safe."Mamita, no te vayas."I do not know if I said it out loud.I think I did."Stay, Mamita. Please stay. Just a little longer."The humming faded.The warmth faded with it.My mother's hand slipped out of my hair and the small couch dissolved underneath me, and the soft smell of bread dough turned into the cold smell of a damp room, and the lullaby became silence.I came awake with a jolt.For one second I did not know where I was. My head was hanging forward against my chest. My shoulders ached. My wrist
A Bride for the Wrong Brother Chapter Eight: Crystal Clear
(Dante's POV)I stepped forward.My boots struck the marble in a way that carried. The whole hall heard it. Heads turned. The guard with the gun against her forehead glanced sideways toward me without lowering his weapon, and somewhere behind my left shoulder my mother made a small wounded sound that I did not look around to confirm."She belongs to me now."The words left my mouth quieter than I had planned. They landed louder.I did not look at the girl on the floor. Neither did I look at the bodies of her parents on either side of her. I kept my eyes locked on my father at the head of the table because he was the only person in the hall whose answer mattered.He stared at me for a long moment.Then he lifted his cane and brought it down once against the marble."Out."The single word emptied the hall faster than the gunshots had filled it. They moved as one body toward the back doors. The two guards at the front lifted Alondra under each arm and turned her toward the side door. I w
A Bride for the Wrong Brother Chapter Seven: Down Moment
(Alondra's POV)My mother's eyes were still open.That was the part I could not stop looking at.Her head was tilted toward me, the way it had tilted toward me a thousand times across our kitchen table, except now there was no breath behind it. Her cheek rested against the cold marble. Her hair had come loose from its pin and fallen across her forehead in the soft brown waves I used to braid when I was small. A thin red line had begun to crawl out from underneath her, slow and patient, finding the cracks in the floor.She was looking at me.Maybe not.I could not tell which was worse.My father had landed harder. He had fallen sideways and ended up half on his stomach, one arm flung out toward me, his fingers still curled the way they had been when he was holding my hand.His mouth was slightly open.He had been trying to say something when the second shot came.The hall had gone strange around me. The voices kept moving, but they sounded like they were coming through a thick wall of
A Bride for the Wrong Brother Chapter Six: Claimed by Him
(Alondra's POV)The first person to reach the door was the maid.For one stupid second, my whole chest filled with relief.She came through the doorway with her dark braid swinging, her white apron crooked, her eyes wide. The same girl who had slipped a key into my palm and told me to run. She would tell them. Tell them I didn't do it.Her eyes swept across the room.The bed. The body on the floor. The foam at the corner of his mouth. Me, half-naked, shaking, clutching a wine-stained sheet against my chest.Then she screamed."My Lord! Ahh, bride, what did you do to Sir Iker! You killed him! You killed him! Everyone come! Everyone come quickly! She killed him!"Her voice was a knife.It was a knife I had not seen coming.She stood in the doorway and pointed at me with one shaking finger and her face was twisted in a kind of horror that did not belong on the same girl who had pressed a key into my palm only the night before. She did not look at me with recognition. She did not look at
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