Chains Of The Past

Edrian's POV

The chamber was too quiet.

This was the first thing I noticed as I was waking up. Silence was as oppressive as any chain I had ever had on my hands, and nothing broke the silence but the crackling of the fire on the other side of the room. There was smoke and cedar burning in the air. I pulled back to avoid the shadows, lost, and then hissed quietly as the aching of my ribs brought me to my senses of where I was and what had happened.

The training grounds.

The blows.

The taste of blood in my mouth.

And then… Berry, my wolf. The memory of his roar still thundered in my bones. For years, I’d thought he was gone because he never talked to me or even take charge of my body. Yet, here in DarkMoonCrest, he started talking to me and when the world closed in, he had broken free—terrifying, magnificent, and unstoppable twice. 

For a moment, I had not been the beaten slave cowering before the whip. I had been something else. Something more.

But the weight of shame returned quickly.

I moved, and the cloak I on my body slipped down. I saw my arms in the dim light. Scars. So many scars. Thin white ones from lashes. Raised ridges from burns. Circular marks from chains that had rubbed my wrists raw until skin grew back twisted and wrong.

Each mark was a memory.

And memories were chains.

I curled my fingers into my palms, willing for them not to tremble. The past came unbidden, cruel and sharp, hands pinning me down, voices laughing, breath hot against my ear. Male. Female. It didn’t matter. Because I looked fragile, they all wanted the same thing: to remind me I was theirs to break, theirs to use. I had been a body, nothing more. I was a tool. A pet.

“Don’t think,” I whispered to myself. “Don’t remember.”

But I did. I always remembered.

The chamber door creaked. My head snapped up.

Xander entered without announcement, as he always did. 

His presence filled the room instantly, a storm given flesh. His broad shoulders cut against the firelight, his golden eyes were searching and unrelenting. Yet he was not armored tonight. No sharp-edged dominance, no command on his tongue. Just him.

And in his hand he holds a bowl of boiling water and a band of linen.

"Everyone who attacked you are serving punishments," he said, voice rough with something like pain for even speaking. “They wouldn't dare attack you again.”

“You don’t have to...” I swallowed, my throat tight.

“Shut up.” The words snapped, but the tone didn’t bite. Not this time.

He set the bowl down beside me and knelt. 

The Crown Prince of DarkMoonCrest, on his knees before me. My chest ached with something I didn’t dare name.

His hands, usually so quick to strike or grip too hard, were strangely careful as he reached for me. He brushed the edge of one of the scars across my ribs where blood had caked. 

My body recoiled before I could control it.

“Who?” His jaw tightened.

“What?” I blinked at him.

“Who did this to you?” His voice was a fatal one, low, like a knife against skin, against a throat.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.” His eyes locked onto mine, burning. “Every mark, every scar, every shame you think you carry alone, it matters to me, Edrian.”

The sound of his lips saying my name nearly undid me.No master had ever spoken it without venom. And from Xander, it sounded… dangerous, yes, but alive.

“I can’t,” I whispered. "You don't want to know what they did to me, the things they made me do."

His hand was raised, incredibly soft, cupping my chin. “Look at me.”

I tried, gods help me I tried, but shame pulled my eyes down. He raised my chin until I had no choice but to look him in the eyes.

“I don’t care what they did,” he said. “I care that you survived it. That you’re still here. That you are mine.”

My breath caught. 

The bond between us sparked, sharp and heady, a tether pulling taut. Berry stirred within me, his whimper more hopeful than pained.

"I am not as strong as you," I said softly.

He dipped the cloth into the water and squeezed it out. 

"You're stronger," he said without a second thought. “Because you endured.”

I felt the warmth of the cloth on my skin, he pressed the wound on my ribs in measured, controlled movements. 

His fingers ran over the scars, hovering over them like committing them to memory. The touch of his skin burned me, not in pain, but something deeper.

"Is it painful?" he asked in a more quiet voice.

"Yes," I said, although not only from the wound.

His lips were narrowed into a thin line. He labored quietly for a moment, cleaning blood, swathing linen around my side. I looked at his hands, big and rough but so gentle, and something in me hurt.

"You yelled at me," I said in a soft voice. “That night... Told me to get out.”

His hand stilled. His eyes looked up unreadable.

“And then I heard her.” My voice cracked. “Amber. You… with her.”

The silence stretched.

Finally, he growled, low and angry, though not at me. 

“That wasn’t what you think.”

“I heard enough and saw.” I gave a bitter laugh.

“You don’t know what you heard.” His voice was raw as if ripped from his chest. He wound the bandage tighter than usual, maybe tighter than necessary. 

"But this," his hand pressed to the linen, to me,"...this is real. Not her. Not anyone else. You.”

The world tilted. My heart hammered.

"I don't understand you," I whispered.

“Good.” His mouth smiled, but not meanly. “Neither do I.”

His hand still lay against my skin, hot through the bandage. Too close. Too much. The air between us grew heavy, the connection between us so strong it caused my body to shiver.

"If you knew how much I wanted..." he cut himself off, swallowed, and yanked his hand away as if it were on fire. 

He stood up straight, towering again, his mask snapping back into place. 

“Rest. Heal. Tomorrow, you train with me.”

“With you?” I asked in wide eyed.

“If anyone had to touch, it would be me. Just me. No one else.” His eyes burned.

Something fierce unfurled in my chest. Not fear. Not pain. Something dangerously close to hope.

When he turned and strode toward the door, cloak flaring behind him, I pressed my hand over the bandage he had wrapped.

His touch lingered there, like a brand.

And for the first time in years, the chains of my past felt… lighter.