CHP 3

GRACE

Hatred bounced off of my glare and bounced right back to me. A mirror of how much I felt was looking right at me as Damon withdrew his gaze and turned around signaling everyone to leave.

Just before he stepped out of the room, he turned, his eyes dead.

“I hope you’ll do what’s right for your family. We may be bonded but don’t mistake my saving you for chivalry. You must pay for what your father has done. One way or another,” he hissed and without waiting for me to say a word, left. The door’s lock echoed and I plopped on the bed.

A scream bubbled to my throat and died there, a stone in a frozen river.

Not long after, the same maid who’d helped me the first night slipped in, eyes wide and hands trembling. She laid a dress on the bed like it was contraband and backed away as if afraid I’d bite. A thin scrap of paper was pinned to the hem: “be ready by 8.”

I stared at the note until the ink blurred. My hands found the fabric and then without thinking, I ripped at it, my claws shredding the silk. If there was no dress. Then no stage. If he wanted me to play bride, he’d have to choke on his victory.

I hadn’t finished when I smelled him at the door: cold with his dangerous aura that was impossible to ignore. I dove under the bed’s covers to pretend I was still asleep. Which was stupid by the way as if a blanket could really hide the truth of me. I flattened myself under the covers then held my breath.

A single hard knock came forth. Then his voice in the doorway, low and precise.

“Get dressed. Now.”

I stayed still. Hoping he would fuck off but his footsteps crossed the room after opening the door. He didn’t ask twice. He pulled the covers free with a motion that left no room for argument.

“You don’t want me to take you over my knee, minx,” he said, amused with an edge to his lips that promised bruises. I kept my hands folded, stubborn as a stone.

When he grabbed my wrists I didn’t have time to flinch. He forced me upright, pressed me to the wall. His body pinned mine, heat and threat in a single weight. My breath pressed shallow against his chest; rage and something worse tangled under my skin.

He smelled me. The action startled me but just before I could get my head round around the weight pressing against me, he suddenly thrust his face close, tongue and teeth and breath, out in the open on my neck, tasting me like prey. I arched away, furious and ashamed by the way my body craved the movement.

He pressed his face to my neck, inhaling deep. His body stilled. Confusion flickered in his eyes as he violently moved away, then his gaze sharpened into suspicion. ‘Why do you smell like that?’ he muttered, stepping back completely. His gaze burned into me, searching.

 My heart slammed. Could he…? 

His eyes widened. ‘You’re not my wife.’

My chest convulsed. He could tell by scent alone?

 I opened and closed my mouth. He moved like a shadow across the room, sudden and harsh.

“Your tongue,” his hands grabbed my face, pressing my cheeks to force a pout. His expression was dire. Cruel looking even. “You can’t even speak.”

I snatched my face from his hands and he hissed.

“Your father has such audacity! I promised not to wipe out his bloodline, and what does he do? He sends me his bastard mute daughter in Lily’s place!”

A dry snicker slipped from me, half bitter, half broken. But in the silence between us, the bond twisted it into defiance. His gaze snapped to mine, rage igniting as if I’d spat in his face. His hand closed around my throat before I could move.

The world narrowed to his eyes, furious and betrayed but  beneath the fury a cold, terrible calculation.

Hate filed his eyes, a mirror of mine. Just as things got more serious, he dropped me, my knees cracking the floor. His shadow loomed above me, fury still crackling in the air. ‘Be dressed when I return,’ he hissed. ‘Or I’ll remind you exactly who owns you.’”

Who owns me!? I asked silently and he turned his head slightly, his gaze sharp. Furious and murderous.

I gasped for the first time. Fear crawling in my skin as he walked away from me, only to stop at the door.

“And for your sake, you better keep this secret to yourself. This isn’t the kingdom you know. I won’t protect you,mate bond or not” he hissed

 “Whether you like it or not. You will give me the heir of my salvation” he threatened.

He didn’t wait for an answer. The door slammed behind him with a force that rattled the panes and left the room humming.

For a long breath I hunched against the mattress, claws still flexed where they’d ripped the dress. My chest was rising and falling rapidly. Every muscle coiled for a fight I couldn’t start. I imagined the words I would have hurled at him if my throat would let them through.

But the sound of his footsteps fading down the corridor did something slow to me and the fight in my limbs cooled into a hollow ache. The room that had felt cramped with rage a moment ago felt suddenly too big, empty in a way that let the truth slide in: I was alone here, and alone always when it mattered most.

A cold, unreasonable whisper threaded through my mind. If I’d let them kill me then, would any of this have happened? There, in the echo of his retreat, the defiance I’d worn like armor began to peel away, strand by strand.

I pressed my palms to my face until my fingers trembled. The shame tasted like ash. I should have let my stepmother kill me; at least then I wouldn’t be here. Not bound like some property, not watched like some endangered animal, not this hollow thing in a gilded cage.

I stood up on my feet, going over to the cloth I had already ruined. I had barely picked up the dress when a crow echoed behind me.

I turned around to find a crow I’d know anywhere bearing the blood claw’s seal.

I rushed towards the bird removing the note clasped to its legs. The moment i opened the scroll, a gasp left me.

I would recognize that writing anywhere. My father was coming to rescue me.