Chapter 19 Felicity
CHAPTER NINETEEN
felicity
Ilock the bathroom door, backing away from it slowly, almost expecting one of them to follow me, to try to bust it down. A minute passes, and then another, but nothing happens. My shoulders lower an inch, bewilderment and exhaustion filling me.
What the hell is happening?
From the moment I opened my eyes this morning, realizing I wasn’t in my own room, I haven’t known whether I’m coming or going. My entire world has imploded, and I’m supposed to just accept that they stole my choice while my grandfather steals my future without even a single word.
I just…I need a minute to breathe. To process. To grieve.
I use the toilet, wincing at the stinging sensation—another reminder of what my body was put through last night.
No. Not last night.
The past three nights.
Washing my hands, I stare at my reflection, unable to even recognize the woman staring back at me.
Smudges mar the skin under my eyes, dark hair wild around my head, and blue eyes stormy and bewildered.
There’s a purplish bruise on the column of my throat, standing out against pale skin, but I look away, all too aware of where it must’ve come from.
But not who.
Probably Connor.
There’s a brief tap on the door. “Starling?”
His voice rolls through me, tightening my belly up.
I bend over, splashing cold water on my face, trying to force reason back into my head.
I can’t let them sway me with their pretty words and endearments, their promises that aren’t worth the paper they’re written on.
I’m furious at what they’ve done to me, the untenable situation they’ve forced me into.
Every person in my life tries to control me by forcing me into corners.
No one ever just asks me what I want. Vaelor and Connor…
They never mentioned the possibility of us being mates.
Not when they were stalking me around campus—for even longer than I knew of, apparently—or accosting me in hallways.
Connor didn’t mention it when he broke into my room, and his family didn’t say a word when they were talking about their stupid fucking political deals with my grandfather.
Maybe if they’d just told me in the first place—
I shake that off before it can grow because I won’t lie to myself about this.
I never would’ve given them a chance, not after everything that happened with Dizzy.
And there’s also a good chance that I wouldn’t have believed them, assuming it was just another way for them to fuck with me and mess with my life.
Now, there’s also this…feeling inside me, an urge that wants to erase the distance between me and them. I keep getting flashes of memory—bodies slick with sweat, being crushed between them—and molten heat sweeps through me, demanding that I appease the desire thrumming through my body.
“Felicity?” It’s Vaelor now. His tone is impatient, but it sets off another memory, his voice sliding through my head. “We’ve got you now. We’ll take care of you.”
He wasn’t impatient then, I remember dazedly. He was…warm. Affectionate. A complete contrast from the ice that usually emanates him.
But I don’t want to remember how warm he was.
I don’t want to remember Connor holding me to him, calling me a good girl.
I don’t want to remember how it felt to be filled by them at the same time, feeling like they were splitting me open, even as pressure filled my belly, a spiraling pleasure that wouldn’t be denied, no matter how much I fought it back.
“...break the door down.” The words are a harsh mutter, but I hear them anyway.
“Just give me a minute!” I yell, still staring at my broken reflection. I firm my expression, straightening my shoulders. The movement pulls at the skin across my chest, the pain of ripping the breath from my lungs.
I cry out, and then the door is ripped open, almost clean off the hinges. Both of them are standing there, eyes wildly searching for the danger.
“What is it?” Vaelor demands. It feels like an electrical current is arcing through the room, making my hair stand on end.
Connor shoots him a grim look. “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill someone,” he mutters angrily. “Rein it the fuck in, asshole.” He turns and pins a steely gaze on me. “You okay, Starling?”
I blow out a shuddering breath, gesturing limply at my chest, my tone mildly accusing as I ask, “What did you do?”
Vaelor’s golden eyes go hooded, a mocking smirk curving his mouth. “Why would you assume we did anything?” he taunts.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I hiss viciously.
Connor steps closer, subtly putting his body in between me and Vaelor. “Let’s keep it calm, hm, Starling?” he suggests carefully. “Why don’t you show us?” He drops his eyes to my sternum.
My nostrils flare, suspicion filling me, but he looks genuinely concerned. I huff, dropping my hands to the hem of Vaelor’s shirt. Connor puts his big paws on my forearms, stopping me.
“Let me, Starling,” he murmurs.
I shrug, and Connor grabs my wrist, leading me out of the bathroom, directing me to sit on the edge of the bed.
Vaelor stands beside him, the two of them crowding me, but I can’t find the energy to care.
Connor lifts the shirt, carefully threading my arms through the holes and lifting it over my head.
My nipples tighten as the cool air of the room hits them, but it’s the harsh inhale that gets my attention, my eyes flying up and finding them both staring at my breasts with fascination.
No…above my breasts. My chin dips, eyes widening as I catch sight of the source of the pain; a savage bite torn into one side, and a rune etched into the other, the skin raw and inflamed.
“What the fuck is that?” I breathe out, a mixture of mystification and horror filling me.
“Your claiming marks,” Vaelor says succinctly. Connor crouches down, resting his heavy hands on my knees, his eyes shrewd as he looks over my chest.
“They’re healing a little slowly. Human,” he mutters, and then glances up at Vaelor. “Have you got a poultice or something to put on them?”
Vaelor tilts his head to the side, swirling eyes narrowed in thought. “I think so…” He turns and heads into the bathroom.
Connor returns his focus to me, his finger touching the skin to the side of the bite. “They hurt?”
I shoot him a dark glare because obviously they fucking hurt, and he gives me a self-repentant smile. “I would say I’m sorry, but I won’t lie to you.”
“You’ve been lying to me,” I counter. Connor doesn’t argue with me, but I carry on like he did.
“You obviously knew we were mates these last few weeks. You knew when you broke into my room with Dizzy.” His expression tightens at the name, but he still doesn’t say anything.
“Longer,” I realize, and then demand, “When did you know?”
He rests back on his haunches, looking away from me, a little shamefaced. “When you arrived at Bartholomew.”
There’s a stilted pause as I process that, but even after several minutes, it doesn’t make sense. “What?”
Vaelor returns, looking at the small container in his hand. “We knew from the beginning, Princess.”
I swallow thickly. “Why?” A small voice inside me wonders if they realized, but didn’t want me. I tell that voice to take a hike because it sounds like my mother, and she has no say over my self-worth.
“Our families,” Vaelor says into the quiet when Connor still won’t look at me. “Your grandfather was playing hardball. He was in talks with several other possible suitors for your hand, brokering deals that would give him the most power.”
Connor’s voice is gravelly when he says, “Shifters weren’t his first choice, especially when he realized it was me and Vaelor.”
That wasn’t a surprise because, although Connor’s family was a prestigious one, a warlock and a shifter were an unnatural pairing that most people weren’t willing to look past, especially considering Vaelor’s penchant for forbidden magic.
My lip twitches as I realize. “A warlock, a shifter, and a human.”
Connor looks at me then, his mouth twitching up at the corners. “It’ll get people talking.”
He looks hopeful, and I shake my head. “I don’t forgive you.”
His eyes dim, but he nods. “Okay.”
My eyes lift to Vaelor’s. “Or you.”
He lifts a shoulder in a casual shrug, shoving Connor out of the way with his hip. He ignores the disgruntled mutters coming from the wolf, uncapping the brown tub in his hand. I watch curiously as he dips his fingers into the greenish substance, spices and something bitter wafting up to my nose.
He leans over and delicately rubs the poultice into my ravaged flesh, starting with the rune and then shifting to the bite. Every time I wince, he shoots me an apologetic look, a grimace twisting his lips like the idea that he’s hurting me is just as painful for him.
When Vaelor is done, he recaps the tub, his eyes on mine. “You don’t need to forgive us,” he says quietly, firmly. “We have time to win you over.” His eyes drop to his branded rune, possessiveness and pride swimming through his preternatural eyes. “Forever, in fact.”