Chapter 14 #2
I ignored him, but the fear burrowed deep. I tried to reach Menace through our bond, tried to send a signal—pain, hope, anything—but the silver burned too hot, snuffing out any magic before it reached my heart.
The hours blurred into one another. At some point, the three men moved to a small compartment at the far end of the hold, their voices muffled by distance and doors. I let my body go slack, conserving what little strength I had.
When the door clanged open again, it was Callum’s boots, then his hands, hauling me upright.
“Showtime, princess,” he hissed. “Time to meet your future.”
He dragged me to my feet and marched me down the narrow aisle, every step a study in humiliation. At the threshold, Dominic and my father waited, their faces masks of contempt and expectation.
The cold air outside bit into my skin as they led me down the steps onto the tarmac. I squinted against the light, blinking through the pain. There were black SUVs waiting, men in suits and guns bracketing the convoy.
No sign of Menace. No cavalry. Only the three men who would decide what happened to me next.
I stumbled forward, determined not to give them the satisfaction of seeing me fall. Even as the world shrank to a pinpoint, even as the silver gnawed at my bones, I held onto one thought:
I would not break.
Not here. Not for them. Not for anyone.
The first thing I registered was the scent—lilacs, maybe gardenia, something sharp and expensive that didn’t belong.
Then the softness under my cheek: not scratchy wool, not linoleum or caked rubber, but a comforter so thick I could bury my entire arm in it and never touch the mattress.
My head throbbed from every direction. My face pulsed in time with my heartbeat, each thrum reminding me of Callum’s handiwork.
Even my teeth ached. I tried to move and found that, while the silver was gone, my wrists and ankles still burned with the memory of it.
The room was sweltering; the lights above me glared like a stage set.
A shadow fell across the bed, and a meaty hand dug into my upper arm.
I tried to jerk away, but my body wasn’t cooperating, and the hand had no intention of letting me.
I was yanked upright so fast that black crept into the corners of my vision.
My father’s face swam into focus, only inches from mine.
He looked rested, satisfied—like a man who’d just collected a particularly rare coin for his collection and couldn’t wait to show it off.
He said nothing, just appraised me. His eyes flicked to the cut on my cheek, the swollen lip, the red weals around my wrists where the silver had scorched me. Then, he shook his head in disappointment and released me so I collapsed onto the comforter again.
I became aware of the other men only when they spoke.
“Not much to look at, is she?” The voice came from behind me—Dominic.
His words were cold, but what stuck was the hunger underneath.
He circled to the foot of the bed, arms folded, mouth drawn into a thin line.
His suit was an even darker black than my father’s, if such a thing was possible. “I thought you said she was—”
“She was,” my father replied, his gaze still pinned on me. “She just needs a reminder of who she belongs to. You know how it is with women.”
I tried to stand, but my legs gave out. The comforter caught me, or maybe I just folded into it, my head barely above my knees. My arms hung limp at my sides. My shirt was torn at one shoulder, exposing the bite mark at the crook of my neck.
Dominic’s eyes narrowed. “That needs to go.”
“Soon enough,” my father grumbled. “But not until the Council’s finished with it. Their protocols are archaic. You’ll see.”
Dominic looked at me like I was a puzzle he didn’t want to solve. “How long will it take?”
“A week at most,” my father told him. “Provided she behaves.”
I tried to speak, but my mouth filled with the taste of old blood. I spat it onto the comforter—an insignificant rebellion, but the only one available. My father’s hand closed around my jaw, hard enough to make me see stars.
“None of that,” he hissed. “You’re going to make us proud, Savannah. You will not embarrass this family again.”
He punctuated the “again” with a slap—hard, not theatrical, and perfectly aimed to reopen the scab on my cheek. The shock blanked out my thoughts for a few seconds. When my mind cleared, I found I was still upright, his hand fisted in my hair, keeping my head from slumping forward.
A handkerchief appeared in my field of vision. Dominic. He held it at arm’s length, as though expecting I might try to bite him. “Wipe your face,” he said, the tone one of condescension and bored disgust.
I took the handkerchief, but instead of using it, I dropped it on the floor and glared at him. Dominic’s lip curled into the ghost of a smile.
“She’s spirited, I’ll give you that,” he said. “But you’ll have to teach her to behave.”
My father smoothed a wrinkle from his suit. “I trust you’ll be able to manage.”
“Obviously.”
There was something transactional about their exchange—two men negotiating the price of livestock. It stung more than I could admit, even to myself.
My vision blurred for a moment, and I stared at my lap, the black pants and white blouse a ruined echo of the teacher I’d tried to be.
The cuffs at my wrists were ringed with angry red.
I pressed my hands together to stop them from shaking.
The sight of my own clothes triggered a memory: the school, Karen’s smile, the way she’d lured me outside with the promise of help.
I saw her face again, lips painted just so, the little upturn at the edge of her mouth when she’d smirked, “Maybe you won’t miss them too much.
” Then the cold slap of metal on my wrists and Callum’s voice as the world spun out.
I blinked hard, shoving the memory aside.
“Get up,” my father hissed. He didn’t wait for me to comply. He hauled me upright again, setting me on my feet. My knees wobbled, but he kept his grip tight enough to keep me vertical.
“We have a schedule to keep,” he said. “You will walk, or I will make you.”
I could barely stand, but I forced my legs to move, one after the other, keeping my eyes fixed on the floor.
The hall beyond the bedroom was a gauntlet of expensive wallpaper and old portraits, every face in the oil paintings scowling down at me like I’d interrupted a dinner party.
The carpet was so thick I could feel my feet sink in with every step.
Dominic led the way, his stride unhurried. Behind me, Callum stalked in silence, every so often tapping the back of my knee with his boot when I slowed.
We arrived at a set of double doors at the end of the hall.
Dominic opened them with a flourish, revealing an office bigger than most apartments.
The ceiling soared overhead. Walls were lined with leather-bound books and the heads of animals I’d never seen in the wild.
There was a desk the size of a casket in the center, and behind it, a pair of high-backed chairs.
My father shoved me toward the desk. “Sit,” he said. I did, because the alternative was falling face-first onto the marble floor.
The room closed around me. The walls pressed in; heat rising off my skin as if I were about to ignite.
Dominic and my father spoke in low voices, the words impossible to catch. Callum leaned against a window, arms folded, a wolfish smirk on his face. The three of them looked at me like a problem, not a person.
I let my hands rest on the desk, fingers spread wide, every muscle trembling with exhaustion and rage. I tried not to think about the fact that there was no escape; not from this room, not from this house, not from this life.
But I kept my head high, eyes level, daring any of them to look away first.
When Dominic finally turned to me, his gaze was hungry and cold. “You’ll want to hear what happens next,” he said.
I didn’t answer. I just stared, silent and unbroken, waiting for the next act of cruelty to begin.
Dominic didn’t bother with a preamble. He perched himself on the edge of his desk, legs crossed at the ankle, his hands folded with an affectation of patience.
The gold cufflinks at his wrists caught the office’s dim, deliberate lighting and threw it back in sharp daggers, little glints of power in a room built to remind you who ruled here.
Even the chairs had more gilt than a cathedral.
He fixed me with a look somewhere between pity and contempt.
“Here is the situation, Savannah. The Council does not acknowledge your mating to that—” he paused, smirked, “creature from Iron Valor. They say your father failed to approve the pairing, and that your so-called mate did not follow proper protocol. Even if it were valid, you know what they say about bonds formed in captivity or under stress—they’re rarely legitimate. ”
He let this hang for a moment, like a prosecutor watching a witness crumble.
“Tomorrow, you will be taken to Chicago. At Council headquarters, your supposed ‘fated bond’ will be tested. If it fails, the mate mark is to be burned off. You will then be transferred to me, where you belong. The marriage will take place immediately. If you resist, or cause a scene, the Council will not be as gentle as your father has been.”
He glanced at Declan, whose face was impassive but satisfied, then at Callum, who radiated malice from his station at the far wall.
The words felt like they’d been drilled into my skull; every syllable etched in by the cold certainty of men who’d done this before, who’d broken women and called it tradition.
“What if the bond is real?” I said. My voice was so raw I barely recognized it. “What if I pass their test?”
Dominic’s mouth twitched. “They have never found one of these ‘fated’ bonds outside of Council-blessed marriages. But suppose you pass—then you return to your mate, and your family’s name is forever stained.
” He spat the words with venom. “But you won’t pass.
You’ll be proven a liar, just like others before you. ”
I wanted to scream. Instead, I sat rigid, shoulders back, eyes burning holes through the rug beneath my feet. My wrists tingled where the silver had been, and my neck pulsed with a phantom ache at the thought of what they would do to my mate mark.
Declan spoke up, his voice a precise instrument. “You will not shame us, Savannah. I’ve tolerated your defiance because I believed you would come to your senses. This is your final chance to prove you are not a mistake.”
Callum snorted. “She’s nothing but a mistake. We should’ve taken care of her the moment she started with her little rebellion.”
Dominic ignored him, eyes only for me. “Drink some water. Get yourself cleaned up. Tomorrow is a big day.”
He gestured to a pitcher and a glass, already sweating on a silver tray. I glared at it as if it might bite me.
“I don’t need anything from you,” I said. The effort cost me; my voice trembled at the edges, but I held his gaze. “And I will never belong to you.”
He stood up, brushed invisible lint from his lapel, and leaned over until I could smell the expensive aftershave he wore. “You will belong to whoever wins. You have no other options.” His words buzzed through my skin, setting my nerves on fire.
He straightened and nodded to my father. “See that she’s kept under close watch tonight. I want her delivered in presentable condition to the Council.”
Declan gripped my upper arm, steering me to my feet.
The hallway outside the office was even colder than before.
The lights turned down for the night, but no less oppressive.
The walk to the guest suite was a blur. My body floated behind Declan’s grip, and every step echoed down the corridor like a countdown.
Inside the room, he shoved me onto the bed and stood over me, looming. “You will make us proud tomorrow. That is your duty. Do you understand?”
I didn’t answer.
He slapped me again, not as hard as before but just as sharp, a reminder that my body belonged to him until someone took it away. “Do. You. Understand?”
I tasted blood and stared up at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a nod.
He left without another word. I heard the key turn in the lock, then his footsteps fading down the hall.
I lay there a long time, staring at the ceiling, tracing the pattern of the chandelier’s arms with my eyes.
It was hard to believe that, just days ago, I’d been teaching music to a classroom full of children.
Harder still to believe that there was any world beyond this suite, this prison of velvet and bone.
But the bond was still there, a thin thread burning through the fog, pulsing in my veins like a beacon. I reached for it, even though the silver had dulled it to an ache. I closed my eyes and sent out a single, desperate plea:
Bridger. Please.
It echoed in the empty cavern of my skull, but the thread flickered in response. Distant, faint, but not gone.
I let the tears come then, silent and hot, burning tracks down my face as I gripped the bedspread with fingers that still shook. I’d always known the odds were against me. But there was comfort in defiance. In knowing that, even now, I could choose whether or not to break.
I pressed my face into the pillow, and through the haze of exhaustion and pain, I made myself a promise.
They would never see me bow.
Not to them.
Not ever.