Chapter 13
Chapter thirteen
Carrson
Laurel lies in my bed, asleep. Her skin’s too pale, her nose swollen, her throat marked with fingerprints like a collar someone dared to fasten around what’s mine.
My Bonded.
Mine to provide for.
Mine to command.
Mine to protect.
I failed, and the rage that stirs is volcanic, begging to erupt. I pace the room like something wild, barely caged. My fists clench and unclench, my breath coming sharp and fast, hissing through my teeth.
“I’m going to fucking kill Sam,” I say, quietly. It’s not a threat. It’s a vow. “I always knew she was crazy, but this?” My lip curls. “This is a fucking declaration of war.”
Thomson leans against the wall, his arms crossed, annoyingly composed. “You can’t.”
“She put her hands on my Bonded.”
“The Sisters govern themselves. You know that. It’s the one domain where even you don’t hold power.”
“If it had been a Brother, I wouldn’t be talking to you. I’d be dragging his body into the cornfield—”
“But it wasn’t, and unless you get verbal consent, you can’t even set foot in Rosewood Hall. You know the rules.”
“I’ll wait,” I snap. “Sam has to come out eventually.”
“She’s already out. Probably hoping to bait you into a scene to make you look weak.”
“She has made me look weak. What kind of man does it make me, if I can’t protect my own Bonded?” I growl in frustration.
Thomson exhales slowly. “Sam’s got you boxed in.
If you strike back, you break Order protocol and prove Laurel’s a pressure point.
You hand your enemies the blueprint to your downfall.
But if you don’t? You lose face. You let the world see that someone touched your Bonded and lived to brag about it. ”
“She wasn’t touched,” I growl. “She was strangled. That’s not just a message, a temper tantrum.
It’s a claim. An assault not just on Laurel, but on my power.
” I rake my fingers through my hair, the movement jagged.
“I don’t care how many centuries these rules have stood, if they think I’ll let this slide, they’re all fucking delusional. ”
I stop pacing and stare down at Laurel. Her lashes tremble against her cheek. I can’t stop looking at the outline of Sam’s fucking fingers on her throat.
I want blood. I want teeth. I want Sam on her knees, choking on the apology I won’t accept.
“You’re thinking with your pride,” Thomson says.
“You humiliated Sam. Years of her chasing you, building her whole identity around the idea that you’d choose her to bond.
Everyone thought it would be her. Then you picked a nobody.
A stranger. Publicly. You might as well have set her on fire.
” He shakes his head. “Now she wants blood, but she’s too smart to go after you directly. ”
“I’ll make her wish she had,” I say coldly.
I sit beside Laurel, careful not to jostle the bed.
The fury doesn’t ebb. It just settles. Sharpening.
Focusing. I know this isn’t about Laurel.
It’s not even really about Sam. It’s about power.
About proving I can be disobeyed. It’s a test, and all of them are watching, waiting to see if I’ll fail, but they’ve forgotten something.
Everything here is mine.
My name on this house.
My name on this town.
I’m the one in charge here.
Thomson shakes his head. “We should’ve seen this coming.”
“Jesus.” I drag my hands through my hair. “Stop being so fucking logical. I hate it.”
“You hate it because it’s the truth.”
He’s right. My blood’s still boiling, but beneath the anger, something colder coils tight in my chest. Guilt, maybe. Or something worse.
I didn’t want this. I never asked for it.
Laurel told me that. Told me I should’ve left her alone, and she was right. She should’ve never been dragged into my world, but now that she’s here? I’ll tear down every fucking tradition before I let anyone hurt her again.
“What can we do?” I ask, my voice low. I don’t take my eyes off her face. She looks fragile, breakable. Too gentle for this world.
I think about Rose. A sister I’ve never met. A ghost I might’ve invented, but if she’s real, if she’s out there somewhere, and someone hurt her like this, left her bruised and gasping, bleeding on cold marble while the world just stood there and watched?
I know what I’d do.
I’d ruin them. Burn the world they built and salt the ashes.
“Nothing,” Thomson says.
For a moment, I hate him. My oldest friend. My brother, in the truest sense, but right now, with fury twisting through me and no one to unleash it on, I want to grab him by the throat and throw him through the wall.
“Laurel’s not going back to Rosewood,” I snarl. “I don’t care what protocol says. That house touches her again, I’ll raze it to the ground.”
“She has to,” he replies. “If she runs or hides, she looks weak, and so do you.”
“You’re saying I do nothing.” My voice is flat. Cold. “Just sit here. Play nice. Let them keep gutting her while I thank them for the honor?”
Thomson’s smile is slow. Clinical. A dead man’s grin. I feel mine rise to match it.
That look? It means he has a plan, and his plans are never gentle. Never kind. The other brothers underestimate him. They see the glasses, the books, the soft voice and quiet presence.
I know better.
Thomson’s mind is a blade.
And now it’s unsheathed.
“You want blood?” he says. “Then we make Laurel into a weapon. One sharp enough to kill.”