Chapter 3 - Cora
Cora wrenched her arm out of Grayson’s grip for the fourth time, spinning on her heel with enough force to nearly topple herself in the process. “Stop dragging me like I’m some lost puppy. I can walk on my own.”
Grayson didn’t slow. “Then walk.”
“Maybe I would if you’d stop hauling me around like a sack of flour!” she snapped, falling into step beside him. The ache in her wrists had dulled to a low throb, but every step sent reminders of the blood and rope burns lacing her skin.
Grayson’s stride was as unbothered as if she hadn’t spoken.
His long legs ate up the distance with maddening ease.
The guy was built like a freight train—tall and broad-shouldered, with muscles that moved fluidly under the dark leather jacket stretched across his back.
His ash-brown hair was cropped short, just long enough to curl slightly at the edges, and the faint scruff on his jaw framed sharp cheekbones and a strong, square jaw.
His features were striking, the kind that might’ve been handsome if not for the fact that he’d just purchased her.
He looked like someone who didn’t just carry the weight of the world—he expected it to fight back.
Cora hated that she had to jog every few steps to keep up with him. The urge to plant herself and scream was overwhelming, but she doubted it would do much. He’d probably just toss her over his shoulder and keep moving.
“Where are you even taking me?” she demanded, skidding slightly on loose gravel as he turned down an alley.
“Somewhere safe.”
“Yeah, that’s helpful. Thanks for clearing that up.”
He stopped abruptly, forcing her to jerk to a halt before slamming into his back. When he turned, his eyes—stormy blue-gray and much too beautiful—bore into hers with unnerving steadiness. “Do you want to go back to the auction?”
Cora blinked. “What?”
“You keep stalling. Complaining. If you’d rather head back and take your chances with the next bidder, I’m sure they’d be thrilled to see you again.”
Her stomach churned, the memory of those predatory faces flashing in her mind. “That’s not—” She swallowed hard and glared at him again. “You don’t have to be such a dick about it.”
“Then keep moving.”
He turned before she could throw another insult, leaving her no choice but to follow.
The alley opened into a narrow street lined with crumbling buildings with dark, broken windows.
Cora had no idea where they were, and she hated the way her chest tightened with anxiety at every unfamiliar turn.
The auction had been terrifying, but at least she’d known what to hate, what to fight. This? This was limbo.
After a few more minutes, Grayson stopped in front of a rusted metal door wedged into the side of a brick building. He glanced over his shoulder once before he tugged the door open and motioned her inside.
Cora hesitated. “What is this place?”
“Safehouse. Now get in.”
“How do I know you’re not just dragging me into another trap?”
Grayson sighed and ran a hand over his face. For a moment, she thought he might actually lose his temper, but when he looked at her again, there wasn’t a hint of emotion on his face. “You don’t. But if I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn’t have just spent three hundred grand to get you out of there.”
“Three hundred thousand,” she parroted as her stomach lurched again. “That’s what you paid? I couldn’t focus enough on what everyone was saying to hear the actual number.”
“Yeah. Now move.”
Gritting her teeth, Cora stepped inside.
The room was small and smelled of dust and mildew.
A battered couch sat against one wall, and a small table covered in mismatched papers took up most of the space.
There were no windows, only the faint outline of a second door leading to what she assumed was another room.
Grayson shut the door behind them with a heavy thud before sliding two deadbolts into place and turning back to her.
He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, and for the first time, she noticed how tired he looked.
The faint shadows under his eyes gave him a worn edge that didn’t match the stoic confidence he exuded.
“Start talking,” she demanded, crossing her arms as well. “Who are you? What the hell just happened back there? And why do I feel like my skin’s been stitched to yours?”
Grayson’s lips twitched—not quite a smirk, but something close—and he pushed off the wall, moving to the table. “You’ve got a lot of questions.”
“Yeah, no kidding. And you’re going to answer every single one of them.”
He picked up a stack of papers and flipped through them absently. “Name’s Grayson Kane. I work black ops for Bellefleur.”
Cora blinked. “Black ops? Like…military spy shit?”
“Close enough.” He tossed the papers back onto the table and turned to face her fully. “My team and I dismantle organizations like the one that put you on that stage. I’ve been undercover for months, trying to figure out who’s pulling the strings.”
“And buying me was part of the plan?”
“No. That was improvisation.”
“Great,” she complained, throwing her hands up. “So I’m part of your improvisation? Fantastic. This just keeps getting better.”
“Would you rather I hadn’t?”
She wanted to scream yes, wanted to shove him and tell him to leave her the hell alone, but the truth lodged itself in her throat. If he hadn’t stepped in, she wouldn’t be standing here, free to argue with him.
Instead, she asked, “What did that ritual do? And don’t tell me it was just ‘a formality.’”
Grayson grimaced. It was subtle, just the barest pause, but it was enough to set her on edge. “It bonded us. Magically.”
Her stomach twisted. “Bonded us? Like… What? Some kind of leash?”
“No. It’s not like that. The bond’s more…mutual.”
“Mutual?” The word tasted like acid in her mouth. “You mean we’re stuck with each other?”
“For now.” His calm tone only made her angrier.
She took a step closer, jabbing a finger toward his chest. “What happens if I leave? If I try to get away from you?”
Grayson caught her wrist before her finger could make contact again. “Don’t test it,” he warned. “I don’t know how the bond works yet. Neither of us does. For all we know, breaking it could kill you.”
Her breath caught, and her heart hammered against her ribs. “Kill me?”
“The spell was designed to keep you under control. To make sure you can’t run. It’s only logical there would be consequences to trying to sever that bond.”
Cora wrenched her arm free, stumbling back a step. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I wish I was.”
She pressed a hand to her forehead, trying to keep her thoughts from spiraling.
This couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be happening.
She’d been working at the bakery just last night, teasing Laila about their late hours.
And now she was… What? Magically tied to some stoic black ops operative with a hero complex?
Her throat burned, and she blinked rapidly, refusing to let the tears come. “I didn’t ask for this.”
“I know. But it’s where we are. My job is to protect you until we figure out how to fix it.”
Cora laughed, a short, bitter sound. “Protect me? You think I need protecting?”
“Yeah,” he said finally. “I do.”
She opened her mouth to argue, to tell him she’d been taking care of herself just fine, but the words stuck. Because for the first time since she’d woken up bound and powerless, she wasn’t entirely sure it was true.
Cora barely had time to process the weight of Grayson’s last words before a sound from outside shattered the fragile silence—a low growl followed by the distinct scrape of claws on the pavement.
Grayson’s posture snapped to attention, with every muscle coiled like a spring, and his hand darted toward the table to grab a knife she hadn’t noticed before.
“What is it?” she asked, dropping her voice to a whisper, even as her heart climbed into her throat.
“Trouble.” His eyes flitted to the bolted door, then back to her. “Stay here.”
Cora snorted. “Yeah, not happening.”
Grayson shot her a glare that was somehow more infuriating because it wasn’t even angry. It was calm, cold, and maddeningly sure of itself. “I’m not asking.”
Before she could argue, the heavy thud of fists—or claws—slamming against the door made them both turn. The metal groaned, and a low voice followed, slick with disdain. “Grayson Kane. Open up, or we come in.”
Cora froze. That voice. Theodore Voss. The smooth-talking auctioneer who had sold her like she was cattle. The name alone made her blood turn to ice, but hearing it here, outside the supposed “safe house,” was somehow even worse.
Grayson didn’t waste time on shock. He crossed the room in three quick strides, grabbed her arm, and yanked her toward the far door. “Move.”
“Wait,” she hissed, trying to plant her feet even as he dragged her forward.
“It’s Voss,” he said tightly. “And he’s not alone. Go.”
She stumbled after him, nearly tripping on her own feet. “You’re telling me the guy who auctioned me off is here? Now? Why?”
“Sounds like he figured out who I am,” Grayson said.
“The wire transfer I used to buy you wasn’t exactly straightforward.
I couldn’t exactly use my personal bank account, so routed it through a series of shell accounts.
It was enough to get past their initial checks, but someone on Voss’ side must’ve dug deeper. ”
“Why would they even check? It’s not like you walked out without paying. Money is money.”
“Because it didn’t add up,” Grayson explained as they hurried down the hallway.
“The account wasn’t tied to a real business, and I used laundering routes to mask the source.
Those routes are good for a while, but at the end of the day, Voss’ people are going to want to know who they’re doing business with.
They must’ve traced it back through the layers. ”
“And now they know?”