EPILOGUE
EZLA
An hour earlier . . .
I wake to a stabbing pain searing right from my eye and up into my brain, infecting every inch of my head.
I strengthen my mental walls to titanium in an instant, locking my pain inside with absolutely no way for it to seep through the bond and into one of my men.
Gritting my teeth, I push myself stealthily up to a sitting position, ever so carefully sliding Cooper’s and Scotty’s strong arms from my body.
The former’s straight brows twitch downwards marginally, and I narrow my eyes at my short-tempered Bonded, willing him to stay asleep, or else.
He wisely obeys, and in the faint Avri light, I rove my gaze over him and the others as they rest.
But my neck extends as my entire body tenses, teeth drawing blood from my tongue as I work to keep my scream in and a fresh wave of agony from flowing down the bond.
Father is here.
I can feel it.
It should not surprise me—he is the Game Master, after all. He is The Bonding Games. He owns anything and everything to do with the operation. So no, it should not catch me off guard that my father has somehow got into a place that is nothing short of sacred in our world.
And yet I find myself wholly, disgracefully unprepared for him to turn up in the middle of the night at our Bonded chambers.
Something like a whimper crawls up my throat, and I boot the pathetic sound back down, ignoring the repetitive jabbing in my right eye socket and rising to my knees.
Then I take in my Bonds again, maybe for the last time like this. Because I know . . . I know I will not be able to have what I want this time. I know that this is over before it has even begun.
These men will never be mine.
And it was foolish to think it could have been any other way.
I should have remained emotionless, should have ignored these intruding, despicable feelings. But I . . . I want.
And I want something I can never have.
I should have known better.
Head tearing itself to shreds, jagged glass slashing at every exposed nerve cell, I shift my eyes over the Evots around me.
They find Tate, my beastly stalker who showed me what true, passionate lust was.
They move to Cooper, who forced me to flay myself open and let others in in the biggest risk I have ever taken.
Scotty, who demanded I let him take care of me, who had begun to convince me that maybe that care was not a bad thing like my father conditioned me to believe.
Followed by Tiger, who amused me, made something almost . . . tingly and bubbly slither through me any time he looked at me like I truly was the centre of his universe, or made a joke I could not help but find quietly amusing from how deplorably awful it was.
And finally, my eyes move to my sweet, shy Alby, who was the first to melt something within me, the only one who could dull my claws when they were in action.
I have . . . I feel . . .
My throat swells, closing up, and my eyes prick.
Unless I have no control over it, like in my nightmare hours before, I do not let tears fall. They do not come to me.
But now, a single, lonely droplet rolls down my cheek.
Leaning over, I shift some ebony hair from my shy boy’s forehead, and he makes a soft sound in his sleep. My heart . . . stutters?
My head tilts. Then I drop that head lower, lips parting as I press a gentle kiss to his forehead.
Drawing back, I watch him for a moment, taking in those long black lashes which make the pale skin around them appear even fairer, interrupted only by that ever-present pink on his cheeks.
Then I slowly move my gaze to the rest of my men, reaching out to trail my fingertips over my wild one’s thick blond locks.
Hmmm . . . they are so silky . . .
A fingertip curiously trails over the faint bump on the ridge of his nose. So handsome . . .
His brother catches my attention as he shifts, his hand clenching around the empty space where I once was, and my vision slits as his forehead creases like Cooper’s had. Eyeing that hand, I decide it is better to be safe than sorry.
I place mine in his.
Scotty’s frown almost immediately smooths out, and his long fingers curl around my offering.
I blink. I have not held a hand of my own accord before, not simply for the act of holding on to another. It is very strange.
And I am not yet sure if I like it or feel more inclined to chop the limb clinging to mine clean off.
Everything in me protests at the second option, and I scowl at my own betrayal.
On my other side, Cooper has settled and somehow looks both pissed and contented—I do agree with Tiger that he has a “resting man-bitch face”—and my free hand reaches out to run lightly from the delightful stubble on his jaw, over his neck, and down his torso to his happy trail, exposed from the silk sheets I had pulled on before falling asleep the second time around that have fallen to his hips with my sitting up.
He does piss me off the most, this one.
It should probably be cause for concern that it is something that only draws me into him these days. But I do so love his fire.
I cannot reach Tate properly while my sensible one still has a firm grip on me, so I gradually extract my hand from his, satisfied when he does not stir.
Then I admire the way a dim white strip of energy catches the piercings on my beast’s brow, his musky scent drifting over to me. I reach out to touch—
Hissing, I pull back as another, more debilitating wave of pain slams into me.
Reality crashes back down on me as agony blurs my vision, and I keep that contained with everything in me as I shove myself off the bed without wasting another moment.
Yet I do spare just one before I leave, only to glance with internal . . . longing back at my men, although I know my face would not show it.
I have perfected the art of masking.
“Goodbye, Bonded. It has been a pleasure.”
***
After heading to my room, I change into my Avri suit, slotting my armoury sticks into place with a harmonised click!
But I do not pick up my helmet.
Never again will its black taalk visor be used to cover up what my father has done to me, nor to hide my face because of his sick obsession with me.
Walking out into the hallway with a calmness I admit is a tad hard to maintain, I head to the living room, where the natural scents of my Bonded—and Tiger’s chocolate scent patch—fill the air.
His voice greets me the moment I round the corner.
“Daughter.”
“Father,” I respond shortly as he takes me in from his position on the couch, not allowing the fine tremble infecting my insides to enter my voice or my physical appearance. “It is rude to walk into Players’ Bonded chambers.”
“Ah, but you are not just a Player. Not like they are.” He gets straight to the point, dull brown eyes that are nothing like Cooper’s full-of-depth ones boring into mine.
His legs spread. “Come sit.” He pats his thigh, and I stare at him with an emotionless display on my face which I work to convince myself is my current state.
It usually works. But it could not possibly when he says, “If you want your Bonded”—he all but vomits around the word—“to live, you will come and sit on your father’s lap like a good girl. ”
Nostrils flaring, I march over, keeping my voice low as I hiss, “They mean nothing to me—”
Crack!
I do not allow myself to stumble or rub at my burning cheek as I dump myself unceremoniously in his lap.
Which he does not like. Not at all.
“Behave,” he snaps, yanking me around like I am a doll, and I cannot stop myself from slamming my elbow back into his gut, relishing in the audible woosh of the air evacuating his lungs all in one go—before he yanks my head back by my hair, and my eyes water as I bite back a pained gasp.
Fuck, maybe I should have put on the damn helmet.
He keeps me like that, and I am considering the most torturous ways to pay him back when his lips brush against my ear as he whispers harshly, “I know you are lying to me, Daughter. And you know far better than to lie right to my face when I can smell them on you.”
I growl, but I am now far too concerned about what he has got up his sleeve that I have not yet figured out to do much more than that.
“I am not an idiot. But you must think me one if you truly believed I did not know about your relationship with your little harem.”
“Why the fuck do you care? You tried to have me killed. Which, for your information, was a lousy attempt—”
He chuckles . . . then chuckles some more.
My lips thin, irritation bubbling up inside me.
“Kill you? Oh my, Ezla, your intelligence really is lacking as of late.”
My blood boils so hot I wonder if it will somehow evaporate.
“Why would I want to kill you, my dearest? I love you.”
Nausea swirls in my stomach. But again, I do not respond. I want him to get to the damn point, and I know it will only slow the process if I interrupt him.
“I want to keep you. I was . . . growing very lonely . . . becoming much more jealous of my possession’s attention being taken away from me so much .
. . as well as all that attention on her .
. .” He strokes a hand down my side, and I stay completely still, hoping my body heat will scorch his skin off.
“I decided to remove you from the Games, yes—but not in the way you think. In fact, everything went according to plan in Game 1.”
If I were motionless before, I am a taalk statue now.
“What?” I grind out before I can stop myself.
He hums. “Yes, Ezla. You were always meant to be bonded. I knew it would take quite a few men, so you ending up with five Bonds was not surprising. And I knew you would need to be a little . . . off-kilter.”
I lack the ability to be too shocked by these revelations, and it does not change things now in any case, but I am pissed I was incorrect.
My eyes narrow to slits at my father’s last words, and I yank my head out of his hold to bore my death-manifesting glare into his hideous fucking face. “That was not a little.”