Sold to the coldhearted beast

Realising the betrayal

*Everly*

I run. And run. And run.

My wolf's legs are churning, my chest aching as I fight for breath, the tears blurring my vision. The rain pelts me, seeping through my fur.

It is lies. It is all lies. Orley wouldn’t be so cruel. In spite of the fact that he had never given me reason to think that he likes me overly much, he is innocent in this debacle. He had not known what that horrid Tristan Rafe had assumed, had planned. When I explain to Orley what the man had said, what he expects of me, Orley will call him out. He will surely insist upon pistols at dawn. In honor of his father, he will protect my reputation. He will not allow me to be completely ruined.

Although he had never given me cause to believe that he would champion me, he is enough of a gentleman that he will not stand by while some bastard takes advantage of me.

All I have to do is to get home. Thank God it isn’t that far. I remember the way. One street, and then another and another, and I will be there. The few people I pass stare at my wolf though, probably wondering what I am up to. But it is Tristan Rafe who should be carted off to an asylum or jail.

Orley will apologize for the misunderstanding, and then he will make everything all right. Years from now we might even laugh about it. When I am married and have children and a husband who loves me. He will love me. Maybe not at first, but in time.

What Tristan Rafe proposes is so hideously horrible. How can he be so cold, so harsh, so uncaring? How could he think I would welcome his touch?

I wouldn’t. I would die first. I would scrub floors, I would … I would …

I can’t think, but it doesn’t matter. Orley had made a promise. He will keep it. He will see that I am well cared for.

Drenched to the bone, I turn up the long drive. The gaslights are lit along the path, guiding me. my entire body is aching now. It is becoming harder and harder to pull air into my lungs.

As I change into my human form I stumble, landing hard on my knees and hands, jarring my bones and rattling my teeth. Pushing myself to my feet, I stagger on and trudge up the steps.

Somewhere along the way, either before I left his house or in my change, I must have lost my hat and my pins. My hair tumbling down around my shoulders, absorbing the wetness, weighing me down.

I expect the door to open. A footman is always standing there to open it, but then again they aren’t expecting me, are they ? Grabbing the handle, I press it down and puIl on the door …

It doesn’t open. It is locked !

I bang the knocker. Over and over. Harder and harder, with the crash echoing around me. No one comes.

“Orley!” Oh, God, surely he told me not to call him that. “Littlefoot ! Littlefoot ! My Alpha !”

I hear a click, the door opens slightly, and the butler peers out, barring my entrance.

“Manson, thank God. Let me in”. I gasp.

“I’m sorry, miss. The Alpha has forbidden me to allow you entry into the residence”. He says sadly.

I shake my head. “What ? No, you’re mistaken. He wouldn’t …”.

“I’m sorry, miss. But we have our orders”. The butler says.

His expression is as bland as unseasoned food, as he closes the door. When I try to open it, I find it once again locked.

I bang, kick and scream until I am hoarse. My knuckles are bruised and my toes aching. Dejected, horrified, terrified, I unceremoniously crumple onto the landing, all my strength zapped from me. The rain pelts me unmercifully, but surely he will eventually open the door if I just stay here long enough. He has misunderstood his orders. Surely.

I become vaguely aware of someone crouching before me. I lift my face. Through the haze of my hot tears, I see Tristan Rafe. His dark hair is plastered to his head. He appears to be as wet as I am.

“Come with me, Everlyn”. He says, his voice calm and even.

I shake my head. “They won’t let me in. There has been a mistake. He wouldn’t do this to me. He promised Father. He promised”.

“You’re soaked through. You’re going to catch your death”. He says softly.

“I don’t care. He can’t be cruel enough to cast me out like this”. Why am I even talking to this callous man ? He doesn't care about me. He only wants to use my body. My stomach roils. I think I might be ill. Shudders wracking my body. I don’t know if it is the cold or the sobbing that almost had me convulsing. I have never felt more dejected in my life.

A fog of grief snakes through me and settles around me. I am shaking so badly and my teeth are chattering, that I can barely think. Where can I go ? I have no friends, no one who will offer me sanctuary until I can determine how to resolve this dilemma. I have no funds. Everything is in my bedchamber. What had he said when he had come for me ? “We’re going for a ride”. And I had been so grateful that I had not questioned him further. Now I have nothing, no one. I wrap my arms around my middle, trying to contain the pain.

“Damnation”. Tristan Rafe growls.

There it is: more proof that he thinks so little of me that he uses profanity in my presence. He considers me a nobody. A wanton. Someone unloved. And now I am. I want to curl into a ball …

His arms come around me. I am vaguely aware of him holding me against his broad chest, lifting me as though I am little more than a pillow.

I have a strong urge to protest, to let loose a scream that would wake the dead, but all I seem capable of doing is sagging against him. I wish he was kind. I wish he had asked for meÿ hand, that he sought marriage, that his intentions toward me were not so wicked.

He wants to ruin me, to take away my chance at happiness, a proper husband, and children. He wants to dally with me, soil my reputation, then toss me aside. isn’t that what men do with mistresses ? My father might have even done that with my mother had she not died so young.

My entire life I have known exactly what my mother was: good enough to bed, but not to wed. my father had always made me feel as though I were somehow better than that. My brother has made me realize that I am not.

Beneath the roar of the pounding rain, I become aware of Tristan Rafe’s muttering, “One more step, one more step. Almost there”.

I don’t know why he is urging me on like that. I am not the one taking the steps. Perhaps he thinks his words will be reassuring, but I know what will happen when we are finally there.

He will take the one thing left to me that matters, that is of any value. I can’t allow that to happen, yet neither can I simply wander the streets. I will find the strength to fight him. I will find a way to barter, to bargain, to regain some pride and dignity.

I am vaguely aware of him climbing steps, of a door opening, of light washing over me.

“Good Goddess”. A voice I recognized as belonging to Laurence says.

“I want a hot bath prepared for her. Rouse the maids to see to her care. She is like ice and hasn’t moved a muscle since I picked her up”. Tristan says.

Haven’t I ? I thought I had been protesting, but perhaps it was all in my mind. I am conscious of him going up stairs. The wide sweeping ones that had so impressed me when I had first stepped into the residence, before I had known exactly why I was here.

I can hear other footsteps rushing by us, those of a servant perhaps. We reach the landing. The click of a door opening. He sweeps through the entry, his progress muffled by thick carpets before he sets me on the bed. He grabs my wrists, unlocking my arms from around my neck. When had I clutched him so tightly ? Why had I ?

He steps away without a tender touch, a word of kindness or a whisper of reassurance.

“Get her warm”. He barks. “Find her something dry to wear”.

Then I become aware of gentle hands urging me along, to ignore the fact that the remainder of my life will be spent within the bowels of hell.