Twisted Bonds

~~Bree’s PoV~~ Pain shoots through me as I lay in my narrow bed, locked inside the windowless room that has been my home for the last three years. The torment starts as a cramping, aching feeling in my lower abdomen before bursting outward, traveling through every nerve of my body to the tips of my fingers and toes, leaving a trail of burning agony behind it, as though I were on fire from within. I’m so used to it by now that there’s no surprise when it comes. With no other option, I curl into a ball and wait for it to end. At least it’s usually quick. That’s the one small blessing I have. It bewildered me the first time it happened. I thought I was dying, until I learned the truth: the pain is caused by my mate and his mistress. Whenever they’re intimate, his betrayal of our bond scorches my body. He knows it, and he doesn’t care. That is the double-edged sword of the mate bond. For most werewolves, the day they find their mate is the happiest day of their lives. Mates are chosen for us by the moon goddess, destined to be our perfect match. Who wouldn’t want that? For me, however, it didn’t go anything like that. At last, the torture stops and my whimpers slowly die off. I stopped screaming out in pain a long time ago. No one hears me, or if they do, they ignore the sound, just like they ignore every other sign of my mistreatment. Everyone is blind to it, through deception or through choice, and I know by now that no one will help me. I am completely on my own. It is almost unbelievable how one night changed my life so thoroughly. Although it was three years ago, if I close my eyes, I am right back there on the night this all began. ************** The summer’s evening is warm, with a hint of a breeze that plays with the loose curls of my hair as I step out of the car, making them dance across my bare shoulders. My dress is tight, so tight I can hardly breathe, but when I mentioned it to my mother earlier, she simply tightened her lips. “Fashion is worth the pain, Brianna.” It’s not the first time she’s told me that. Nothing is more important than outward appearances; that is the one lesson she was always determined that I learn. My two older sisters are here as well, with their mates, shining their dazzling smiles over the crowd that greets us. A few of the more curious onlookers glance my way too, wondering who I am, maybe, but when I try to smile and walk in my five-inch heels at the same time, I almost trip, so I drop the smile and focus on making it up the steps of the palace in one piece instead. We have come to the palace tonight to celebrate the mating of Prince Carter and his new princess. The couple themselves are not here, they left on their honeymoon shortly after the private celebration attended by close friends and family, but the prince left instructions for the festivities to continue over the next three nights, to ensure everyone has a chance to take part. Tonight, it is the turn of the empire’s noble families, including mine, and there are many important foreign delegations in attendance as well. That’s why the press is here, their cameras clicking as we make our way inside. Tomorrow, all the papers will run their stories of who was seen with whom and all the fashion highs and lows. My mother is desperate for our family to be mentioned, which is why I have had to spend the entire day being primped and prepped, until the woman staring back in the mirror hardly resembles me at all. My red hair, usually pulled back in a ponytail or messy bun, has been left down tonight, curled and doused in hairspray to hold its shape. My makeup is heavier than usual, my dress tighter and my heels higher, and I don’t know exactly what people see when they look at me, but I’m pretty sure it’s not me. It’s only the illusion my mother wanted to create. I haven’t been inside the palace before, and my eyes widen in wonder as we step inside the ballroom. Glittering chandeliers hang overhead, the lights reflecting off the white walls and the mirrors set up strategically along the walls. The wooden floor is smooth and polished beneath my heels and the air is filled with the chatter of hundreds of guests and music from a string quartet that I cannot see. Waiters in crisp white shirts circulate, holding trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvres. My stomach growls at the scent of garlic and butter, but I know I can’t eat anything tonight. My dress is tight enough as it is, and my mother warned me that it’s not ladylike to eat in front of others. As if women never eat at all. I’m so distracted by the glittering dresses and jewels of the assembled crowd that I almost walk straight into a statue that’s standing in my path. At the very last moment, I see it and try to stop, but my shoes slip on the waxy floor, and for a terrible moment, I’m certain I’m going to fall. My mother will kill me, is all I can think as I lose my balance. I don’t fall, though. A second later, a strong arm circles my back, keeping me upright. “Careful,” a deep voice murmurs in my ear. “Better you than the antique statue, but I’d prefer if neither of you fell over on my watch.” Heat flushes my face as I regain my equilibrium and quickly disentangle myself from this stranger. “Thank you,” I breathe as I turn to face him, and for a moment, it actually feels like my heart skips a beat. At least, I think it does. Maybe it’s just the dress cutting off my circulation. Warm, brown eyes smile down at me. They’re the only part of his face that’s soft; everything else is hard and angled, his hair cut short, his jawline firm. He is not like the kind of men I’m encouraged to socialize with, but he’s very handsome, I can’t help thinking, my face turning even redder at the thought. “I’m Bree,” I introduce myself, even though my mother would have a fit if she heard me offer my name before a man asked for it. “Well, Brianna, really, but everyone calls me Bree.” I hold out my hand to shake his, and he hesitates for just a moment before reaching out as well. Cold metal slides against my fingers, and I realize in surprise that it is a robotic hand, some kind of prosthetic. I hadn’t noticed when he was holding me earlier. “Drew,” he introduces himself, and though he still looks friendly, there is a wariness in his eyes too, as if he’s not quite sure how I will respond. My surprise quickly vanishes though, and I shake his hand firmly. “Thank you for catching me, Drew. If I fell down in this dress, I don’t think I could get back up again.” An amused smile flashes across his face. “It was my pleasure, Bree.” The way he says my name sends tingles down my spine, but before I can say anything else, my mother is back at my side. “Stop wasting time, Brianna,” she admonishes, her tone making it perfectly clear that she doesn’t see Drew as someone worth talking to. She doesn’t even glance at him as she pulls me away, and all I can do is throw an apologetic look over my shoulder as I’m dragged further into the room. Although the guest list is impressive, this party is no different from any of the others I have attended before, the same pompous people trying to impress and outdo each other, and my eyes glaze over in boredom as the men around me talk business. Occasionally, I catch a glimpse of Drew moving around the room. He’s wearing a suit but not a tux, making it clear he’s not one of the guests. He must be working; he said something when he caught me about not letting me fall over ‘on his watch’. He never comes over to where I am, but I’m not surprised. That whole encounter probably made a much bigger impression on me than it did on him. Eventually, I manage to slip away onto the ballroom balcony, which has a beautiful view over the lake and the woods beyond the palace. The fresh air feels cleansing after the stifled conversation inside and I take a deep breath, letting it fill my lungs. The silvery moon is reflected in the still waters of the lake as stars twinkle overhead. The balcony runs the full length of the ballroom and there are couples dotted along its length, enjoying the scenery together. It would certainly be romantic, if I had someone to share it with. A moment later, two more people come out of the ballroom, standing a few feet away from me. I don’t pay any attention until I hear a familiar voice. “What’s your name?” It’s Drew’s voice and I glance over in surprise. He is standing with a beautiful blonde woman, his attention fixed fully on her. He hasn’t seen me at all. “Katherine,” she answers, her arms wrapped around her stomach, her whole posture defensive. I recognize her from other society events, but I don’t know her personally. She’s never considered me worthy of speaking to. “And you are? Your full name, I mean.” “Andrew Carver. Drew, for short.” He doesn’t look like an Andrew to me. Drew suits him better. I’m not trying to eavesdrop, but it’s hard not to overhear, especially the words that Katherine speaks next, firm and controlled. “In that case, I, Katherine Palmer, reject you, Andrew Carver, as my mate.” I gasp out loud before I can stop myself, looking over at them in disbelief. Drew staggers back, shock and pain splashed across his face as Katherine turns away. She catches sight of me, her eyes narrowing in contempt as she recognizes me. “If you say a word of this to anyone, Brianna, your whole family is finished.” With that, she turns away fully and goes back into the ballroom, pasting a smile back on her face as if nothing at all just happened. Drew obviously knows I’m here now, there’s no way to hide it, and I try to give him a sympathetic smile, though I can’t imagine what he’s feeling right now. Not knowing what else to say, I try to lighten the mood. “I’m so sorry, but honestly, you dodged a bullet there. I wouldn’t want to be mated to her.” It doesn’t work. He doesn’t laugh, and there’s only bitterness in his eyes. “I don’t need your pity,” he says stiffly before walking back into the party himself. Sadness and disappointment fill me from head to toe. I hate that he’s hurting. I hate that anyone ever has to get rejected. If it happened to me, I honestly don’t know what I’d do. I wish I could have found the right words for Drew, but maybe in that situation, there are no right words. Just as I’m about to go back inside myself, a new scent drifts over to me, flooding my senses in a way that’s almost overwhelming. It’s the smell of leather and horses, my favorite smell in the whole world, and it takes me a minute to realize that it’s coming from a man, one who’s staring at me with a mix of annoyance and curiosity. His face is as chiseled and handsome as Drew’s, but with none of the kindness in his eyes. “Well, well, well,” he says, taking a step closer to me, like a hunter stalking his prey. “What do we have here?”