Bitter Vows (Crimson Falls 1)

When Lycan finally steps away, the cool breeze that sweeps away his warmth causes me to shiver. “Get cleaned up.” More gravel rumbles in his throat. “Sleep and don’t leave your room tonight, or I will be forced to lock you inside.” The warning is clear. The mishap of my running from earlier will not happen again, and he’ll make sure of it. “Tomorrow, we’ll talk.” Then he turns and walks away, leaving me staring at his broad back that tapers into a narrow waist. His shirt is filthy with mud, his dark slacks are probably caked in dirt, and his usually shiny shoes are no longer pristine.

When he reaches the far end of the hall, he stops and turns toward me. I expect him to say something, but he doesn’t, he only opens the door and walks inside, and I’m left alone in the darkness.

I don’t know what he could say to me tomorrow that would change my feelings about marrying him, but if I’m going to get out of this alive, I’ll have to play by the rules. For now, I retreat into my bedroom where I shut the door and make a beeline for the bathroom.

Once the shower is heated and a haze of warmth billows around me, I strip down and step under the spray that has me hissing in pain at the scrapes and cuts from small stones where I had been pinned under Lycan’s heavy frame.

The memory steals my thoughts, and an ache low in my gut twists and turns with the promise that the events of him chasing me, pinning me down, could happen again. It probably will. And I find myself squirming at the idea. Would I want that? The question hangs in the air, around me, dancing in the steam, and I realize with certainty that I had never felt more alive than when I was under Lycan, begging for him to stop.

Is it something that I would crave once more?

Yes. Yes, it is.

Grabbing the soap and loofah, I lather up to wash away the dirt stuck to my skin. But I know as I clean myself, there’s no way I can wash away the touch of the man down the hall—the man who will soon be my husband.

After I wash my hair and rinse the strands, I turn off the taps and step out into the foggy room. Wiping my hand against the mirror to clear it of condensation, I stare at myself. The woman looking back at me is different somehow. More… confident.

I grab a towel and wrap myself in the fluffiness before heading back into the bedroom and opening the closet to find something to wear. When I was brought to the room for the first time, I didn’t think I would find it comforting, but as I pull on the shorts and tank top, I’m at ease.

Even though it’s late, I don’t go straight to sleep. Instead, I settle on the window seat to look out into the blackest night. The garden below is empty, and I stare out at the darkness wondering why my grandmother hasn’t even bothered to come here to see me.

Which begs the question—what has Lycan done to my family? My father is obviously not one of his favorite people, but what could my grandmother have done? Also, the book I found earlier addressed to her has me wondering if she knew the Shaws. Perhaps Lycan’s father was C.S.? I think back to the note, speaking about a wolf loving his damsel.

Can history be repeating itself?

Is that why Lycan is trying to get me to marry him?

I need to know. There are so many questions and no answers. Even though Lycan promised we would talk tomorrow, something tells me there will always be more questions, and answers may not always fulfill my need for more information.

My bare feet pad down the hallway. The sun hasn’t risen yet, and even though I’d love to open the door and step out onto the patio, I have a feeling I’d be caught red-handed. Silence hangs around me, like a thick, cloying cloud, as if he’s already watching. Deep down, I have a feeling Lycan knows when I make the most insignificant move. As if my breathing is on his radar. When I reach the bottom of the staircase, I turn left instead of right. I should go to the kitchen, which was my plan when I shut my bedroom door, but now that I’m here, curiosity has piqued, and my feet move voluntarily toward the office door that’s currently shut.

With a gentle twist of the handle, I push open the heavy wooden panel and find myself in a dimly lit room. Stepping into Lycan’s personal space feels invasive but also exciting. My stomach twists with anxiety, with fear and elation at walking in and taking something that belongs to him, just like he’s taken me.