CHAPTER EIGHT - THE BOND
1306 Words
“Close the Door”
She did, then crossed her arms and waited.
Dorian turned slowly. He looked… tired. Not physically, but emotionally. Like he’d spent the entire night fighting a war inside his own head.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“Like I got hit by a truck made of magic and poor life choices. You?”
His mouth twitched. Almost a smile. “Similar.”
They stared at each other for a moment, the bond humming between them. Selene could feel his exhaustion, his frustration, and underneath it all, something that felt almost like… curiosity?
“Can you feel me?” she asked. “The way I can feel you?”
Dorian’s jaw tightened. “Yes.”
“And?”
“And it’s… inconvenient.”
Selene raised an eyebrow. “Inconvenient.”
“You’re very loud,” he said, and there was definitely irritation in his voice now. “Emotionally. Everything you feel just…” He gestured vaguely. “…broadcasts directly into my head. It’s distracting.”
“Oh, I’m sorry my emotions are inconvenient for you,” Selene said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Next time I’ll try to feel things more quietly.”
“That’s not what I….” Dorian pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is exactly what I’m talking about. You’re angry now, and I can feel it like you’re screaming directly into my skull.”
“Then maybe you should work on your shielding. This is a two-way street, Dorian. I can feel your constant state of ‘I hate everything and everyone,’ but you don’t hear me complaining.”
His eyes flashed gold. “I don’t hate everything.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“I hate this,” he bit out, gesturing between them. “I hate that you’re here. I hate that you’re marked. I hate that in a few months, I’m going to have to watch you die, just like all the others.”
The words landed like a punch.
Selene’s anger drained away, replaced by something colder. “Wow. Tell me how you really feel.”
Dorian closed his eyes. “That came out wrong.”
“Did it?”
“I don’t-” He exhaled roughly. “I don’t hate you. I hate the curse. I hate what it does to every woman who gets dragged into this. And I hate that I can’t stop it.”
The vulnerability in his voice caught Selene off guard. Through the bond, she could feel the truth of it…the guilt, the helplessness, the grief of watching woman after woman slip away.
“What if I don’t die?” she asked quietly.
Dorian opened his eyes. “They all say that.”
“I’m not them.”
“No,” he agreed, something unreadable in his expression. “You’re not.”
Silence stretched between them. Then Dorian moved to his desk, pulling out a thick leather-bound book. “This is the Veyrath chronicle. Every heir for the last five centuries has recorded their experiences with the curse.”
He opened it, revealing pages filled with cramped handwriting, dates, names.
Names of dead women.
“The pattern is always the same,” Dorian said, his voice clinical now, detached. “The bond forms. The woman becomes pregnant within the first month. The curse begins feeding on her life force to sustain the child. By the third month, she’s weak. By the fifth, she’s dying. None of them have made it past eleven months.”
Selene’s chest tightened. “Your mother?”
“Ten months.” His expression was carved from stone. “My father watched her die giving birth to me. He lost his mind three days later. My uncle had to kill him before he slaughtered half the pack.”
Jesus.
“Dorian-”
“The curse doesn’t just kill the women,” he continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. “It takes pieces of the heir too. Every death strips away more humanity, more control. Eventually, there’s nothing left but the wolf. That’s what I have to look forward to. Watching you die, then losing myself piece by piece until someone puts me down like the animal I’ll become.”
He slammed the book shut, the sound echoing in the quiet room.
“So forgive me if I’m not optimistic about your chances.”
Selene stood there, absorbing all of it. The weight of five centuries of death and madness. The knowledge that Dorian had lived his entire life knowing exactly how it would end.
“That’s a really depressing worldview,” she said finally.
He looked at her like she’d lost her mind. “Did you not hear anything I just said”
“No, I heard you. Multi-generational curse, dead women, inevitable descent into madness. Got it.” She walked closer, until she was standing right in front of his desk. “But here’s the thing: I’m still alive. And I’m going to stay that way.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Neither do you.” She planted her hands on the desk, leaning forward. “You said it yourself I’m different. I didn’t submit to your wolf. I didn’t break during the bonding. So maybe, just maybe, I’m different enough to break this thing.”
Dorian stared at her, something flickering in his eyes. “You’re either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid.”
“Why not both?”
His mouth twitched again. Definitely almost a smile this time.
Then his expression sobered. “There’s something else you need to know.”
“Of course there is.”
“The curse requires…” He paused, clearly uncomfortable. “An heir. A child. That’s what feeds it, what keeps the cycle going.”
Selene’s stomach dropped. “So we have to-”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Soon. Within the next few weeks, ideally. The longer we wait, the weaker the bond becomes, and the harder it is for the child to survive.”
Selene sat down heavily in the chair across from him. “This just keeps getting better.”
“I won’t force you,” Dorian said quietly. “But understand that if we don’t fulfill the curse’s requirements, we’ll both die. Slowly and painfully.”
“So my options are: have a baby that will probably kill me, or don’t have a baby and definitely die anyway. Cool. Love that journey for me.”
Dorian’s expression softened, just slightly. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“All of it.” He looked away. “You deserved better than this.”
Selene studied him this man who’d been raised knowing he was a weapon, a vessel for a curse, destined to destroy everything he touched.
“So did you,” she said.
His head snapped up, surprise clear on his face.
Before either of them could say anything else, the door burst open.
Silas strolled in, that same unsettling smile on his face. “Am I interrupting?”
“Yes,” Dorian said flatly.
“Perfect.” Silas’s silver eyes found Selene. “I came to invite our new Luna to lunch. I thought she might like to see more of the fortress. Get to know the family.”
“She’s not Luna yet,” Dorian said, his voice dropping into Alpha command. “And she doesn’t need to get to know you.”
“Possessive already? How sweet.” Silas tilted his head. “What do you say, Selene? Care to escape your brooding captor for a few hours?”
Every instinct told Selene this was a bad idea. But Silas’s smile was sharp and challenging, and Dorian’s protective territorialism was starting to grate.
“Sure,” she said, just to watch Dorian’s expression darken. “I’d love to.”
- Writer
