Betrothed to Lycan

Episode 3: The Pact unveiled after all

There was a slight rustle from the far end. Jackson’s tone softened. "Clara, it’s just a symbol—nothing more than that. I thought it would help you to remember that you have options. You are not stuck."

Relief flooded Clara, quickly followed by blind embarrassment. How stupid. She had read it all wrong. Jackson had not been presenting her with some romantic entreaty; he had meant to help and give support in the only way he had known how.

“I’m sorry,” Clara said. “I didn’t mean to make things weird.”

“You didn’t,” Jackson said. He was smiling over the phone. "It’s good. I just wanted you to know that I’m here. Whatever it is, you can talk to me about it."

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Then, when Clara's Mom opened the door, she pulled Clara toward the back door, Clara's eyes locked onto the figure looming in the entrance.

His eyes seemed to bore into her, and Clara was actually afraid of the incidence, and she needed to act immediately. But she was tensed.

"Run," her mother whispered urgently.

But Clara's feet seemed rooted to the spot. The Lycan took a step closer, its eyes fixed on her.

"Huh, what do you want?" Clara asked, her voice sounding tensed.

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Huh! It was Luca, he bagged into the room with a lawyer and some other scary looking personalities with him, as though they had come to abduct her too.

"You will find out what had happened, your father thought he can play a smart game here" Luca said angrily. " It's time I let you know what you're in for" he added.

Clara stood before the grand dark study, her fingers trembling in her grip around the letter in her hand. The lawyer, sharp-faced and neatly dressed, had told the news with such a matter of factness that it only made the load of what he had said press heavier on her. Clara’s father had made the arrangements before she was born.

It was a deal, a pact that bound Clara to Luca the alpha strong Lycan; he ruled a vast territory with an iron fist.

Clara was at the doorway, hallucinating, merely breathing.

Clara said softly, “This is… impossible!” She quaked as she raised the letter up, infusing hope that it would transpose into completely different words. It read flatly, "Clara Sinclair to be wed to Luca Valeska by order of her father's pact." Her mind just could not accept it, neither would her body.

“The wishes of your father were clear, Miss Sinclair,” he corrected, adjusting his glasses. His tone was distant, as if he were simply relaying a message, undiscomfited by the tempest within Clara.

“The pact was signed at the time of your birth. It is binding.” the lawyer added.

“Binding?” Clara repeated incredulously, her voice fragmented with disbelief. “You mean my father made me into a deal, without my consent? Without my knowledge?”

The lawyer felt a little uncomfortable but remained impassive. "I am afraid so. The terms of the pact were made long ago. This is a matter of tradition.”

The blur of her vision now consumed her. A deal! She had been traded—her whole life, her actions—her physical self for some dark transaction of which she had never been privy.

The daydreams she had sewed for herself in her mind, the freedom for which she had lived, they were like faded mirages floating away before her eyes. How could her father have done this to her? How could he betray her?

Clara hardly had time to think it through when the door to the parlor creaked open. A tall man filled the archway. His solid outline stood stark against the draped shadows of the parlor: Luca.

Breath caught in Clara's throat.

Luca Valeska was a natural force. He imposed with his strong tall frame, clad in pure black and made even broader by that presence. His frigid eyes glared and glistened unnervingly. Dark hair slicked back gave him a poised yet frightful air around him. He possessed an aura of power that seemed to suck the air from the room.

"I trust you have been adequately informed," that tone smooth yet charged with command, came Luca's voice.

Clara felt an involuntary shiver run down her spine. The way Luca spoke, how he gazed at her, it was like he was able to read her mind, her feelings, and that was something she could not shake off.

She remained paralyzed, with the knife of horror driven deep within her chest. "No. No, no, no! This is not happening. They cannot have me. I will not marry you."

Luca moved even closer, his gaze neither flickering nor faltering. "You have no choice, Clara. The pact is not some insignificant formality; it is a bond realized in blood and in ancient power. After all is said and done, you will simply marry me."

She took a few steps back, heart racing, panic spilling into her thoughts. Screen, run-dead weight on her feet. Luca's pack-those were everywhere. The world of Lycan, simply darkened by their age, with no mercy toward the naivety of her mind.

"Why you are doing this to me?" her voice trembled to a whisper. "What my father did to me?"

A cold, cruel smile played across Luca's lips. "Your father has done a strategic combination of things, Clara. This engagement was part of his grand plan for power, as well as to unite our families, our packs. You are, therefore, pivotal to his vision."

Clara's mind was so bewildered. It was almost impossible for her to grasp what he was saying.

Her father had tossed her into an ancient, cruel game, like a mere pawn, and now he expected her, she was to be a meek pawn and participate.

"No," Clara said, her voice strong this time, but edged with an undercurrent of fear. "I don't give a damn about your 'vision.' I'm not some trading piece. I won't do it."

He merely stared, with a look that sent her blood cold-a glint in his eyes that spoke of reliability, of things far from her control. "You will do it, Clara. In time you will see that there is no resisting. You have been claimed by the pack."

Clara's stomach churned. She felt that pull, that subtle but very real force of his words. It couldn't have been just power; there was something much deeper and more primal. She felt it like a magnetism within her, the invisible string tying her to him. The pact was more than just a bunch of papers: It was a force, a tie that she could neither break nor deny, a bond that could hold her forever.

"Leave me alone," Clara spat and turned to him, trying desperately to regain some semblance of control.