Kidnapped before my wedding

Chapter7

Chapter7

Leon and Liam show me every corner of their mountain home. It's more extensive than I initially thought—a network of modernized caves with luxuries I wouldn't have expected: a library filled with books spanning centuries, a glass-roofed conservatory where they grow herbs and vegetables, even an underground hot spring they've converted into something between a natural pool and a spa.

"Our grandfather's innovation," Leon explains as I trail my fingers through the steaming water. "He had a thing for Roman baths."

"How old is your family?" I ask, unable to hide my curiosity despite myself.

Liam and Leon exchange another of those looks—silent communication I'm not privy to.

"Old," Liam says finally. "Older than most of the buildings in this country."

I try to wrap my mind around what that means. "And you've all been... shifters? All this time?"

"We're born this way," Leon says, his blue eyes intent on my face. "It's not a curse or a supernatural transformation like in movies. It's just who we are."

"And the mate thing?" I ask, the word still strange on my tongue. "Has that always been part of it too?"

"Yes," Liam says, and there's that intensity again, making my skin prickle with awareness. "But true mates are rare. Most shifters settle for compatible partners, not perfect matches."

"Then how do you know I'm your... perfect match?" I can't quite keep the skepticism from my voice.

Leon smiles, a gentle curve of his lips. "We knew the moment we caught your scent."

"My scent?" I echo, both unsettled and intrigued.

"Everyone has one," Liam explains, stepping closer. My breath catches as he leans in, his nose brushing the sensitive skin below my ear. "Yours is like nothing we've ever experienced."

I should pull away. I know I should. But the heat of his proximity roots me to the spot.

"It's more than that though," Leon adds, moving to my other side. "It's the way your heartbeat changes when we're near. The way your body responds to our touch." His fingers brush my hand, and sure enough, my pulse jumps traitorously.

"That's just... biology," I argue weakly. "It doesn't mean anything."

"Doesn't it?" Liam's voice is soft against my ear.

I step back, needing space to clear my head. "I had a life," I remind them, remind myself. "People who love me. Who are probably worried sick."

A flash of guilt crosses Leon's face. "Your phone is in your room. If you want to call someone—"

"My phone?" I interrupt, surprise making my voice sharp. "You kept my phone this whole time?"

Liam's jaw tightens. "We're not monsters."

I laugh, the sound brittle. "Just kidnappers."

"We told you," Leon says gently. "If you want to go after three days, we won't stop you."

I study their faces, searching for deception and finding none. "I want my phone."

They lead me back to my room—which I notice has been subtly transformed during our tour. Fresh flowers on the nightstand, books I mentioned liking piled on a new reading chair, even a sketchpad and pencils after I'd admired some drawings in their library.

My phone sits on the bed, fully charged. I grab it, half-expecting it not to work, but it powers on immediately. No signal, of course—we're inside a mountain—but everything else functions.

"There's a spot on the east terrace where you can get reception," Liam says, his voice carefully neutral. "If you want to make a call."

I look up at them, these two strangers who have turned my world upside down. "I need some time alone."

They nod in unison, backing toward the door.

"Dinner's in an hour," Leon adds. "Join us if you want."

After they leave, I clutch my phone like a lifeline. There are dozens of missed calls, hundreds of texts. My mother, my bridesmaids, my fiancé—all frantic with worry. The guilt is crushing.

I open my fiancé's messages first, bracing myself for his panic. But as I scroll through them, something unexpected happens. His initial worry gives way to anger, then accusations.

I knew you were going to do this. You've been looking for a way out for months.

Your mother said you've been acting strange. Were you planning this all along?

I canceled the caterers. Don't bother coming back if this is what you wanted.

I stare at the screen, a strange numbness spreading through me. He's hurt, I tell myself. He's lashing out because he's worried.

But even as I think it, I know it's not true. The man in these messages isn't someone who loves me unconditionally. He's someone who saw me as a possession, a guaranteed future. And now he's angry that I've deprived him of it.

I move to my mother's messages, which are pure concern at first but gradually shift to something else—resignation, almost relief.

I always knew you weren't sure about this marriage, honey. I just want to know you're safe.

I sink onto the bed, suddenly exhausted. The life I was mourning, the future I thought I was being torn from—was it really what I wanted? Or was I just going through motions I thought were expected of me?

By the time dinner arrives, I've made no calls. Instead, I've sent one text to my mother from the spot on the terrace where, true to Liam's word, I got a single bar of reception.

I'm safe. I needed time to think. I'll explain everything, I promise. Love you.

It's not enough, I know. But it's all I can offer right now.

I find Leon and Liam in the kitchen, moving around each other with the easy familiarity of people who have shared space for years. Leon stirs something that smells divine while Liam sets the table, and for a moment, I just watch them—their fluid movements, the occasional brush of hands, the way they communicate without words.

"You came," Leon says, looking up with genuine pleasure that makes something warm unfurl in my chest.

"I'm still hungry, despite being kidnapped," I say, but there's less bite in my tone than before.

Liam's lips twitch in what might almost be a smile. "Practical. I like that."

Dinner is surprisingly... normal. We eat, we talk. They tell me stories about growing up as shifters, about the first time they transformed ("Fourteen and too awkward for words," Leon admits), about their family history.

"So you're brothers?" I ask, the question that's been nagging at me since I arrived.

"Not exactly," Liam says, sharing another of those looks with Leon. "We were raised together. Our parents were part of the same pack."

"Pack," I repeat, testing the word. "Like a wolf pack?"

"Similar concept, different structure," Leon explains. "More chosen family than biological, though biology plays a part too."

"And you share everything?" I can't help asking. "Including... mates?"

The atmosphere shifts, the air suddenly charged. Liam's eyes darken, and Leon sets down his fork with deliberate care.

"Not usually," Leon says, his voice lower than before. "But sometimes, rarely, a mate bonds with two shifters. It's... special."

"Special," I echo, heat crawling up my neck.

"Precious," Liam adds, his gaze intense. "Sacred, even."

I look away, unable to hold the weight of their combined attention. "And that's what you think I am? Your shared... sacred mate?"

"We know it," Leon says with that unshakeable certainty. "The question is whether you're willing to accept it."

I take a sip of wine, buying time. "And if I don't?"

"Then we take you home," Liam says, though the words clearly pain him. "And we spend the rest of our lives alone."

The stark simplicity of it stops me cold. "That's... dramatic."

"That's reality for us," Leon says gently. "True mates come once in a lifetime, if at all."

"So no pressure," I mutter, but the joke falls flat.

After dinner, Leon shows me to the hot spring again. "It helps with stress," he says, handing me a fluffy towel and what looks like a swimsuit. "Take all the time you need."

Alone in the steaming water, I try to make sense of everything. The pull I feel toward them both, the comfort I find in their presence despite the circumstances, the life I left behind that suddenly seems hollow compared to what they're offering me.

Is it Stockholm syndrome? Some shifter magic clouding my judgment? Or is it possible they're right—that there's something between us that defies conventional explanation?

I stay in the water until my fingers prune, my mind churning with unanswered questions. When I finally return to my room, wrapped in a robe Leon provided, I find a note on my pillow.

Two more days. No expectations. Just be open to possibilities. - L & L

I trace the elegant script with my finger, wondering which of them wrote it. Both, perhaps.

As I slip into bed, I realize with a start that I didn't once today think about escaping. Instead, I found myself imagining what it might be like to stay.

The thought should terrify me. Instead, it feels almost like coming home.