The Forsaken Bond

CHAPTER 3: THE HUMAN BRIDE

Over at Ravenswood's Moor. Lady Gwendolyn squirmed shamelessly under Tristan’s masterful touch, her white skin burned with the fire of desire.

"Just take me, you beast!" she gasped, pressing against his probing fingers like a cat in heat.

Tristan’s devilish smile hinted at pleasurable agony as he lingered up and down her satin vale. "Such desperation, my lady. And we have hardly started our night’s revels."

Gwendolyn sighed in bliss when his fingertip slid easily into her molten heat. "God's eyes, yes! Keep going, I beg of you..."

With his head bent, he pressed lingering kisses on her flushed skin, circling her slick pearl in deft strokes. He feasted on her helpless whimpers as if they were the finest Rhenish.

So lost was the young maiden that she didn't see the huge shadow hovering over the doorway.

Her heart skipped in terror when a feral growl rumbling like distant thunder assaulted the air, shattering their moments.

A behemoth, at least seven feet tall with iron-browned fur, loomed before them, lips curled in a silent snarl. It was a sound of resigned acceptance, Tristan sighed, slowly withdrawing his fingers from Gwendolyn's warmth.

"Hello, brother." He exhaled. "Quite an interruption."

In an instant, the terrifying wolf collapsed, grunty snorts and sickening crunches marking the realignment of its skeleton as it morphed into a tall, naked, sculpted body.

Malcolm Ravenswood.

His sculpted face was fixed in an expression of primal rage. His steel gray eyes cackled with inner fire.

"Tristan. What a surprise to find you...debauching yet another innocent village maiden."

Unperturbed, Tristan grinned as he slid from the rumpled bed unbothered by his state of undress. Behind him, poor Gwendolyn lay flushed and dishelved, her modesty barely preserved by the sheets tangled around her legs.

"Helpless? And, Nay, I would bet our fragile flower was ready to pick this night.” He appraised Gwendolyn’s body, who struggled to gather the sheets around herself, torn between shielding her nakedness and disappearing from the scene.

“Perhaps you should try it sometime, brother." He smirked, "Rather than lurking about like a night beast."

Before Malcolm could retort, Gwendolyn, still clutching at the tattered shreds of her dignity, fled the chamber in horror, skirts askew. Tristan snickered darkly at her retreating figure.

“Missing me already, dear brother?”

Malcolm growled over Tristan’s mockery. “Where were you today when hunters had me in their sights?”

“Occupied elsewhere,” Tristan drawled, feigning indifference. “Though I’m more interested in what kind of fools dared to challenge an Alpha and lived to tell the tale.”

Malcolm dismissed with a shrug “simple villagers, oblivious to what lay ahead.”

“The great Alpha, brought to heel by peasants?” Tristan's lip curled. “And you ran like a common cur?”

Malcolm stiffened at the taunt. “Farm folk with sharpened sticks, ignorant of my essence.” His voice carried a lethal edge.

“Some of us prefer not to drive the knife too deep.”

Tristan clicked his tongue in dismay. “A real wolf would have shown them their place in the hierarchy of nature.”

“That’s not the reason I came to you,” Malcolm interrupted.

Those steel-gray eyes fixed on Tristan with blazing intensity. "I've found her, brother. My destined mate."

The words seemed to suck the air from the room. Tristan’s studied nonchalance slipped for a moment before he regained his footing.

"You're certain? Not just moon-madness messing with your judgment?”

Malcolm gave a single nod.

Tristan's lips quirked, "And how, pray tell, does one identify their fated partner? Did the heavens part and angels sing?

“A blaze of crimson ignited through my wolf’s coat between her eyes, the mark of the Goddess herself." His voice was certain when he said, "She belonged to me.”

Tristan exhaled sharply, running a hand through his tangled raven hair. "If you speak the truth, then this is something to cheer for! His voice brimmed with rare enthusiasm as he slapped Malcolm’s good shoulder. “Once you've claimed your mate, we can finally go home and end this vile exile!”

But his excitement didn’t last long. Malcolm wasn't sharing in his excitement. His signature smirk faltered, then disappeared entirely.

Tristan's eyes narrowed.

"What is it?" He pressed.

Malcom drew in a slow breath. “There’s a complication,” he said, his voice taut. “She’s not one of us, Tristan. She’s human."

It felt as if the ground beneath Tristan had just opened up. One word snagged in his thoughts.

"Human?" He blinked, struggling to process the magnitude of Malcolm's words. “That’s not — ” He broke off, shaking his head as both hands raked through his already tousled hair. "That’s impossible. You’re destined to be bonded to a mortal?”

Even for Tristan, who was no stranger to dismissing their ancient traditions, this crossed over the realm of absurd.

None of their kind had ever bonded with humans. It was unheard of.

Unfathomable.

"You're certain?" His voice dropped lower, tinged with emotion dangerously close to wariness.

Malcolm’s jaw clenched. "You weren’t there. You didn’t see it." He exhaled sharply, fingers placed on his chest, right above his heart. “On the hunt my wolf pelt burned crimson. But only for her. She alone saw it. A sign from the Mother Goddess herself. His eyes burned with certainty. "There is no mistake, I'm not misreading. This human woman is my destined mate.”

Tristan muttered a low curse, pacing a few steps back and forth. “If this is true, it explains why you look like someone just pissed in your ale,” He rubbed his temples, trying to wrap his head around what his brother was saying. “I guess the Goddess finally decided to start playing tricks on her most faithful Alpha. What’s next? A bear for a Beta? A hawk for a healer?" He lets out a dry laugh. “Perhaps she’s bored of the old routine and wants a little entertainment.”

Malcolm’s answering growl was low and rumbling, an unmistakable warning that shot a shiver of instinctual submission down Tristan’s spine. He had enough sense not to push too far.

"This is no jest, Tristan." His expression hardened. “We have to obey the Mother’s will. There is no alternative."

A gravity in his brother’s words dropped heavily between them. Instinctively, Tristan braced himself. “And what exactly does that mean?” He arched an eyebrow, anticipating the brewing storm.

Malcolm’s gaze darkened. "She’s betrothed."

Tristan let out an exasperated snort. “Of course she is,” he grumbled. “The Mother really didn’t hold back in making this as complicated as possible, huh?” He folded his arms. "And let me guess. You would never just stand back and watch her get shoved into this marriage.”

Malcolm’s silence was response enough.

Tristan exhaled, shaking his head. “Well, that’s a hell of a mess you’ve gotten us into,” he mused dryly. Then tilting his head, he studied the defiance in his brother’s posture.

"I haven’t misjudged you, have I?” He smirked. “I take it you intend to break this union and claim what already belongs to you?”

“I do.” Malcolm replied without hesitation.

Tristan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "You need my particular set of talents to ensure this delicate situation resolves in your favor?"

Malcolm didn’t smile, but there was the faintest glint of relief in his eyes.

Tristan scoffed. "I swear, you owe me an entire barrel of Highland whiskey for this."

Malcom fixed his gaze on Tristan, his voice edged with iron. "I’ll need your help to put an end to this farce before it even begins."

Tristan arched his brow, tilting his head slightly. "Now, hold on just a moment, brother," he said, lifting a hand as if to slow the conversation down. "You’re not seriously suggesting we storm a human wedding, are you?"

His lips twitched. "I mean, I do love a bit of chaos, but you’re talking about making a spectacle of yourself in front of an entire crowd of mortals."

Malcolm’s expression remains unwavering. "I mean to do whatever is necessary to claim what is mine by sacred law. You know what happens to an Alpha who denies his fated mate, Tristan. The Mother does not take such defiance lightly."

Tristan exhaled slowly, dragging his fingers through his untamed raven hair. "You cannot be serious." He muttered, his tone betraying something dangerously close to unease.

"Do you have any idea the kind of risk you’re taking? Do our years in exile mean so little to you? One reckless act, and we could undo centuries of careful secrecy."

"The mortals have long since forgotten the true nature of the beasts that once roamed these lands. But if they were to remember?" His voice dropped low, edged with something darker. "They would hunt us down, Malcolm. To extinction."

Malcolm’s jaw tightened. "Which is exactly why I need you," he said, his voice a shade softer but no less commanding.

"This must be handled with care. If we move swiftly, discreetly, no one beyond the ceremony’s participants will know what transpired. Our secret remains safe."

Tristan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Of course, it does," he muttered. "Because every time you come to me with a plan, it’s always simple and flawless, isn’t it?" He folds his arm. "Tell me, do you actually have a plan? Or is this one of those 'act first, think later' situations?"

Malcolm didn’t dignify that with a response, which told Tristan all he needed to know.

"Ah, I see," Tristan continued, his voice dry. "So, we’re winging it. Fantastic. Just bloody fantastic." He tipped his head back for a moment, as if appealing to the heavens, before shaking his head. "You do realize this is madness, right? Absolute lunacy."

His brother’s silence was answer enough.

Tristan sighed dramatically, rubbing his jaw.

"Now, see, here’s the real problem, Malcolm. I already have prior… engagements at the hour. A rather enticing one, if I’m being honest. And it would be quite rude of me to cancel at the last minute, wouldn’t it? She’s expecting me, and I hate to disappoint."

His smirk was pure wicked amusement, but his eyes gleamed with challenge, one that said he was waiting to see if Malcolm would push.

And push he did.

Malcolm’s expression darkened, his patience wearing thin. "This isn’t a request, Tristan," His voice was quiet yet carrying the weight of command. "It’s an order. We intervene. No matter the cost."

Tristan held his brother’s gaze, his easy humor slipping from his expression. A long silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken words. He knew Malcolm wasn’t bluffing. An Alpha’s command was absolute.

With a resigned sigh, he gave an exaggerated flourish and bent at the waist in a mocking bow.

"As you command... Alpha."

The words tasted like ashes on his tongue.

Straightening, he met Malcolm’s eyes, all traces of teasing gone. "To defy you would mean being stripped of my rank," he murmured, his voice quieter now, edged with something sharper. "Reduced to an Omega." His fingers curled slightly at his sides. "And we both know that is a fate worse than death for one of our kind."

Malcolm gave a single nod, satisfied.

Tristan huffed, shaking his head as he turned away. "I swear, brother, you make my life unnecessarily difficult," he muttered under his breath. "Fine. Let’s go crash a wedding. But if we end up being chased out of town with pitchforks and torches, I’m holding you responsible."

Malcolm smirked. "I wouldn’t expect anything less."