Bound to Four

Day 2 Choosing Wrong

She burst from the bedroom without a second’s hesitation. The corridors of the house stretched before her like a trapdoor yawning open, each tile sending a jolt of chill through her bare soles. Her heart hammered so loudly she could taste it, primal and urgent. She wore nothing but a pale lace bra and panties, yet she hardly cared what she looked like to the audience. Only time mattered.

At the end of the hall, the bathroom door was cracked open. Swirls of hot steam curled into the corridor in lazy white fingers, coating the walls in a damp haze. Just outside the door, three figures hunched over the tile floor, backs heaving, chests rising and falling in ragged rhythm as they shook off the last remnants of electric shocks. Cameras perched in the corners blinked their red lights, tracking every movement.

Without hesitation, Liora lunged forward, fingers closing around the nearest hand.

“Kael,” she hissed. “I choose Kael.”

His head snapped up. His dark eyes, inked with constant intensity, found hers for a heartbeat, then dropped to their clasped hands. In that instant, something flickered in him, bright, hungry, hopeful. He released his breath in a steady exhale, as if he’d been waiting for this choice his entire life, and fell into step behind her.

She yanked him into the shower room. The door clicked shut, sealing them in a cocoon of rushing water and steam.

She advanced on him, fingers trembling as they fumbled at the hem of his soaked shirt. Under her touch, the fabric clung to his shoulders like a second skin; she peeled it upward, letting it slide off his arms and drop at his feet. Every contour of his chest gleamed with droplets; every taut muscle stood out in dark relief. Cameras clicked, whirring softly in the mist.

“You chose me?” His voice rose, soft and disbelieving, but it still held that fierce focus, his gaze boring into hers with the intensity of a star.

She forced a breath, her hands moving to the clasp of her own bra. Her fingers stumbled over the metal hook, fumbling in the moist air.

“Cameras,” she joked, lifting her chin, though her voice shook.

Kael closed the distance between them until his thighs pressed against hers. She tasted his warmth, clean, spicy like crushed cinnamon, while the roar of the shower crowded out everything but the pounding of water on tile. Tone and volume collapsed into a single, enveloping white noise.

“Let me,” he murmured. Long, capable fingers slid down her back, found the tiny fastener, and released it in one fluid motion.

Her breath caught. She leaned into him, without thinking, into the scent of charcoal and spice, into the solid press of muscle beneath wet skin. Water cascaded over them, spattering across his shoulders, then splashing over her spine in warm droplets. It felt impossibly intimate, like the rest of the world outside this tiled box had dissolved.

He reached for her hand, offering it as if it were a lifeline. She stared at his outstretched palm, at the faint pattern of draconic scales beneath his skin, and hesitated. A single camera lens glowed through the mist, waiting. She tucked her fingers into his.

Something flared inside her, hot and consuming, a surge of connection that crackled between them for an instant before settling into a calm current of trust. Her pulse slowed, her mind cleared, and she stepped fully into his embrace.

“The blind spots…” she whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck as she tried to stay grounded, to hold on to the mission.

Kael’s hands tightened, so gentle at first, but firm enough to still her movement.

“Stop.” His voice dropped, low and real, and her chest tightened under the weight of it.

Her pulse spiked again. “We have to play along,” she managed, forcing a smile and tilting her head just so, playing the part for the cameras. “Let me help you.”

“No.” The single word hit like a stone. No masks, no performance, just him. She watched his jaw clench, saw something harden in his eyes.

“Just choose me,” he whispered, voice small.

His hand rose, cupping her cheek with surprising gentleness. He leaned in, giving her room to pull away. She didn’t. His lips brushed hers, soft and deliberate, and all pretense dissolved. Heat and pressure, the reassurance of breath mingling.

“I can love you,” he murmured into her mouth.

Pain shot through the bond: sharp jealousy from somewhere outside, crashing into the calm warmth between them. It fractured instantly. Rook’s cry shredded the air.

The tiles shuddered as hidden mechanisms engaged, a low groan following the scream. Then the voice, flat and clinical:

EMOTIONAL INSTABILITY DETECTED

CONTESTANT: WEREWOLF ISOLATED UNTIL TONIGHT

Liora froze. Panic fluttered under her skin like trapped birds. The bond that had pulsed with Kael now thinned, stretched taut. But Rook still lingered at the edge, bleeding and hurt.

She wrenched free. “No.”

His arm shot out but then paused, fingers inches from her arm.

“You can’t, ” he began.

“We have to work together,” she spat, words rushing out jagged. “If I choose one, ” She swallowed, but the bond finished her sentence. Rook’s pain hit her full force, no shield.

She turned on bare feet, sprinted from the shower, leaving Kael under the spray.

_____________________________

In the kitchen, the house felt hollow. The long counter sat perfectly arranged: plates gleamed under sterile overhead lights, silverware lined up like soldiers, delicious food arranged perfectly. Cameras hovered just beyond polite distance.

Cassian closed on her first, one hand sliding up her neck and sliding her fingers into her hair. He pulled her in close enough that her spine curved against his hard chest.

“Careful,” he whispered against her ear, voice a dark promise. “You’re about to lose control of them.”

Her pulse slammed, but she kept her face impassive. She pressed her lip to his jaw, just a whisper of contact for the cameras. “They’re already out of control.”

His other hand slid under her blouse his fingers giving a soft seize of flesh of her stomach, a silent calculation.

Thalen slid in on her other side, sliding a hand to the small of her back. His movement was like a quiet anchor.

“Rook’s alive,” he murmured, voice calm as she leaned her head into his whisper. “That matters.”

She nodded once, measured and small, because everything required self-control.

Then Kael stepped into the room. His hair still damp, half of his shirt clinging to his enormous frame, he paused at the doorway, breathing slightly hard, taking in the image of the two surrounding her, claiming her. He settled into his seat with slow deliberation, eyes on the table. Not on her.

The cameras shifted. She exhaled, then peeled away from Cassian and Thalen, crossing the polished floor until she stood beside Kael. Their arms brushed, a gentle spark. She laid a hand on his shoulder, a simple gesture sharpened by circumstance.

“This morning,” she said softly, though her voice trembled. “I chose you.”

His fingers stilled on the table. When he finally spoke, his tone was rough.

“Yeah. You did.”

His hardness registered through the bond: the damage still raw. She leaned in, sliding her palm down his arm in a slow, deliberate trail.

“Then act like it,” he murmured, pulling his arm from her touch. He turned his head just enough for his gaze to catch hers: fierce, possessive, challenging.

She met it. “Then don’t make me regret it.”

In Cassian’s mind, the interest piqued; Thalen’s evenness steadied; Kael’s heat ignited. Perfect.

The chime rang: MORNING GAME: WHICH GROOM IS IT?

Her stomach dropped.

Darkness descended as Cassian secured the blindfold across Liora’s eyes.

A mouth found hers, warm and insistent. “Kael,” she whispered against the kiss. The bond between them convulsed with shock of the cuffs sending agony, wrong answer. Another pair of lips claimed hers, with a different texture and pressure. She named them incorrectly again, and she felt electricity crackle through her connection. Understanding crystallized: her mistakes were their torture.

She exhaled slowly, centering herself. When the third man approached, she didn’t rush to speak. Instead, she reached inward, feeling for the magical vibration that hummed between souls tethered together.

“Thalen.”

No shock. Relief.

“Kael.”

“Correct.”

“Cassian.”

After that, she identified each one perfectly.

She yanked the blindfold away. “I hate this,” she said, voice breaking on the last word.

The living room materialized around her, harsh light stabbing her eyes, sounds crashing against her eardrums. Thalen appeared at her side without a word, a quiet sentinel. He took her hand in his, turning it gently upward, and brushed his lips against the tender skin of her inner wrist.

“But the bond helped,” he murmured, breath warm against her pulse.

She studied him differently now, noticing how his blue hair caught the light like ocean waves, his spine straight as a palace column despite everything crumbling around them, how each small movement of his hands seemed choreographed with intention

“Yes,” she admitted, her voice finding its center. “It helped.”

He let her hand go slowly, lingering just a beat longer than courtesy.

His voice dropped to a whisper. “Then embrace the bond that connects us.”

The suggestion resonated through her, striking a chord that Cassian’s orders never could. She tightened her grip on his fingers, an unspoken agreement forming between them. In that touch: allegiance. She would become the blade he wielded to free them all, not because he demanded it, but because he had offered what no one else had, the dignity of choice.

And somewhere far away, through the thin threads of ether, Rook was still screaming.