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 blood.

"Just take me, you beast!" she complained at last, rubbing up 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..."

And, head bent to blow kisses on her rosy *, Tristan circled her slick pearl in deft strokes, feasting on her helpless whimpers as if they were the finest Rhenish.

So rapt was the young maiden that she didn't see the huge shadow hovering over the doorway. She felt petrified with heart-stopped terror only when a feral growl like rolling thunder assaulted the air.

A behemoth with iron-browned fur at least seven feet tall loomed before them, lip curled in a silent snarl. It was a sound of resigned acceptance, Tristan sighed, carefully retracting his fingers from the warmth of Gwendolyn.

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

In an instant, the terrifying lupine collapsed, grunty snorts and sickening crunches marking the realignment of its skeleton as it morphed into the tall, naked, careful body of Malcolm Ravenswood. His sculptural face was fixed in an expression of primal rage.

"Tristan. What a surprise to find you...debauching yet another innocent village maiden.” His steel grey eyes crackled with an inner fire.

Unperturbed, Tristan grinned and slid from the rumpled bed, leaving the poor Gwendolyn all disheveled and blushing.

"Helpless? And, Nay, I would bet our fragile flower was ready to pick this night.” He appraised Gwendolyn’s body, which she had half bundled beneath the spread sheets and half had to overwroughtly grapple over in spite of her nakedness.

“Maybe you should try it sometime instead of lurking about like a right beast, dear brother.”

Before Malcolm could quicker his wits, Gwendolyn composed still tattered shreds of her dignity and fled the chamber in a mortified scramble, skirts askew. Tristan snickered darkly as she left.

“Missing me already, dear brother?”

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

Tristan mounted one last playful attack, but as he found himself on the top waiting for Malcolm to flip over in an attempt to escape, he noticed something in Malcolm's shoulder and pulled up short.

“I’m occupied elsewhere,” he said, 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 “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 hardened at the taunt. “Farm folk with sharpened sticks, ignorant of my essence.” There was a lethal edge to his voice. “Some of us like not driving the knife too deep.”

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

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

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

The proclamation seemed to suck the very 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?”

A single, decisive nod.

“And how, pray tell,” those lips of his quirked, “does one identify their fated partner? Did the heavens open and angels sing?

“A blaze of crimson ignited through my wolf’s coat between her eyes — the mark of the Goddess herself that she belonged to me.”

Tristan ran a hand through his tangled raven hair, letting out a sharp exhale. “If you speak the truth, then this is something to cheer for! His voice brimmed with a rare enthusiasm as he slapped Malcolm’s good shoulder. “When you have claimed your mate, then we can finally go home — end this vile exile!”

But his excitement didn’t last long. Malcolm was curiously nonplussed, too; his signature smirk faltered, then straight up fell. Tristan narrowed his eyes, aware right away that his brother’s stance was hesitant.

"What is it?" Tristan pressed.

He drew in a slight breath before responding. “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 caught there, his thoughts snagged on it. "Human?" He blinked, and attempted to process the magnitude of it. “That’s not — ” He broke off, shaking his head, dragging both hands through his already tousled hair. "That’s impossible. You’re destined to be bonded to a mortal?”

Even for a guy like Tristan — who was no stranger to dismissing things the old way — this crossed over from the realm of the absurd. None of their kind had ever been mixed with humans. It was unheard of. Unthinkable.

"You're certain?" Now his voice was lower, tinged with an emotion teetering dangerously close to wariness.

Malcolm’s jaw clenched. "You weren’t there. You didn’t see it." He inhaled and let air out sharply, with fingers placed on his chest above his heart. “And on the hunt my wolf pelt burned crimson. But only for her. She alone saw it. A sign straight from the Mother Goddess herself. There is no mistake, no misreading. “This human woman is my destined mate.”

Tristan muttered a low curse, walked a few steps and back. “If that’s right, then that’s why you look like someone just pissed in your ale,” he muttered. He rubbed his temples, trying to wrap his head around the magnitude of 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 chortled a dry, mirthless laugh. “Perhaps she’s tired 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 go too far.

When Malcolm spoke, again, his voice oozed of an immutable factuality. "This is no jest, Tristan." His expression hardened. “We have to obey the Mother’s will. There is no alternative."

A weighty gravity in his brother’s words dropped heavily between them, and instinctually, Tristan braced himself. “And what exactly does that mean?” He raised an eyebrow, bracing for the predictable tempest.

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

Tristan made an exasperated snort. “Of course she is,” he grumbled. “The Mother really didn’t hold back in making this as convoluted 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 long and shook his head. “Well, that’s a hell of a mess you’ve gotten us into,” he mused dryly. Then he tilted his head a little, studying the defiance in his brother’s posture. I haven’t misused you, have I?” “I take it you mean to break this union and appropriate what already belongs to you?”

“I do,” Malcolm replied without pausing.

Tristan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "And I take it 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."

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

Tristan arched a 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 into a half-smile. "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 didn’t waver. "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 let out a slow breath, 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 lower, 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 exhaled sharply through his nose, pinching the bridge of it between his fingers. "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 let his hand drop and folded his arms instead. "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, voice dry. "So, we’re winging it. Fantastic. Just bloody fantastic." He let his head tip 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 at his jaw. "Now, see, here’s the real problem, Malcolm. I already have prior… engagements at that hour. A rather enticing one, if I’m being honest. And it would be quite rude of me to cancel last minute, wouldn’t it? She’s expecting me, and I do so hate to disappoint." His smirk was all wicked amusement, but there was a challenge in his eyes, one that said he was waiting to see if Malcolm would push.

And push he did.

Malcolm’s gaze darkened, his patience thinning. "This isn’t a request, Tristan," he said, his voice quiet but carrying all the weight of command. "It’s an order. We intervene. No matter the cost."

Tristan held his brother’s gaze, the 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.

Finally, with a resigned sigh, he gave an exaggerated flourish and bent at the waist in a mocking bow. "As you command… Alpha."

The words felt like ashes on his tongue.

Straightening, he met Malcolm’s eyes, the teasing edge 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 out a breath, shaking his head as he turned away. "I swear, brother, you make my life unnecessarily difficult," he grumbled. "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 personally responsible."

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