Shattered (Sample Only!)

2 - The Bond

A/N - Trigger warnings in this chapter for non-consent!

Just a warning - TrueBorn's Queen was a dark book. I think Gideon wins for the most horrible ML in all of my work. Our male lead here, Gavin, is his eldest son. The apple fell from the tree. He is no Prince Charming.

Cece

Once, long ago, when I was only a pup, I became ill with the sweating sickness. Grown wolves are fairly invulnerable to illness, but pups can and do die. I only vaguely remember it. The heavy feeling in my limbs. The hot, itchy discomfort, especially in my chest and belly. I had been so tired that I could barely open my eyes.

I feel the same way now. The only exception to the feeling of illness is my she-wolf, once lost and hiding deep in her den. She's back. Fur ruffled in agitation, patchy and sparse on her belly and along her spine, she trembles in fear, but she's here. Every tiny sound makes her ears twitch nervously, pricked at attention toward the opening of her den. Her fear makes my mouth run dry in anticipation.

"That's it, my precious beauty. Wake up, Beloved."

Such an odd thing to hear... I feel the pull, the stir deep in my gut. My she-wolf quakes and barks, a high-pitched noise that irritates my sensitive ears. All I want to do is keep my eyes closed, but the words this male is speaking won't let me stay safe in dreamland.

"Wake up, my Princess."

The command is forceful. I have no choice but to open my eyes and look into that light-brown gaze. He smiles, predatory and possessive. He's a little too cruel-looking, his edges too sharp and angular to be classically handsome, but my breath catches in my throat anyway. Attraction burns deep in my belly. My neck starts to burn. Confused, my she-wolf circles, whining helplessly. Agitated, I try to rise from the luxuriously soft trap I'm entombed in.

"Enough squirming, sweetheart," he scolds. His deep timbre rattles straight through my bones. I'm warm, too warm, for the first time in years. The trap is a bed that reeks of this male. Are the sheets still warm from him? It can't be that. I tell myself it's because I'm in the south and the weather is so much warmer, but I know it's him. This male. The Crown Prince of Wolves.

"You look good in my bed, Princess."

Goddess, I begged you, on my knees so often my skin was rubbed raw, to make Tivo see your divine plan. To make him see me and accept me. To make him love me in the open rather than as his filthy secret. I pushed him away, not letting him turn me into his whore, just like the stories tell females to do. Force the arrogant male to accept the bond, deny him until he understands your worth. I did, goddess. I did everything in my pathetic power and it didn't work. He grew angrier and angrier until his rage and frustration turned the meager affection he had for me into hatred and disdain. Still, prayer was all I had.

I begged and pleaded with all I had. I turned my she-wolf away, breaking her heart by refusing to be neglected even more horribly by the mate you gave me. I wanted to do what was right, to follow your plan as it was supposed to be. I wanted to stand at his side and build a family with him. Why, then, would you do this?

"I prayed for you, too, my sweetheart," the Crown Prince's smile grows. I feel my neck burn again and realize that's he knows. He's able to see me through his Mark. To peel away the layers of thought to see straight into me. It's terrifying.

If I prayed for my mate, then who did this male pray for? It couldn't have been me. He didn't know me. I only knew of him as a name, a story, and not a sweet story, but one of caution and sorrow. The MateLess Crown Prince. So what did he pray for, exactly?