The Wolf's Bride

Chapter 13

Gordiana Acheron was a vain woman to most. She only sought more power and more money for herself, and especially, as much gossip as she could gather to fill up the place in her chest where a heart should've been. Gordiana Acheron wasn't an affectionate woman with anyone that was not her family, and even then she made exceptions. She loved her husband, that much was clear. Even for a seemingly soulless woman, for her husband, her smile was not faked. As for her daughters...she loved Elia. Her younger mirror, her spitting image, both personality and looks-wise. She'd been affectionate with her, always. With no exceptions. With me on the other hand... She was exactly how she was with everyone else, always smiling, laughing and singing my praise even though I'd done nothing even close to an achievement. She scolded me much more often than she did Elia, but even then, her eyes were empty, void of any emotion. As if her actions were guided by something else entirely. As if she wouldn't even bother scolding me without someone having to tell her she was supposed to.

Elia Acheron. Elia was loved and pampered by everyone. I was too, moderately. Amongst my family, Elia was the ones that loved me the most. She hugged me every night and every morning. I was the first person she went to with gossip even if my mother was the one that loved to gossip more than me. She even tried reading some of my books. She never liked them. I knew that all too well, but she always pretended she did and reached for another, just to speak with me some more.

When I woke up, I did so with the feeling of her arms wrapped around me tightly, her teary eyes looking at me like she was losing me, her soft lips kissing every part of my face in a hurry.

For a too long moment, I indulged in that feeling, and I thought that maybe she knew. Maybe all along, she knew I would leave her someday, before she left me. That didn't make her behavior any less contradictory, since in the week before my wedding she didn't come to see me at all, she didn't cry or hug me and even at the wedding festivities, at the party that followed she had been too busy talking with her friends to come and bid me goodbye, or give me a hug. It didn't make sense that I was thinking of her again.

I opened my eyes, just to check, just to make sure she really wasn't there, that the past two months had all but been a dream. The bed I was in was warmer, more inviting, just like her hugs and the smell...the smell was amazing. It felt like I was in a pine forest surrounded by roasted almonds, the same me and my twin would be sharing during long stormy nights when we couldn't sleep due to the thunders and lightning.

It was too late to realize where I was, what I had done, when the door to the room (that I realized was not my own) opened, and someone stepped in (the actual owner of both the room I was in and the house), my husband, Alekin.

"Awake yet?" he asked, and I couldn't help but tilt my head, frowning slightly.

He looked disheveled, at best. I had to suppress a wince when his footsteps sounded in the large room, closer and closer to where I was, in the middle of the bed. Would he gut me? Would he scold me? Yell at me? Throw me out naked to humiliate me? I took only one moment to decide if I would be mad if he chose any of those options. When I reached the conclusion that a punishment from him wouldn't make me hate him any more than I already did, my chest eased slightly, my body too, and I welcomed his approach, albeit reluctantly.

His hair was longer than it was when I'd last seen him, in that way that said it was past due for his usual trim. His beard was unkempt, making him look even more than savage than usual, which in itself had to be some sort of achievement. His eyes were webbed, too deep, dark circles underneath them. His lips were still pressed together as he scanned me.

It still didn't make sense why I had dreamt of my sister, why I found myself missing her so dearly.

When his brows arched I realized I hadn't answered him. He stepped closer still, his weight making the edge of the bed dip. There was a plate of food in his rough hands. His sleeves were pulled to his elbows, uncovering ugly cuts and wounds, some new, some already scarred.