The Binding Night

Belinda

The silk robe felt like a second skin, cold and unforgiving. I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at my phone. It was 8:00 PM. In any other world, this would be the time I’d be settling in to watch a movie with Marcus. Or maybe I’d be laughing at a meme Xiana sent me.

But my screen was black. Not a single notification. No "are you okay?" No "I’m sorry."

My own father hadn't even texted to see if I made it to the King pack alive. I was twenty-one years old, a grown woman, and yet I was being handled like a piece of livestock. For years, I stayed in that pack, working as a glorified maid because I thought family meant something. I stayed an Omega, never shifting, hoping that my loyalty would eventually earn me a place at their table.

Instead, it earned me a price tag.

A sharp knock at the door made me jump. A woman with grey hair pulled into a tight, severe bun walked in. She was carrying a tray of oils and a small, silver bowl.

"I am Sarah, the Head Healer," she said. Her voice had no warmth. She didn't look me in the eye. "Stand up. We need to prepare you for the Binding Ceremony."

"I don't want a ceremony," I said, my voice cracking. "I just want to go home."

Sarah finally looked at me, and for a second, I saw a flash of pity in her eyes before it was replaced by stone.

"You are in the King manor now, girl. There is no home to go back to. The Alpha has already paid the tribute. The Binding happens tonight. We must ensure the vessel is ready for breeding."

The word "vessel" made my stomach turn. I felt sick.

She began to rub a thick, floral oil onto my wrists and neck. When she reached the bruise Quinton had left, she stopped. Her fingers lingered on the purple mark.

"Who did this?" she whispered, her brow furrowed.

"He did," I said, thinking of the man who had just been in here. "Derek."

Sarah looked confused. "The Alpha is in the grand hall. He hasn't left his guests for hours."

Before I could ask what she meant, Derek walked in.

He was dressed in a black suit that looked like it cost more than my father’s entire house. His tattoos were hidden now, but the aura of violence he carried was louder than ever. He looked at Sarah, then at me.

"Leave us," Derek commanded.

Sarah bowed her head and hurried out, leaving the tray behind. The silence that followed was heavy. Derek walked over to me, his steps slow and measured. He didn't look like the man who had pinned me to the bed twenty minutes ago. That man was teasing, dark, and playful. This man looked like he wanted to erase me from existence.

"Why aren't you ready?" he asked. His voice was a whip.

"I don't want to do this, Derek," I said, standing my ground even though my knees were shaking.

"Please. Just let me go. I won't tell anyone. I’ll just disappear."

Derek laughed, but there was no joy in it. He stepped into my personal space, towering over me. "Disappear? You think you’re that important? You’re a debt settlement, Belinda. You’re a way for me to shut the elders up. You really think I’d let a territory go just because you have a little heartache?"

"I’m a person," I whispered.

"In this house, you’re an asset," he snapped. He reached out and grabbed my chin, tilting my head back. He saw the mark. His eyes narrowed, and a low growl vibrated in his chest. "What the hell is this?"

"You did it," I said, confused by his reaction. "You were just here."

Derek’s grip tightened until I winced. "I haven't been in this room since I told you to get dressed an hour ago. Who was in here, Belinda?"

"It was you!" I yelled, trying to push him away.

"You were wearing a t-shirt and you were laughing at me. You called me an Omega."

Derek’s face went pale for a split second before a mask of pure rage settled over his features. He let go of my chin as if it burned him. He paced the room, his hands fisted at his sides.

"You’re lying," he hissed. "You’re trying to create a scandal to get out of the Binding. Who did you sneak into this house? Was it that pathetic Beta boyfriend of yours?"

"No! I would never..."

"Shut up," he roared. He turned on me, his eyes glowing a dangerous, predatory silver. "I don't care who you slept with to get that mark. But understand this. Tonight, when the moon reaches its peak, you will be bound to me. I will mark you so deeply that no other wolf will ever dare to touch you. And if I find out you’re carrying another man’s scent, I’ll kill you both."

"You’re a monster," I whispered, the tears finally falling.

"Sarah! Get in here and finish. I want her in the hall in five minutes. If she resists, leash her."

He walked away immediately.

Sarah rushed back in, her hands trembling as she tried to fix my hair. I sat there, a hollow shell of a woman. My family didn't want me. My boyfriend didn't want me. And the man I was about to be bound to hated the very sight of me.

Sarah’s fingers were cold as she pinned a heavy, silver heirloom into my hair. She was working fast, her breath coming in short, nervous hitches. I caught my reflection in the vanity mirror. At twenty-one, I should have been looking at a bride who was glowing. Instead, I saw a ghost. My skin was too pale, and the dark circles under my eyes told the story of a woman who had been discarded by everyone she ever loved.

"There," Sarah whispered, stepping back.

"You look... like a King bride."

"I look like a sacrifice," I corrected her. My voice felt like it belonged to someone else. "Does my father know I’m here? Did he even ask if I was okay after Xiana drugged me?"

Sarah looked down at the floor, refusing to meet my gaze.

"The Alpha of the Crescent Pack was satisfied with the border agreement, Belinda. He said your service to the pack would be remembered."

Service. That was a funny word for being sold. I was twenty-one years old, an Omega who had spent her entire life cleaning up after her step-sister and trying to earn a crumb of affection from a father who only saw me as a burden. Marcus was supposed to be my escape. We had plans. We had talked about leaving the pack and starting over in the city. But he didn't want a life with me. He wanted the power that came with Xiana.

"It is time," Sarah said, gesturing toward the door. "The Alpha is waiting in the Great Hall. Please, do not make this difficult. For your own sake."

I stood up, the heavy silk of the black dress rustling against the floor. I didn't have a bouquet. I didn't have a father to walk me down the aisle. I walked out of that room alone, flanked by two massive guards who looked at me with more pity than respect.

The Great Hall was cold. The stone walls were lined with the high-ranking members of the King Pack, their eyes trailing over me like I was a prize horse being led to the auction block. At the end of the hall stood Derek.

He looked magnificent in a dark suit, his jaw set in a hard, unforgiving line. But the moment our eyes met, any hope I had for a flicker of kindness died. His silver eyes were like ice. He looked at me with a loathing so deep it made my lungs seize.

"You're late," he said when I finally reached him. He didn't take my hand. He didn't even lean in to acknowledge me.

"I had a lot to process," I whispered, trying to keep my voice from shaking.

Derek leaned down, his lips brushing against my ear. The scent of winter forest and expensive bourbon wrapped around me, making my head spin. For a second, I thought he might say something soft.

"Process this," he hissed, his voice a low, lethal vibration.

"You are here because your family thinks you are worthless, and I need a womb. Do not mistake this ceremony for a wedding. It is a closing of a deal. Try to act like you have some dignity left, even if we both know you don't."

I felt the tears sting my eyes, but I blinked them back. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

The ceremony was a blur of ancient wolf terms and blood oaths. We didn't exchange rings. Instead, the pack healer cut our palms with a ceremonial blade and pressed them together. The blood was warm and sticky, a physical reminder of the life I was now tethered to.

"The Binding is sealed," the healer announced.

A few people cheered, but the atmosphere remained heavy. Derek pulled his hand away immediately, wiping the blood onto a white silk handkerchief as if touching me had contaminated him.

"Take her to the master wing," Derek commanded the guards. He didn't even look at me as he turned to speak to one of his lieutenants. "I have business to finish in the study. I’ll be there when I’m ready."

I sat on the edge of the massive bed in the master suite for what felt like hours. The room was beautiful, filled with dark velvet and gold accents, but it felt like a cage. My heart was a frantic bird in my chest. I thought about Xiana and Marcus. I wondered if they were in her bed right now, laughing at me. The thought made me want to scream, but I was too tired for that.

The door clicked open.

Derek walked in, loosening his tie. He had shed his jacket, and his white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, revealing the dark ink of his tattoos. He looked exhausted and angry.

"Still in that dress?" he asked, walking over to the decanter on the sideboard. He poured himself a glass of whiskey and downed it in one go. "Take it off. You’re making the room feel crowded."

"Derek, please," I said, standing up. My legs felt like jelly. "Can we just talk? I know you didn't want this, but I didn't either. We could find a way to make this work without... without the cruelty."

Derek set the glass down with a loud thud. He walked toward me, his movements fluid and dangerous. He didn't stop until he was inches away. He was so tall I had to crane my neck to look at him.

"You want to talk?" he mocked, his voice dripping with arrogance. "What should we talk about, Belinda? Your failed mating with a Beta? The fact that your own father traded you for a few miles of forest? Or should we talk about how you’re going to look when you’re carrying my heir?"

"I am a human being," I snapped, my anger finally bubbling over. "I have feelings. I have a soul. You can't just treat me like a piece of property."

Derek laughed, a dark, jagged sound. He reached out and grabbed a lock of my hair, winding it around his finger. He pulled just enough to make me gasp.

"I am the law," he whispered. "You are exactly what I say you are. And right now, you are the woman who is going to ensure the King bloodline continues. Don't act like you’re too good for this. You’ve been an Omega your whole life. You’re used to taking orders."

He leaned in, his face so close to mine that I could feel the heat radiating from his skin. My heart hammered. For a split second, the air between us changed. The anger was still there, but it was being pushed aside by a raw, overwhelming tension. His eyes dropped to my lips, and for one heartbeat, I thought he was going to kiss me. I wanted him to. I wanted something, anything, to dull the pain of the betrayal I felt.

But then, he pulled back. A smirk of pure malice crossed his face.

"Don't look at me like that," he said, his voice cold again. "I’m not Marcus. I don't want your love, Belinda. I don't even want your company. I just want what’s inside you."

He turned me around, his hands rough as they reached for the zipper of my dress. I felt the cool air hit my back as the silk fell away. I shivered, clutching the fabric to my chest.

"Get in the bed," he ordered.

I did as I was told, crawling under the heavy black duvet. I felt small and insignificant. Derek stripped off his shirt and climbed in beside me. The bed dipped under his weight. He didn't pull me close. He didn't touch me with any gentleness.

He rolled over, pinning me down with the sheer weight of his body. His eyes were dark, devoid of any warmth.

"This is the only reason you’re here," he whispered, his hand gripping my hip. "Once you give me what I need, I won't ever have to look at your pathetic face again. Do you understand?"

"I hate you," I whispered, the tears finally overflowing.

"Good," Derek said, his voice a low growl against my neck. "Hatred is much more honest than the lies you were living before."

The night was long and filled with a cold, clinical intensity that left me feeling more alone than I ever had in my life. Derek was rough, his movements driven by a sense of duty rather than desire. Every time I tried to meet his eyes, he looked away. It was as if he couldn't stand the sight of my pain.

When it was over, he didn't hold me. He didn't say a word. He simply got out of bed, walked to the bathroom, and shut the door.

I lay there in the dark, the scent of him still clinging to my skin. My heart was broken, and my spirit was fractured.

I woke to the sound of rain tapping against a window I could not see, and for one merciful moment I did not remember where I was. The silk sheets felt cool against my skin, and the room smelled of cold stone and snuffed candles. The pillow beside mine still held the shallow dent of a head that had left long before morning.

Then the night returned all at once, and my body curled around the memory like a clenched fist.

I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes and made myself breathe slowly. Every muscle ached in its own particular way. A dull throb pulsed low in my stomach where Xiana's boot had landed, my wrists were raw from the ceremony, and something deeper than any bruise had cracked open beneath my ribs and refused to close again.

Derek had not stayed. He had walked into the bathroom after it was over, and by the time I stopped listening for running water, I understood that he had simply slipped out through some other door. The only proof he had ever been there was a faint scent of winter pine clinging to the pillowcase.

I sat up carefully. Heavy velvet curtains were drawn across the windows, and a thin grey seam of daylight sliced across the carpet like a blade. My wedding dress lay where it had fallen, a dark puddle of silk at the foot of the bed, and someone had folded a plain cotton nightgown on the nightstand while I slept. I did not want to imagine who had crept into the room to leave it there.

A mirror hung above the dressing table, and I made myself look into it. The girl staring back had swollen eyes, tangled hair, and a purple bruise the size of a plum at the base of her throat. When I touched it, my pulse jumped beneath my fingertips. Derek had sworn that he never made that mark, and yet I remembered the weight of a man above me, his mocking laughter, and his mouth pressed hard against my skin. I could not make those memories fit together, no matter how many times I turned them over.

My mother's silver locket rested against my collarbone, warm from my skin. Xiana had stolen my clothes, my savings, and my favorite books over the years, but she had never managed to pry that little locket from my neck. I closed my fist around it and drew a thin thread of courage from its familiar weight.

"Either he is lying to me," I whispered to the empty room, "or I am slowly losing my mind."

I crossed the carpet on unsteady legs and tried the handle of the heavy door. It refused to move. I tried again with both hands, and the brass rattled against its lock with a sound that echoed down the corridor beyond.

"The Alpha has ordered that you remain inside, Luna." The voice that answered was gruff and flat, and it came from the other side of the wood. "Someone will bring you food when the kitchen is ready."

"Who are you?" I asked, pressing my forehead against the door.

"Captain Harlan, head of the Alpha's personal guard." A long pause followed, and when he spoke again his voice had dropped to something close to a murmur. "I would advise you to cover that mark on your neck before anyone else sees it."

My hand flew to my throat. "Why would it matter to anyone besides me?"

He did not answer. I listened to the slow creak of his boots as he shifted his weight, and I understood that the conversation was over, though I had no idea what I had just been warned about.

I dragged back the curtains next. My room sat on the third floor of the manor, and beyond the rain-streaked glass I could see a cobbled courtyard, a high stone wall topped with iron spikes, and a dark line of pines pressed against the horizon like a held breath. Guards in black coats patrolled the wall in pairs. I counted eleven of them before I stopped, and I realized that every single one carried a rifle slung across his chest. This house had not been built to keep danger out. It had been built to keep things in.

Around nine o'clock, the lock clicked and the door opened just wide enough for a stout, grey-haired woman to shoulder through with a heavy tray. Flour dusted her forearms to the elbows. She kept her eyes fixed on the carpet, and her hands trembled so badly that the cutlery chattered against the china as she set the tray on the table by the window.

"Thank you for bringing this," I said gently.

Her gaze flicked upward for the barest instant, though not toward my face. It went to the ceiling behind my shoulder, where a tiny black dome sat half hidden in the plaster. Then she bowed her head and hurried out, and the lock turned behind her before I could ask her name.

A camera had been watching me all morning, and the realization settled over my skin like cold water. Whatever happened inside this room, someone was always paying attention.

I lifted the silver cover from the tray and found scrambled eggs, buttered toast, sliced pears, and a pot of steaming tea. My stomach clenched with hunger, but my mind replayed the sweet, heavy taste of Xiana's wine and the way my legs had turned to water within minutes. I sniffed every dish in turn. The tea smelled of chamomile and honey, and the eggs smelled only of butter.

"If they wanted me dead," I told myself, "leaving me in the rogue lands would have been far easier." The thought gave me very little comfort, yet it was enough to make me pick up the fork.

I had nearly finished the toast when my fingertips brushed something stiff beneath the rim of the plate. A square of paper had been folded into a tight knot and tucked where no lens in the ceiling could possibly have seen it. My heart pounded as I opened it with my back turned to the corner of the room. The message was written in blocky, careful capitals.

EAT EVERYTHING ON THIS TRAY, AND DO NOT TRUST THE ONE WHO SMILES.

I read the line three times before its meaning settled. The man who bound himself to me last night had not smiled once, not at the altar, not in the bedroom, and not even when he threatened me with the dungeon. The only man in this house who had smiled at me was the one who had laughed while he marked my throat, the one in the t-shirt, the one Derek swore had never existed.

I pushed the paper deep into a seam of the mattress and sat on the edge of the bed with my pulse roaring in my ears.

The second tray arrived at noon, carried by the same trembling woman. This time I waited until she bent over the table, and then I whispered, "Is somebody hurting you?" Her face drained of color. She shook her head so fast that her cloth cap slipped sideways, then she fled without a sound, and the guard outside slammed the door hard enough to shake the walls.

Under the napkin on the lunch tray lay a second square of paper. This one was folded differently, and the handwriting was tall, slanted, and hurried, as if the writer had been terrified of being seen.

IGNORE THE FIRST WARNING. IT IS THE ONE WHO FROWNS WHO WILL BREAK YOU.

My hands began to shake. Someone had read the first note before I ever did, which meant that whoever wrote this second message knew exactly where the first had been hidden. Two people in this house were passing me warnings about my husband, and each warning contradicted the other. Either two enemies were fighting over me from behind the walls, or the man I had married was somehow both of the men they described, and I could not decide which possibility frightened me more.

I spent the afternoon at the window, watching the rain fade into a bruised, purple dusk. The guards changed shifts at five, and lanterns flickered to life along the wall. Then the courtyard doors flew open directly beneath my room, and two guards dragged the grey-haired cook out into the downpour by her elbows.

She was not screaming, and that was the worst part. She hung between them with her head bowed, as though she had always known this moment was coming.

"Stop dragging her out there, she did nothing wrong!" I cried, slamming both fists against the glass.

No one below could hear me. Across the courtyard, on the stone balcony of the opposite wing, a tall man in a black shirt stood with his arms folded and watched the scene without the slightest expression. The lantern light caught his silver eyes and the hard line of his jaw. He had my husband's face.

I ran to the door and pounded on it until my palms stung. Harlan's voice came through the wood, and for the first time it sounded almost sorry. "Sit down, Luna. If you cause a scene tonight, the next person dragged into that courtyard will be someone you care about far more."

"I have no one here," I said, my voice breaking.

"Then you should be careful," he answered quietly, "not to make yourself someone's weakness."

I stumbled back to the window with tears burning my eyes. The guards had pushed the cook toward a low iron door at the base of the east tower, and the man on the balcony had finally moved. He lifted one hand in a lazy salute toward my window, as though he had known all along exactly where I was standing, and then, very slowly, he smiled.

I managed very little sleep that night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw rain streaking across a courtyard and a grey-haired woman hanging between two guards, and every time I opened them, the black dome in the ceiling corner seemed to be studying me with patient interest.

Sarah arrived at first light carrying a folded charcoal dress and a pair of flat leather shoes. Her bun was as severe as it had been the day before, and her face revealed absolutely nothing.

"The Alpha will receive you in his study within the half hour," she said, laying the dress across the bed. "You will dress quickly and keep your questions to yourself."

"Where did they take the cook last night?" I asked.

Sarah's hands stopped moving on the fabric. "The cook is not your concern, and the sooner you accept that, the longer you will survive in this house." Her eyes slid toward the ceiling corner as she spoke, and a flicker of something tight and frightened crossed her expression before she smoothed it into stone again.

Two guards escorted me through the manor, one walking ahead and one behind, their boots striking the flagstones in a rhythm that made me feel like a prisoner marching toward sentencing. Dark paneled corridors branched in every direction, hung with oil portraits of stern men who all shared the same silver eyes. Servants flattened themselves against the walls as I passed, and not one of them dared to meet my gaze. A towering painting at the head of the grand staircase showed an iron-haired man in a general's coat, one hand resting on the head of a black wolf, and the brass plate beneath it read Alpha King, Founder. He looked as though he had never forgiven anyone for anything.

The study doors were carved with snarling wolves, and they swung open before the guards could knock. Inside, a fire crackled beneath a marble mantel, and shelves of leather-bound books climbed all the way to the ceiling. The air smelled of old paper and expensive bourbon. Two men in grey suits hurried past me with thick folders pressed to their chests, never lifting their eyes, and the doors closed behind them with a heavy thud.

Derek sat behind a desk the size of a small boat, a steel pen moving across a document in his right hand. He wore a black suit and a white shirt buttoned to the throat, and he did not bother to look up.

"Sit," he said.

I stayed where I was. "Someone dragged a woman out into the rain last night, and I would like to know why."

The pen stopped moving. Slowly he raised his head, and those silver eyes settled on me with the full weight of a winter sky. "The cook was questioned by Captain Harlan about an unlocked kitchen door, and she has been returned to her duties. I gave no order to harm her."

"I saw you standing on the east balcony, watching them do it."

Something shifted behind his expression, so briefly that I might have imagined it. "At sundown I was in the vault with the tribunal lawyers, reviewing property records, and six men will swear to it." He set the pen down with great care. "You saw someone, Belinda, but you did not see me."

"That makes no sense at all," I said.

"Then it will have to remain senseless." He folded his hands on the blotter. "Listen closely, because I will not repeat these terms. You will not leave the master wing without an escort. Your phone stays locked in this desk, and you will not ask for it again. You will attend meals whenever I summon you, you will never discuss our arrangement with a member of this pack, and you will not ask me questions about King business."

"And if I break one of your rules?"

"Then I will decide what it costs you." He said it without any heat, the way another man might read a weather report.

I thought of my father then, of the silent phone and the empty weeks behind it, and the words escaped before I could stop them. "Has my father asked about me even once?"

"Your father is content with the bargain he made," Derek answered. "He has not asked about you at all."

The sentence landed exactly where he had aimed it, and I felt it sink beneath my ribs and settle there like a stone. I refused to let him see me flinch. Instead, I reached up and pulled aside the collar of my dress, exposing the purple bruise at the base of my throat.

"Then perhaps you can explain this," I said. "A man with your face put it there yesterday morning, and he laughed while he did it."

Derek rose so suddenly that his chair scraped backward across the floor. He crossed the room in three strides, and before I could retreat, his fingers closed lightly beneath my chin and tilted my head toward the window. He studied the mark the way a surgeon studies a wound, his jaw ticking, his breath gone shallow. Something dark and wounded flared in his eyes, something that looked almost like shame, and then it vanished beneath that glacial calm again.

"Who else has seen this?" he asked quietly.

"Captain Harlan, Sarah, and the cook."

He released my chin as though it had burned him, crossed to a velvet bell cord, and pulled it twice. Sarah appeared in the doorway within seconds, so quickly that I suspected she had been waiting in the corridor all along. "Bring the healer's cream from my private cabinet at once," Derek said without turning, "and tell no one it was meant for the Luna."

"At once, Alpha," Sarah murmured, and she was gone.

I stared at his rigid back. "Why would you hide a bruise you claim you never made?"

"Because bruises tell stories," he said, "and I do not care for the story this one tells." He returned to his desk and picked up the pen again with his right hand, as though our conversation had ended. "If anyone ever enters your room and claims to be me, you will scream until the entire house hears you. Is that understood?"

"Claims to be you?" My heart began to pound. "Then you do believe me."

"I believe that your throat is bruised and that I did not bruise it, and the rest does not concern you." His writing resumed, scratching steadily across the page. I watched the pen glide through his right fingers, and I noticed that his left hand lay curled against the blotter with the knuckles bone white, as if it were holding something back. I could not have said why that detail mattered, only that my instincts filed it away beside the two notes hidden in my mattress.

Sarah returned with a small silver tin and said nothing as she worked the cool, herbal cream into my skin. Derek did not watch her. He watched me, and the intensity of his stare made the room feel smaller with each passing second, as though he were calculating a debt that I could not see.

"You will dine with me tonight at seven in the great hall," he said when she had finished. "Wear whatever Sarah selects, and try to look as though you are not being led to the gallows."

I opened my mouth to refuse, and then I thought of the iron door at the base of the east tower. "I will be there," I said instead.

Captain Harlan escorted me back to the master wing himself, his hand resting on his belt, his boots silent on the thick runner. He was a broad man with a grey-streaked beard and eyes that had seen too many things, and he kept glancing sideways at me as if weighing a decision. We had nearly reached my door when he finally spoke, so softly that the guard behind us could not have heard.

"The Alpha has not taken a single meal in the great hall since the night his father died, Luna. If someone invites you to dine there tonight, I would think very carefully about who is truly sitting at the head of that table."

He opened my door and left me standing alone on the threshold with my pulse racing, because if my husband never dined in the great hall, then someone had either lied to me this morning or was planning to lie to me tonight.