Chapter 11 The Bruises and The Aftermath
The morning hurt before I even opened my eyes.
It wasn’t just the dull, throbbing ache in my thighs or the bruises blooming across my wrists and hips. It wasn’t even the burning pull of the fresh mate mark on my neck, pulsing like a cruel reminder of someone else’s claim on my life.
It was the weight inside my chest, hollow, aching, scraped raw.
A wound beneath the skin where hope used to live.
I exhaled slowly, staring up at the silver-canopied ceiling as it slowly sharpened into focus. The embroidered wolves looked blurry, almost swimming, as if my eyes couldn’t decide whether to cry again or just shut down completely.
No.
I refused to cry.
Not now. Not because of him.
I pushed myself upright as carefully as I could, but even breathing felt sharp. Every muscle pulsed like it remembered the night before far too clearly, every grip, every thrust, every moment where Grayson’s touch had been more punishment than passion.
My thighs felt stiff. My spine stung where his claws had scraped too deep. And somewhere low in my belly, the ache of being used like a weapon still twisted.
The sheets beneath me were cool now, long abandoned by the warmth of the man who’d left me here without a word.
A man I once thought would protect me.
A man I once dreamed of loving.
The same man who whispered “Mine” with a hunger that shredded something inside me.
My fingers curled into the silk sheets so hard my knuckles went white.
Had I imagined his cruelty?
No.
The words echoed as clearly as if he stood in the room now:
“You were always easy to fool. Always desperate to be loved.”
I swallowed hard, throat tight.
I wanted to blame him. God, I wanted to.
But the twisted truth gnawed at me:
He had asked.
Asked for permission.
Asked if I belonged to him.
Corrupted, cruel, coercive as it was, he had stopped for those few seconds to demand my consent. And I gave it, blinded by the last flicker of hope I should’ve strangled a long time ago.
My fault.
My gullibility.
My heart.
His weapon.
I dragged a shaky hand through my tangled hair and felt my wolf stir weakly inside me, whimpering in a corner of my soul. Not broken, just bruised. Just shocked.
She didn’t understand how our mate, our supposed protector, had turned into something we didn’t recognize last night.
Neither did I.
A Hart never bows.
The words rose in my mind like a fragile shield.
I repeated them softly, pressing a hand to the sheets to steady myself as I pushed off the bed.
A Hart never bows.
Not before enemies.
Not before lies.
Not even before the man who shattered her wedding night.
As I slid to the edge of the bed, pain rippled through me, sharp, dragging, almost breath-stealing. I winced but kept moving, placing bare feet on the cold marble floor. The shock grounded me. Pulled me back into my body.
Back into the reality of what my life was now.
I tore my gaze from my bruises and forced myself to breathe. Focus. Stand. Survive.
But then the memory rose, unbidden, soft and poisonous.
Two weeks after our oath-binding.
Two weeks after the council forced us into an ancient engagement meant to “restore unity.”
Two weeks after I’d told myself that maybe this wasn’t a punishment.
I’d been sitting on the balcony of the Hart Tower, gripping my father’s pendant in my fist, trying to remind myself who I was. Trying to swallow the grief of being the traitor’s daughter.
When someone knocked.
I thought it was my mother.
I never expected him.
Grayson stood at the door in a simple black coat, moonlight turning his silver eyes softer than I’d seen them in months. He wasn’t smiling, but his expression wasn’t cold either.
And he held a bouquet of moon-roses, delicate, pale, shimmering petals that looked like they were woven from streaks of light.
“For you,” he’d said, his voice low, almost shy.
I remember staring at him like I’d forgotten how to breathe.
He wasn’t dramatic. Never was. He didn’t pour out poetry or grand speeches like the Alphas in old stories. But that night, he said something I carved into my heart like scripture.
“Evie… I believe you were wronged.”
My throat had tightened so sharply I couldn’t speak.
“And now that we’re bound,” he continued, stepping closer, “we should be each other’s shield. You don’t have to face this alone. I’ll stand by you.”
A soft breeze had brushed through the gardens, carrying the lanternlight across his face just right, enough to make me believe him.
Believe that the little glimmers of warmth between us were real.
Believe that the boy I once knew was still somewhere inside this hardened heir.
I had clung to those words for months.
Last night, he used those same arms, that same mouth, that same body to destroy me.
And somehow, some twisted part of me still didn’t blame him fully.
I blamed myself too.
For falling for a puppet show.
For not seeing how Chloe kept poisoning my life even from the grave.
I huffed a bitter breath and forced myself to stand straighter.
No tears.
Not again.
Not for him.
The room suddenly chimed, the door’s console lighting up with a soft blue glow. A message bloomed across the screen.
INCOMING NOTIFICATION
From: Luna Helena
Subject: Family Breakfast
You are expected downstairs in 30 minutes.
A cold chill slid down my spine.
Breakfast.
With the Knights.
On the morning after he...
My stomach turned.
Of course, they expected me there. A Luna couldn’t hide. A Hart never bowed. And the pack would judge me for every breath I took now.
I tugged the sheet tighter around myself, shivering despite the warmth of the suite.
How was I supposed to sit at a table with the family of the man who used me last night?
How was I supposed to pretend? Smile? Sip tea like I wasn’t still raw and aching?
My pulse hammered against my bruised skin.
The mating bond pulsed again, low and cold under my collarbone. It felt different, colder, weighted, as if it too knew last night was not love.
I steadied myself with a slow exhale.
I would go.
I would stand.
I would not let them see fear.
Or shame.
Or the way my heart felt like it had cracked in two.
I wasn’t broken.
Bruised, yes.
Bleeding inside, yes.
But a Hart never bows.
I lifted my chin, wiped the last tremor from my lips, and stepped toward the wardrobe. Behind me, the mate mark pulsed again, a whisper of his claim, his cruelty, his vengeance.
And for the first time since waking…
I felt afraid.