Chapter 12 Waking On Broken Bones
The walk from the bedroom to the wardrobe felt longer than any battlefield march my father ever described.
Every step tugged at the bruises along my thighs, the raw sting at my shoulders, the places where Grayson’s hands had pressed too hard, too possessively, too full of everything except love.
The bond mark pulsed faintly beneath my skin, a rhythmic reminder of the night before.
I hated that my body still responded to it like instinct.
I hated that part of me still trembled for reasons that weren’t entirely pain.
I stood in front of the mirror and forced myself to look.
Bruises in every shade: plum, rose, wine, soot.
Finger-shaped shadows around my wrists.
A crescent-shaped bite mark on my neck, the symbol of a Luna.
His Luna.
Even though last night felt more like a punishment than a union.
My breath wobbled, but I didn’t let it break.
“A Hart never bows,” I whispered to my reflection. “Not even like this.”
I opened the small wooden box on my dresser and lifted out the vial tucked inside velvet. My father’s handwriting, neat and precise, curled along the glass:
Accelerated Healing — Wolves Only: Half dose for bruising.
He’d brewed it when I was sixteen and had broken my ankle in training. I’d never needed it again, not until now.
The moment the potion touched my tongue, heat spread through my veins; warm, earthy, sharp like mint and metal. I exhaled slowly as the worst of the ache in my muscles softened, fading into a dull throb.
Not fully gone.
Not enough to erase last night.
But enough to walk without limping.
I pulled out a long-sleeved dove-grey dress, soft fabric, high collar, flowing sleeves that hid the worst of the bruises. Simple but elegant. Something that said:
I still have dignity.
I still have spine.
I will not let any of you see me bleed.
My hair was a mess.
I tamed it into a loose braid over one shoulder, letting it fall forward enough to hide the mate mark’s inflamed edges.
I fastened a thin silver belt around my waist.
Hart silver. My father’s forge.
A reminder of the blood I came from, something stronger than this house full of wolves with perfect manners and sharpened smiles.
When I finally stepped into the corridor, the castle felt colder. Too quiet. As if the walls themselves knew what had happened behind my door.
I walked slowly, inhaling deeply, rehearsing in my mind the face of composure I needed to wear.
But then the memories slipped in, uninvited, sharp as claws.
“She is under my protection.”
It had been during a council meeting three months ago.
The room had been buzzing with whispers — words like “traitor’s daughter” and “unfit” floating like ash around me.
One beta from the northern sector had said publicly,
“Perhaps the council should reconsider her suitability—”
Grayson cut him off before I could even inhale.
He didn’t raise his voice.
He didn’t glare.
He simply stood, tall, still, commanding, and said:
“She is under my protection.
Question her, and you question me.
Is that what you intend to do?”
The room fell silent so fast the air crackled.
I’d sat frozen, heart pounding, staring at him like he’d saved me from drowning.
He didn’t look at me.
He didn’t smile.
He didn’t even offer comfort.
But in that moment, surrounded by predators, I felt seen. Defended. Safe.
Only now did I realize it wasn’t defense, it was a leash, wrapped in velvet.
He didn’t protect me for my sake.
He protected me to control the narrative, to bind me quietly to him.
A knight shielding his chosen piece on the board.
The memory stung now, sharper than my bruises.
I took another step down the corridor. Another memory;
“Evie, let me help you. You’re speaking too emotionally.”
It was a private moment. Another month had passed. We were in the study overlooking the gardens.
I’d been upset, someone in the pack had slandered my father again, and I couldn’t stay quiet. I’d spoken too fast, too passionately, too much from the heart.
Grayson had touched my elbow lightly, guiding me into a chair.
“Evie,” he had said quietly, kneeling beside me.
His eyes had been steady, soft in a way that made me feel smaller but safe.
“You’re speaking too emotionally.
Let me help you… you can’t let them see you lose control.”
I’d swallowed my frustration.
Because he sounded so reasonable.
Because he acted like he cared.
He reached up and brushed a stray lock of hair from my cheek.
A gentle gesture.
A devastating trap.
“You can rely on me, Evie.”
“I’ll teach you everything you need to know.”
“Trust me.”
Slow poison.
Soft poison.
Exactly the kind that convinces you it’s medicine.
The corridor blurred around me for a moment as I came back from the memory.
No wonder last night hurt more than just physically.
He hadn’t only broken my body, he had broken the version of him I’d trusted. The version he created for me.
The part of me that loved him had been trained, shaped, softened over months.
And he’d ripped it all out like it never mattered.
The pain in my chest burned more fiercely than the bruises hidden under my sleeves.
I forced my spine straight and lifted my chin.
The breakfast hall loomed ahead, tall white doors carved with the crest of the Knight family. The silver wolf’s head stared down at me like it knew too much.
A Hart never bows.
I repeated it in my mind, louder and louder, until it drowned out the fear.
But as I reached the door, my hand trembled.
Just once .
Just enough for me to notice.
Because I wasn’t afraid of the humiliation.
Or the whispers.
Or the cold stares.
I was afraid of seeing him.
Of seeing that nothing had changed.
Of seeing that the boy who once told me he’d be my shield had become the man who shattered me.
I placed my hand on the handle.
Then a voice behind the door said my name.
Soft.
Controlled.
Deadly familiar.
“Evie?”
My heart stopped mid-beat.
I wasn’t ready.
I wasn’t sure I’d ever be ready.
The doors began to open.