CHAPTER 90
GISELLE’S POV
I sat across the front of my dress. I want to die. The thought wasn’t dramatic; it was a simple, stark fact. The idea of being bound to him, of his touch, his breath on my skin, his ring on my finger… it made the contents of my stomach churn violently. And Zarkhan… Gods, Zarkhan. He’d looked at me with such utter defeat, such hollow shame. He’d asked me to do the one thing that would break us both. He’d turned his back on me, on our bond, and it felt like he’d carved out a piece of my soul and taken it with him.
Did this sever our mate bond? The thought was a fresh wave of icy terror. Was that why he’d done it? Because he’d realized I wasn’t his true mate after all, and this was the cleanest way to dispose of me? To hand me off to a monster and wash his hands of the entire mess? The betrayal was a physical ache, a deep, throbbing wound that eclipsed the raw pain in my wrists.
And Hakkan… I was alone with him now. His cold disbelief in the boutique, his clinical detachment as he’d dressed my wound, his warning to stay out of his family’s mess. He saw me as a problem. A gold-digging complication. There was no alliance there, no protection. Just more disdain from another arrogant Zaro brother.
I sucked in a sharp, ragged breath, tilting my head back against the cold wall to stare at the water-stained ceiling. I would not let the tears fall. I would not let them see this final weakness. If I was to be a prisoner, I would be a defiant one. My tears would be my own.
The door groaned open. I didn’t need to look to know it was him. The air itself shifted, growing heavier, saturated with the scent of his expensive cologne and his raw, commanding power. I kept my eyes fixed on a crack in the concrete, my jaw set.
I heard his soft, approving hum. “A beautiful signature,” Alpha Blake’s voice purred, smooth and triumphant. “It suits you. A new beginning.”
I remained a statue, refusing to grant him even a glance of acknowledgment.
He moved closer, his tall frame blocking the dim light from the doorway. I could feel his presence like a physical weight. He crouched down in front of me, his movements fluid and predatory. His sharp, intense eyes scanned my face, and I knew he was drinking in every bit of my clenched-jaw defiance, storing it away like a trophy.
“Let’s get you out of these restraints, shall we?” he said, his tone almost… gentle. It was the most terrifying sound I’d ever heard.
His fingers, deft and unnervingly careful, went to work on the rough knots at my wrists. I flinched at the first brush of his skin against mine, a shudder of pure revulsion rocking through me. He paused, his gaze flicking up to mine.
“Easy, little rabbit,” he murmured, that infuriating, knowing smirk playing on his lips. “The fight is over. You won. You saved your Alpha’s life. You should be proud.” The words were a deliberate, twisted mockery.
He resumed his work, and a moment later, the pressure on my raw, abraded wrists vanished. The blood rushed back into my hands with a painful, prickling sensation. I flexed my fingers slowly, the simple act of movement feeling foreign.
Next, he moved to the ropes at my ankles. His hands were just as efficient there, his head bowed close to my legs. The proximity made my skin crawl. Don’t touch me. Don’t fucking touch me.
The final rope fell away. I was free. And yet, I had never felt more imprisoned.
“There,” he said, straightening up to his full, imposing height. He looked down at me, his expression one of sheer, smug possession. “Now, let’s get you to your new quarters. This damp little hole is no place for my future wife.”
He extended a hand to help me up. I ignored it, planting my own hands on the arms of the chair and pushing myself to my feet. My legs, stiff and weak from hours of immobility, immediately buckled. A wave of dizziness washed over me, the room tilting precariously.
I stumbled forward, a gasp tearing from my lips as I anticipated the hard impact with the concrete floor.
It never came.
In a blur of movement, his arms were around me, catching me effortlessly against the solid wall of his chest. He held me upright, my body pressed flush against his. I could feel the hard, muscular planes of him, the sheer strength in his limbs as he easily took my full weight. His cologne, that hated scent of expensive spice and dominance, enveloped me completely.
“I’ve got you,” he said, his voice a low rumble right by my ear. His breath stirred my hair.
Rage and humiliation burned through the weakness. “Let go of me,” I snarled, trying to shove against him, but my arms were like useless weights. My struggles were pathetic, feeble twitches against his unyielding strength.
He chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest and into mine. “So much fire, even now. I do enjoy that.” He didn’t let go. Instead, he shifted his grip, one arm sliding securely around my back, the other hooking under my knees.
In one smooth, effortless motion, he scooped me up into his arms, cradling me against him as if I weighed nothing.
A shocked, outraged sound escaped me. “Put me down! I can walk on my own!”
“Clearly, you can’t,” he replied, his tone annoyingly reasonable as he carried me toward the door. “And I won’t have my bride injuring herself further. We have a wedding to prepare for.” He looked down at me, his sharp eyes glinting with dark amusement. “You’ll just have to endure my company for a little while longer.”
I turned my face away from him, my cheek pressed against the unforgiving wool of his suit jacket. I focused on the hallway ahead, on the promise of a different room, a different cage.
This changes nothing, I told myself, clinging to the shards of my pride.
This changes absolutely nothing. You still own nothing of me. But held tight in his arms, my body betraying me with its helplessness, the words felt hollow and frail.