Page 7 of Bonds of Pain
Then he compounds a night full of terrible decisions by wrapping his arms more tightly around me when I, still half-asleep and overheated, start to push at the heavy blankets. My semi-conscious brain is already desperate to escape before I even fully wake into the cage he put me in.
But his scent is what really does it—bitter clove soured with the stink of male satisfaction.
Reality crashes into me like a freight train. My eyes snap open, but the nightmare refuses to dissipate as I adjust to the light. I find myself trapped in an unfamiliar bed with—fuck!—Logan’s heavy arm draped possessively around my waist. His face is inches from mine, golden eyes closed in peaceful slumber while my world implodes.
Memories flood back in disjointed flashes. The heat. The basement. Cillian. And then...Logan. The bond. The claiming.
My breath catches in my throat. No, no, no. This can’t be happening.
“Get off me!” I shriek, the sound tearing from my lungs with enough force to make my throat burn.
Logan jolts awake, his grip loosening just enough for me to wrench myself free. I scramble backward, tangling in silk sheets that smell too much like him, the scent invading my senses as another reminder to me of an even worse invasion.
“Maya, calm down?—“
There aren’t words to describe how I feel in this moment. A combination of shame and rage that can only be satisfied with violence.
I launch myself at him with every ounce of strength my bone-weary body can muster. My nails find purchase on his face, raking down his perfect cheekbone as I aim for his eyes. “How could you!?”
Logan catches my wrists, his Alpha strength effortlessly holding me back as I thrash against him. “Fuck, stop this. You’re going to hurt yourself.”
Instead of answering, I twist in his grip, landing a knee somewhere soft enough to make him grunt in pain.
His golden eyes widen in shock. “Stop this now,Omega.”
The command washes over and off of me like the gentlest ocean wave, barely enough to be noticeable as it pushes against me. The unsettled Omega part of me has no intention of listening to an Alpha barely worthy of the name.
I bare my teeth, feeling both deadly focused and entirely feral.
I know I stand no chance of really hurting, much less killing him.
But that won’t stop me from trying.
I try to claw my way out of Logan’s grip, but he easily blocks my attempts to strike him. He is frustratingly careful, in fact, blocking each attack while barely exerting himself. The more I struggle, the more my post-heat exhaustion catches up with me, my muscles trembling with the effort it takes not just to give in to him.
“Maya, stop,” Logan says, ducking another wild swing. “I know you’re upset?—“
“Upset?” I spit the word like venom. “You took advantage of me during my heat! You forced a bond!”
His face darkens. “I did not force anything. We have a mating contract.”
“That contract is almost as big of a joke as you are.” I kick his shin hard enough to make my toes ache. Logan winces but doesn’t retaliate, just continues his infuriating defensive maneuvers.
My lungs burn with exertion. My limbs grow heavier with each passing second. The room spins slightly, but I refuse to give in. I would rather he just kill me now than ever be forced to give in to him again.
Logan finally seems to realize I won’t stop.
I’m crying now, hot angry tears streaming down my face as I continue fighting against his hold. The perverted mating bond pulses between us, a horrifying reminder of what can never be undone. I can feel his emotions bleeding into mine—confusion, frustration, and something that feels disgustingly like pride.
“This is ridiculous,” he mutters, then raises his voice. “Cillian, I need you in here. Now, preferably.”
A door that I thought was for a closet bursts open almost immediately. Cillian stands in the opening, pale hair disheveled,ice-blue eyes taking in the scene with a quick, assessing glance. His expression hardens when he sees me struggling against Logan.
“Let her go,” Cillian demands, voice low and dangerous.
“Not while she’s trying to claw my eyes out,” Logan retorts, still holding my wrists. “Help me calm her down before she hurts herself.”
Cillian hesitates, conflict evident in the tight set of his jaw. I can see the weight of the calculation in his gaze—his duty to his prince warring with whatever urge is being produced by our forced bond.
