Page 76 of Broken Ties
Some of the weight lifts from my shoulders and I clap him on the back as I pass, murmuring my own reassurances that tonight will be fine.
By the time Rafe has the door closed behind me and the car on the road to the restaurant, I admit to myself that perhaps I was a little too hasty in my assurances.
My Bond is perfectly dressed, heartbreakingly elegant, and trembling with rage.
There is more than enough work in my emails to keep my attention on my phone rather than her, but I don’t even bother with the pretense of getting it out. The world could be ending right now and my focus would still revolve around her. There’s no question about it; as my Bond, she’s my sun, the star at the center of my universe, and her existence is reason for my own.
That fact doesn’t fill me with the same frustrations anymore, but a ripple of discomfort itches across my shoulders nonetheless. It’s not my bond’s reaction to her; the last few months have taught me to differentiate between it and myself with gut-wrenching precision.
The discomfort is at my own actions.
Why would this perfect, elegant, soul-destroyingly stunning Bond be anything but deeply uncomfortable in my presence after the contentious and fraught interactions we’ve had so far? Every encounter has ended with her autonomy being stripped away further, her integrity questioned, and her opinions silenced.
I’d set my worst nightmares on anyone who dared to think about treating her in such a way, or even suggested it, but that only makes me a hypocrite of the highest level. Every possible resource I can assign to guard her, follow her, and watch her every move, that protection means that while the Resistance can’t get a glimpse of her, the biggest villain she faces right now is me.
The moment the thought crosses my mind, my blood runs cold and my heart clenches violently. The rejection I feel isn’t entirely shame at my own actions and a desperate need to be a better Bond for her. It’s the unerring loyalty that has driven me clashing with the possessive nature of all Gifted.
The greatest danger to my Bond is my brother—he always will be.
I love him, respect him, admire him, protect him, and side with him against every foe, but even I must admit that he may never recover from his traumas enough to see her as anything but a threat.
She is his Bond, and that is the greatest transgression any could inflict on him.
It’s only the restaurant appearing outside the tinted car window that shakes me out of my brooding and reminds me of exactly why we’re here in the first place. I allow myself a brief look at her expression to find the seething rage has only gotten worse on the drive here. I can’t say I’m surprised or blame her for it, but her life is in danger if we don’t get this right.
I’ve studied this Bond of mine with a meticulous and ravenous enthusiasm, so I know exactly what to say, but that only makes the itch dance further along my shoulders.
“This dinner is about more than your attitude. If you really care about the Gifted community as much as you say you do, then you’ll be on your best behavior, whatever that looks like.”
The air around her becomes a viciously malevolent and animate thing, threatening to choke me with every breath until I’m certain that it’s her bond or maybe even the Gift she’s still stubbornly hiding from us all. The one Vivian is so certain exists—as is my own bond, and even Gryphon, though he tells me nothing.
Despite my own brooding, I watch her reaction carefully from the corner of my eye, but for once, there isn’t much to observe. Her mouth tightens, but she doesn’t utter a sound. When Rafe pulls into the valet bay, I let myself out and then offer her a hand, which she takes with the kind of grace that would lull another man into thinking he’d won something.
I’m not that stupid, nor that arrogant.
Her compliance is calculated, and this peace between isn’t just constructed, it’s a threat. This entire evening is going to cost me at some point, and how much solely relies on me.
Despite my own crushing desire to hold her, I press my palm against her back to direct her into the restaurant and get her seated before I murder half the room for all of the attention we’re both receiving. Clearly I’ve miscalculated, because it only gets worse as we arrive at our table to find the rest of the council waiting there, gossiping among themselves. When they notice our arrival, they all stand as one to greet us, some with more enthusiasm than others.
No matter how prepared I was for their interest in my Bond, my eyes still flash in a clear warning of the violence I’m capable of.
Gulping at the voids, most quickly look away, and that eases some of the fire burning in my veins. I’m reminded of our purpose when Sharpe doesn’t look away, his eyes tracing over my Bond as though she’s a piece of meat. He’s positioned himself to sit across the table from us with his Bonds, Lois and Ivy, flanking him.
Vittorio’s Central Bonded, Eliza, is already sitting beside our empty seats. She’s not even trying to fight off a smirk as she watches us both ravenously, as though she’s been desperate to have my Bond within her reach. Even after my eyes have flashed in warning, she’s still sharing looks with Lois across the table. Neither of them are subtle in their contempt as they outright stare at my Bond, but Oleander either misses it or she’s not bothered by the attention.
Moving around the crowd deftly to the head of the table, I pull out my own seat to usher my Bond into, and my chest warms at her softly murmured thanks. I’m keenly aware that we’re the focus of everyone’s attention right now, every expression and gesture is being measured while the assessments are being made, but the satisfied look on my face isn’t just genuine, it’s easy. So is pressing my lips against the crown of her head before I straighten, my hand lingering on her shoulder, touches that the contentious clashes between us have previously ruled out.
A shiver runs down her spine, her gaze soft but still with an ember of the fire that always burns bright. Maybe I haven’t just been denying myself the chance to forge a connection but also her.
I dismiss that thought the moment I have it, because being in her presence like this is intoxicating and I’ve clearly lost myself in a Bond haze. This isn’t the Oleander Fallows who sits at my dining table by force each week, who glares at her Bonds and throws cutting remarks the moment she spots a weak spot in our defenses. This is the masterful charade she’s performing because I gave her no other option but to comply.
No matter how convincing her act is, it’s all just a keenly honed survival instinct.
I truly believe that as well, right up until I take the seat next to hers and, without being prompted, her hand slips into mine.She doesn’t look at me. Instead, she’s acknowledging each of the council members and their Bonds graciously and with an undeniable charm.
It’s as though I’ve been shoved from a cliff and I’m now free falling. With only the smallest touch, I become instantly addicted to her warmth, and with absolute certainty I know that I don’t even care if the landing kills me. Fuck, I’ll gladly shatter into a thousand pieces at the bottom for a evening of this.
“So all is well in your world again, Draven?"