Page 77 of Broken Ties
Sharpe’s voice slices through my quickly escalating fantasies, a very unwelcome reminder that there’s not only a reason we’re here tonight but an important one. My Bond shifts in her seat, a tiny movement, but with my attention almost entirely on her, I notice it and practically gloat over her turning toward me instinctively as the old tensions begin to surface.
When his sympathizer Bond’s eyes flick over us both dismissively, my temper heats, but when she turns to my Bond and curls her lip in utter contempt, it’s enough to bring out my pettiest side.
If Lois chooses the low road, then I will happily go to hell and take them all with me.
With a slow smirk that her gaze gets caught on, I drawl back to her, “Oleander needed some time to find herself. She has a wild streak that none of her Bonds wanted to stifle, though we are glad to have her back with us once again.”
Lois has spent the better part of a decade trying to win my favor through any means necessary. Bonded and older than my own mother would be, her efforts have disgusted me at every level. When I first took over on the council, for a fleeting moment, I felt sorry for her because Sharpe clearly treats her poorly and he openly favors Ivy. Every comment she makes is dismissed, every effort to appeal to him goes unnoticed, and every achievement she earns gets overlooked.
My Bond smiles warmly, glancing up at me through her lashes as they flutter, and if I weren’t already sitting down, I’d be driven to my knees by that look. My fingers tighten around hers instinctively, as though I’m afraid she’ll slip through them again the moment I ease up.
Lois looks her over, the calculation on her face plain to see. Sharpe’s campaign to convince the council she’s no longer a Resistance sympathizer was over with years ago, but I sometimes wonder if any of the others who hold seats can see through her flimsy facade. She stares across the table at me with open contempt.
It’s hard to keep the disgust from my face, and usually, I wouldn’t. It’s only my Bond’s attendance tonight that keeps my temper in check. Her safety is paramount, as always, and every part of our plan hinges on that fact. The moment she’s in danger, all bets are off. That’s only the beginning though, because Nox would surely double down, furious to lose the opportunity over the Bond he’s desperately denying, and I’ll be forced to go after him.
I always have and I always will, however there’s a part of me, buried deep, that holds a truth that no amount of torture could get me to reveal but is also impossible for me to ignore.
I’d have to know my Bond was safe first, and it would break me if something happened to my brother during that delay.
Turning in her seat fully, Eliza’s eyes finally dart over to land on my Bond as a smirk lifts the corner of her lips. The rest of the table shifts in their seats, the conversations around us all dying off in their discomfort. Eliza is Telekinetic, and a strong one at that. Openly flaunting her power, her eyes don’t show even the barest hint of a glow as she uses it to stir her cocktail with a flourish. Her family’s name is almost as old as the Dravens’, but their legacy is nowhere near as renowned.
Her voice is a sultry threat, perfectly crafted with barbs designed to dig into the softest flesh until they’re impossible to fully dig out. “I, for one, am very happy to see you two together. North has done too much for our people to be left behind by an unruly child.”
What happens next can only be described as glorious.
Eliza stares my Bond down with every inch of scathing contempt her pathetic frame can muster, but Oleander doesn’t falter for a second. My Bond doesn’t just hold that venomous gaze, she returns it with her own filled with unrelenting rage and violence just waiting to be unleashed. I’ve grown accustomed to being on the receiving end of her ire, but this is something else entirely. I’m practically giddy as I watch her all but devour this pathetic, weak woman.
Eliza walked in here expecting a teenage girl and has instead been burned by my irreverently indignant Bond.
It’s enough to have me chuckling, warmth flooding my chest cavity as my bond revels in her defiant acts, and I move our clasped hands to rest on my thigh instinctively. Eliza glances down at the gesture, but there’s nothing calculated about my Bond’s hand in mine, and her gaze feels like a violation. I don’t even attempt to rein in the pulse of warning my bond lets out, the shadows writhing in my blood until the entire table is faltering under its dark threat.
Only my Bond is unaffected
Eliza jolts as the brunt of it hits her, the blood draining from her face as she shies away from us both.
It’s this reaction that catches my Bond’s attention, but it’s not with fear or curiosity. She falters for a moment, an emotion flashing over her face too quickly for me to decipher before she recovers with a smile that’s only a little bit forced.
Her voice is harder than it was before, a sharpened edge now revealed. “I’m aware of just how great my Bond is, thank you."
There’s an exchange of hasty and incredulous looks across the table at her lack of concern. When my Bond only smiles warmly at the server, I can see them all shift their concerns to mark this down as a slip. A small infraction after a perceived threat.
In short, they’re all fucking idiots.
There’s almost a decade between my Bond and I, but there’s at least two separating her from the next youngest council member. If they can’t see her efforts tonight for what they are, or the inhuman strength it’s taking to stop myself from killing them all on her behalf, then the situation is worse than I first thought.
The moment the intensity of their scrutiny moves away from us both, the change in my Bond is abrupt, instant, and chilling. Without uttering a word, moving a muscle, or even looking my way, she ices me out. It’s as tangible as a bucket of ice poured over my head and as jarring. I have no clue what I’ve done wrong or if something has happened to her under my nose, but there’s no denying something has changed in the blink of an eye.
Gently squeezing her fingers, an offering of reassurance for her and a comfort to myself, but she pulls away from me. Her hand flips over so the back rests against my knee for another brief moment, only long enough that Vittorio won’t be tipped off to the change, but then she moves it back to her own lap and away from me.
The loss of her touch hits me like a physical blow, only instead of anger or frustration, a lump lodges itself into the back of my throat.
What the hell is going on with me tonight?
Is it that carefree and affectionate smile that rearranged my heart in my chest the moment I first saw it on her face, blushing and giggling with her friends? Or was it Vivian’s impression of her, the way his voice had gotten gravelly as he gave me hissuspicions of what her true motives for running from her Bond Group?
Maybe it’s the fact that she’s handled every part of tonight with a maturity and grace that can’t be denied. She’s bitten her tongue and endured the petty jabs that have come from snakes and allies alike, and danced around the ugly truths like the most seasoned politician. With subtle touches, soft murmurs, and longing gazes through her lashes, I’ve watched her rewrite the story of our Bond Group from a dangerously volatile warning into a charming tale. She’s breathed life into the image I’ve been piecing together at a painstakingly slow pace, the colors now vivid and impenetrable enough that our standing within the community won’t just be restored but taken to new heights.
Then she pulled away from me for no apparent reason.