Chapter 45

Rhi

I'm guessingthe east wing is reserved for guests like me. The guests that don't matter. The ones considered unworthy, because it's not a lot better than my dorm room back at the academy. A single bed lies against the wall, the mattress and duvet bare, the windows curtain-less and no rug resting across the hard wooden floor boards. The walls too are undecorated and no other furniture stands in the room.

When the door shuts and locks behind me, I sink to the ground, curling in on myself as best I can with my arms clamped behind my back.

The pain hurts worse than ever in my stomach. It's been a day since I last drank some of Renzo's potion and seeing Tristan like that seems to have stirred everything afresh. I press my eyes against my knees and try to breathe through the agony. I don't know what's worse. The incessant ache in my bond or the splintering sensation in my heart.

How can I have been so stupid? How could I have believed in him? He never meant it. He never really cared. I was just a passing distraction, a mere amusement.

Tristan is interested in his image and his status above all else. He was always going to end up with a girl like Summer, one he considered high status like himself, one who would help him in his ambitions. Someone like me was never going to fit the mold.

My bond tries to argue, insists I'm wrong. It reminds me that Tristan didn't seem right just now. Not his usual self – not over-brimming with swagger and self-confidence. Something was wrong.

Is that true?

I'm not sure what to trust anymore. Especially when it comes to Tristan Kennedy.

Because he tells me that I'm nothing and that he despises me. He treats me like shit on the bottom of his shoe. And yet, he follows me into the wood, saves me from the werebeast – from Spencer. Then he tells me that we're fated mates, destined to be together, that he's changed his mind, that he wants me. He buys me dresses, asks me to the ball, throws himself in front of that cursed magic in order to save me. And then … and then he makes no effort to find me. No effort to reach me, to come for me and he stands in front of his father and says I mean nothing to him. Tells me he's going to marry another girl.

Tristan Kennedy has given me serious whiplash and I'm surprised I don't have a crooked neck and a nose bleed from it.

Well, if that's the way he feels, so be it. I certainly won't let him beat me now.

I roll up straight, ignoring all the pain, and assess my surroundings. The window is barred, confirming my suspicions that this is no ordinary guest room, and there's nothing in the room that could help me. Nope, no helpful bolt cutters, no secret door. I'm locked in, unable to use my magic, and, if the shadows under the door are anything to go by, there are guards blocking my only exit.

I curse and reach through the bond for Azlan and Stone. Immediately, I'm hit by Tristan's emotions instead, and they almost have me tumbling backwards. They're confused and muddled, slow and slurred and I don't understand them at all. I try to push them aside, reaching for Stone and Azlan in the hope we can work something out, but Tristan's emotions are too loud, and in the end, I shut them down entirely and rest my head back against the mattress, thinking, desperate to find a way out of this mess.

I'm still awake several hours later when I hear a noise outside the door. The sound of two thuds. My eyes flick that way.

Bodies hitting the floor?

I frown, scurrying up to my knees as the lock clicks and the door creaks open. Just a little.

I scramble to my feet, waiting for whoever is there to enter the room.

Nothing. No one.

The door clicks shut.

I blink. Still no one there and yet my bond tugs me towards the doorway anyway.

"Tristan?" I say, not sure why the hell he is here and what the hell he can want. He emerges from the gloom, slowly coming into view, translucent at first and then more and more solid, until it's him, all of him.

Except it's not the Tristan I'm so used to seeing, towering above me, glowering down at me.

His body is pressed against the wall, his palms flat against the plaster. His face is damp, his golden hair stuck to his brow. And his breathing is labored, his body tense and vibrating.

"Tristan!" I cry this time, stepping towards him.

He screws up his eyes and his entire body trembles.

"Tristan, what's wrong?"

He struggles to open his mouth, his tongue moving behind his teeth but no noise coming out.

"What is it?" I say, coming right up close to him, peering up at his face. There's a sickly sheen to his skin, like he's ill, and his eyes are flickering widely behind his closed lids.

Our closeness has my bond humming and his body shaking more violently.

"Tristan!" I say in alarm, struggling again to release my damn hands.

"Dr … dr …" he says, struggling to form the words in his mouth. He grunts, his teeth grinding, his jaw hardening as if he's fighting with his own mouth to speak. "Drug," he spits out at last.

Drug?

"Dr-dr-dr-drug," he spits out again.

My gaze flits around his troubled face.

"Tristan," I say, still unsure if I believe anything this man says, still unsure if I trust him, but wanting to, really really wanting to. "Did they drug you?"

His shoulders sag slightly as if in relief and he grunts out a mumbled yes. He opens his eyes and this close I see how dazed they look, how the green of his irises is so much fainter than it usually is, how the dark irises are glazed.

Drugged. By his dad? Why?

I take another step closer, and he growls, his body shaking so violently, his head knocks against the wall.

"Not … too … close," he pants, slamming his eyes shut again, "don't … want … to … hurt … you." His fingers flex as if they'd like to wrap around my throat.

Alarm flashes through me. I don't know what to do. It's clear he's attempting to fight the effects of the drug but what the hell does this drug do? Why would he hurt me?

"I can help you, Tristan, but you have to release my hands. I can't use my magic otherwise."

He grunts as if struggling against some great physical force and his knees buckle. He sways, but then he's rigid again, nodding his head.

I look at his face, wondering how dangerous this is, if any minute the drug might take a hold of him and he might attack me, kill me.

"You're not going to hurt me, Tristan," I whisper to him. "You're my fated mate. We're meant to be together."

His face contorts. "P-p-piglet."

I frown. That isn't exactly my favorite term of endearment, but we'll deal with that later – as well as everything else. Like his engagement to Summer Clutton-Brock.

Right now, releasing my hands so I can use my magic is the priority.

"You need to release my hands." Inhaling, I turn around and pray whatever feelings he has for me are more powerful than the effects of the drug his father has pumped through his veins. And I realize as I wait with bated breath that I want those feelings to be real. I want what he told me about caring about me to be true. And not because I want him to release me, but because my own feelings for him have grown too.

I don't hate Tristan Kennedy like I used to. Maybe I never have.

His cold fingertips touch my wrists, trembling against my skin. He whispers words in a strangled voice. Then he presses the catch on the cuffs and they spring open.

I gasp in relief as immediately my hands spark with magic and it flows through my body freely again.

I turn slowly back around to face Tristan.

He's pressed against the wall again, and his body jolts like he's possessed, like there's another person inside him struggling to break free.

He groans, his fingernails scraping at the wall, his face contorted. Then suddenly his body jerks rigid, his eyes snap open and he glares at me with a hatred. He draws himself up to his full height and takes a menacing step towards me.

"No," I say firmly, lifting my right arm in front of me.

He snarls at me, reminding me more of the werebeast than a human, and takes another step forward.

"Tristan, it's me, Rhianna," I swallow, "Piglet," I say, that name tasting bad in my mouth.

He swipes for me, but I duck. He growls and lunges for me this time, trying to grab at me. I slip away and land my palm firmly on his chest, right above his beating heart.

At my touch, he freezes, and his body convulses all over again, like he's fighting to regain control.

"No," I repeat, and with my magic, I search for the drug in his blood. I find it rancid and evil, careening, lingering in his blood. It hisses at me, and a shock spins up my arm. I grit my teeth and chase the drug as Tristan's body shakes beneath my hand, his heart pounding against my palm.

"Come on," I grit out between my teeth, pushing my magic to race harder, until finally I grab a hold of that drug. It struggles in my magic's grip, stinging and scraping at me. I don't let go. I yank at it, trying to pull it from his body. It fights me, struggling back, burning me so violently I let out a cry.

"Rhi," Tristan murmurs.

"You need to help me," I pant. "Tristan, you need to help me."

His hand lands flat against mine, warm now, the feel of his skin electric in an altogether different way.

Together we tug at the drug, pulling and pulling together until finally we wrench it clean from his body and the liquid splatters against the floorboards, a neon green. It smolders on the floor, smoking and sizzling, until eventually it sinks away into the wood.

Tristan slumps against me, his head falls forward, and he gasps, his shoulders heaving as he catches his breath.

"Is it gone?" I whisper. "Is it all gone?"

He lifts his head, his damp golden hair falling back around his face, his emerald-green eyes now vivid and clear.

"It's gone," he whispers.

I let out a sigh of relief, unable to drag my gaze from his eyes. They are no longer overflowing with hatred, now they are brimming with heat.

I go to withdraw my hand from his chest, but he holds it firmly in place, pressing it right against his frantic heart.

"Piglet," he says and I scowl at him. He frowns too. "I'm so sorry, so fucking sorry."

I examine his face. My bond strains towards him. His emotions are clearer through the bond now and I can feel his remorse.

"What are you sorry for, Tristan?" I whisper.

He stares down at the floor. "Everything."

"Everything," I repeat with a sigh. And maybe it's the shock of what's happened, or all my emotions bubbling up to the surface like an erupting volcano, but the tears start to roll down my cheeks. I sniff, wiping them away with my fingers. "You know the worst of it, Tristan. I don't know what to believe anymore. I don't know whether you were lying to him or to me."

"Him, Piglet, him. Always him. If he knew the truth … I had to hide it from him."

"Why? Because you're ashamed, ashamed of me?"

"You don't know what he is like. How dangerous he can be. If he thought you were powerful, if he thought he could use you … I wasn't prepared to let that happen." He lifts his gaze to mine. "I'll never let that happen."

"But you told him about my mates – didn't you? It was you."

"I tried not to, Rhi. Believe me, I tried with all my might but that drug and his magic–"

"You stood there, right in front of me, and said you loved Summer Clutton-Brock. Let her fawn all over you. Do you know how that felt?"

"It was the drug. I was under his control. I didn't mean any of that stuff I said. I'm not in love with Summer. I'm not going to marry her."

"Did you sleep with her?" I say, intending to spit the words in his face. Instead, they leave my mouth as a feeble sob. Because as much as I hate to admit it, the thought of him with Summer breaks my goddamn heart.

"Summer?" he scoffs. "No, no. I can't stand the girl."

"There was a time, Tristan Kennedy, when you couldn't stand me!"

"That's not true. There was never a time I didn't want you."

I frown. "I'm not sure that's really the same thing. You didn't come looking for me, Tristan. You didn't try to find me."

"Because I was trying to free Spencer." He grimaces. "And I fucked it up."

"Right, because Spencer is your best friend and I'm just–"

"Because Spencer is your mate too and you need us all," he snaps.

I stare at him aghast and in the next minute, he tugs me right up close against his body. It's hard to think straight. It's hard to think at all.

His body is warm and hard and strong and my bond makes me giddy, it's so freaking high, elated to be this close to him, to feel his skin against mine.

"I've always wanted you." He spins me around, crushing me against the wall. "Only you. I can't stop thinking about you. Day and night. All the time. I'm losing my mind."

"It's the bond. It's like that when you first seal it."

"I've been crazy about you since I met you. Long before the bond between us was sealed. You're like no one I've ever met. You're fucking entrancing." He leans closer, staring deep into my eyes. He's pretty damn entrancing himself, especially those eyes, penetrating and beautiful. "You mean the world to me, Piglet. And I'd do anything for you."

Then his mouth is on mine and I can't resist him, can't resist this. He's always made me feel things I shouldn't and when he says things like that, I could almost believe them.

I kiss him back, my hands tugging at his shirt, finding his warm skin beneath, letting my hands trail across all the ridges of hard muscle I find there.

We sealed the bond. We relented to Fate's desires. And ever since we've been apart, ignoring her demands and she has punished us for it.

Now we are together and neither of us has the willpower to ignore her any longer, despite our circumstances, despite the goddamn stupidity of it.

He growls and I know my touch feels as good for him as his does for me, our magic already spinning around us, glinting and glimmering in the darkness.

"We should go," he murmurs, his hot lips finding my throat, "we should really get out of here, but stars forgive me, I can't … I can't …"

He reaches up inside my t-shirt and squeezes at my tit, his other hand sweeping down my body, caressing my waist and my hips.

And I don't think we need to beg forgiveness from the stars. I think this is exactly what the stars want, especially when he grinds into me and I realize just how needy I feel, my bond going crazy in my belly.

He pinches my nipple and I moan.

"No, little piglet," he says, his fingers fumbling at the waist of my pants. "You have to be quiet. Like before, quiet for me."

I shake my head, his fingers dipping into my panties and stroking through my folds. "I can't," I pant.

He freezes, the beat of his heart leaping in his throat. "You can't do this?" he says, emotions crashing across his face.

"I can't be quiet," I say, grinding myself against his fingers.

He smirks in that way that's oh so familiar to me, like the Tristan Kennedy I know so well, and then he winks and my pants are a pile on the floor. He removes his hand from my panties, causing me to pout at him, and undoes his fly, lowering his jeans and his boxers and giving me my first view of Tristan Kennedy's cock. It's better than I imagined, and yeah, I guess I have imagined it more than I'd care to admit.

He grips his thick shaft in his hand, rubbing his fist up and down his length. The fuzz on his groin is slightly darker than the locks on his crown, and his cock curves upwards in a way I have enough experience to know by now is going to feel damn good.

With his free hand, he hooks his two forefingers through the front of my panties and yanks them to one side.

"Wet," he says, and I can't deny it. I am. Wet and needy. My heart is beating just as frantically as his, and my bond spins with anticipation.

But as giddy as I am, I still have a little of my sense and so I land my palm firmly against his chest once again.

"If you're using me," I warn him, "if this was all about claiming another notch on your bedpost …"

He shakes his head, the arrogance falling away from his face and something more real resting in its place.

"You still don't get it, do you, Piglet? I'm yours. Entirely. Forever."

And then he's covering my mouth with one hand and hooking his other under my backside, lifting me against the wall until his cock lines up with my hole. Then I watch, transfixed and giddy, as he pushes his way inside me. He's big but I guess I'm used to that now. The stretch isn't as uncomfortable as it was, there's no sting, just pleasure, all pleasure as he grinds his way inside my pussy, hitting every sensitive place inside me.

I moan against his palm, unable to help myself, and once he's bottomed out, he leans his forehead against mine, peering deep into my eyes, panting again.

"Fuck, Piglet, fuck," he mutters.

But as good as it feels, it's not enough. I need him to move. I need him to fuck me. I nip at his hand with my teeth, wind my legs around his waist and push my heels against his backside, tug at his shirt.

"Shit," he says, and for a moment I'm a little desperate, concerned he hasn't gotten the message. But then, in the next breath, it's like a fire has been lit between us and we're all flame and all passion; all that heat – all that heat that's been sizzling away, sparking and flickering between us – finally combusting, consuming us both. He fucks me hard against the wall, my head knocking on the plaster, his hand tight across my mouth, his fingers sinking deep into my backside.

I forget where we are. I forget this is fucking dangerous. I forget everything but the feel of him, the sound of him, the scent of him and, as his hungry mouth claims mine, the taste of him. I dissolve into him completely, our magic entwining so completely it's no longer possible to know where mine ends and his begins.

"So good," he mutters against my mouth, "so fucking good, Rhi."

"Uh huh," I moan, as the sensations become too much, too good, too overwhelming, my body winding tighter and tighter, higher and higher, until I come, writhing against the wall, screaming silently into his hand.

"I love it when you come, little mate," he whispers, "it's all I've been able to think about. How I made you come on my fingers. How beautiful you looked." He sucks on my throat. "Come again!"

His magic sparks against my clit and it happens again, this time his thrusts becoming erratic, wilder, until, with one loud grunt, he comes deep inside me.

He stays that way as we both float back to earth, catching our breaths.

"Fuck," he says at last, "fuck, Rhi that was …"

I float in that giddy cloud of passion, in the feel of him. I float so high, loving the press of his skin and the embrace of his arms.

But soon, I'm falling, dropping down to earth, tumbling back to reality.

And now it's over, now all that raw passion is fading away, the flames of it withering, I realize how dumb this is.

I push his hand away from my mouth.

"We need to go." He makes no effort to move, his cock still buried inside me. "Tristan, we need to get out of here." He doesn't move. I push against his shoulder. "We need to find the others and go."

"Shit, Rhi, just …" He leans his hand against the wall above my head. "Just give me a moment."

And stars, I must be a fool, because every fiber in my body wants to grant him that moment, wants to soak, bask in it with him. But we can't.

"My bond feels so …" he says. "I don't want to go. I want to stay here in this moment with you forever." I search his face, peer deep into those emerald eyes and try to discern whether Tristan Kennedy is telling me the truth, whether this is as real as it feels. "Please," he adds.

I rest my hand against his cheek, then stroke back the damp golden locks that have fallen into his face.

"Tristan," I say. "We have to."

He meets my gaze, his eyes a green I won't ever be able to forget, and then he nods, pulling out of me and carefully lowering me to the ground. Taking my chin in his hand once I've found my feet and kissing me, this time deep, slow.

Reluctantly, I pull away from him and find my pants on the floor. I pull them on, his eyes on me, mine on him as he buttons up his fly.

I'm sticky and breathless, my bond desperate for me to place my hands on him again, but I need to snap out of this spell, and focus.

"Is there a way we can sneak down to the others?" I ask him. I'm sure together the two of us could blast our way out of this house, but I'd rather avoid the Bonnie and Clyde scenario – it didn't end well for them. I'd rather opt for a way that is most likely to ensure we remain in one piece.

"Down to the others?" he says. "We need to get you out of here, Rhi. As far away from my father as it's possible to be."

I lift my chin and glare at him. "I'm not going anywhere without Stone, Spencer and Renzo. And I'm surprised you want to. Isn't Spencer meant to be your–"

"Renzo?" he says, dumbfounded. "Renzo fucking Barone? What the … why the …"

I stare him right in the eye. "Renzo Barone is my fated mate."

His jaw falls open. "Renzo Barone tried to kill you."

"And you humiliated me in front of the entire school and fucked other girls in–"

"Okay, okay," he says, throwing his hands up. "I get your point." He tilts his head. "But, seriously, Piglet, him?"

"We're not discussing that now." I jab my finger at him. "I'm rescuing the others and getting out of here. So are you going to help me or not?"

"Of course, I'm going to help you, Rhi. I'm going to follow you to the ends of the earth from now on if that's what you want."

I nod, still a little taken aback by Tristan's desire to aid me, rather than belittle me.

"Is there a way to sneak out or not?" I ask. "I can't make myself invisible like you can."

"Ahhh," he says, reaching into his pocket and pulling something out. I step forward as he opens his fist, staring down at my locket – at my mother's locket. "I knew it was yours so I retrieved it for you."

I smile, taking it from his hand and lifting it over my head.

"It's a cloaker, right?" he says. I nod. "Can you make it work?"

I stroke my fingers over the silver locket, allowing my magic to do its job, "Yes," I say. "Yes, I can make it work."