I look away.
Then I think of Samantha, with her perfect body, teeth, and hair.
I hate myself for the glance I give my own body. Too-small breasts. Too-wide thighs. Knobby knees. Don’t even get me started on my feet.
“Nothing ever happened between you?” I ask doubtfully. “She’sbeautiful.”
He snorts and shakes his head. “As are all poisonous flowers. Pretty on the outside. Toxic on the inside.” His gaze stays fixed on the ceiling, voice turning sharper. “Samantha doesn’t want me, anyway. Not really. She wants the power that comes with me. To her, I’m not a person. I’m just a crown to wear.”
The words hang there, heavy and sour.
I swallow, unsure what to say. I don’t know what’s worse, the fact that he knows that, or that he’s gotten so used to being wanted for what he is, not who he is, that he says it like it’s no big deal.
Maybe that’s the part that hits hardest. The way he’s so casually resigned to it.
Like love was never meant for someone like him.
A pause and then he continues, “It doesn’t matter, though. What I want. What Sam wants. The truth is that her mom has been positioning her, grooming her, since she was young to be my Bonded. Everyone assumes we’ll end up together.”
He adds, “Her mother asked my father for a bonding agreement.” When my brow furrows, he explains, “It’s like an arranged marriage, promised young, bonded later. All politics, strategy.”
My skin crawls at that, the idea of children used as currency.
He sighs. “Sam’s mom has asked for it a million times. My father always says no.”
“Why?” I ask. “Why not bond her if she’s perfect for you, at least on paper?”
Carrson leans his head back against the bed, staring at the ceiling like it’s safer than looking at me.
“Because bonding elevates her family. Makes her line equal to mine. My father doesn’t want that. He wants the power kept clean. Controlled. Hisand mine, but only because I’m an extension of him.”
I piece his explanation together and anger stirs, warming my blood, making it pound in my ears. “Let me see if I have this straight. Sam’s spent her entire life being set up to bond with you, but you reject her and bond me, a total stranger, and then you send me to her. Unprotected. With no knowledge of your complicated history?”
He eyes me cautiously. As you would something wild, a rabid animal. Something that bites. For the first time, there’s hesitation when he answers, “Yes. Um, that about covers it.”
I shoot to my feet, my fists clenched.
“Get up,” I snap. “I want to hit you again.”
Chapter fifteen
Laurel
The next day, it takes Samantha five minutes to get me on the ground. “You little bitch. I won’t share him with you,” she hisses, full of hate, right before she breaks my finger. It’s my pinkie finger, but still, it hurts like hell. Later that night, Carrson takes one look at it splinted and wrapped in a bandage.
He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t comfort or belittle me, just wakes me half an hour earlier the next morning to train. Unlike the first time, this isn’t just me throwing random punches at him. He takes the time to explain how to stand, loose and ready. How to keep my balance. Where to plant my feetso I won’t get pushed down so easily.
He takes my good hand in his and adjusts the shape of my fist, curling my fingers tight.
“Hit with your index and middle knuckles,” he says, pointing at each one. “They’re the strongest. Anything else, you break bones.”
I nod, my jaw clenched, and then we practice for hours.
The day after that, it takes Samantha ten minutes to get me on the ground, but she doesn’t break anything.
Progress, I guess.
The morning after, Carrson says, “Never lead with your thumb, control your breathing, always guard your face. Don’t be afraid to go for the cheap shots. The groin, the nose, the instep of a foot. Your goal is to survive. Walk away.”
