The Marriage Game

In Which Camila Prepares for Hollywood

"Who says I was talking to Alex?" Camila hugged the phone to her chest.

Declan held out his hand, palm face up. She noticed a pale scar around his wrist. "The phone, Camila."

"You sure you want to take it away from me? I'll just get another one."

His green eyes pierced through her. "The phone."

She placed the phone in his hand. Her fingertips brushed his palm, sending sparks shooting up her arm.

"If you're done manhandling me, I suppose we should leave."

"Not quite."

Declan took a step closer. Camila backed up against the sink.

"What are you doing?"

"What do you think I'm doing?" He prowled closer, every movement precise and calculated. He reminded her of a wolf, his footsteps barely audible on the tiled floor. 

The marble counter dug into Camila's hipbone. She craned her neck to look up at him.

"Declan. What are you doing?"

He stopped and tilted his head, regarding her with those startling green eyes. "Jack," he said. "Come here."

Camila arched an eyebrow. "Jack?"

The teenager lifted a thin hand in a halfhearted wave. "Hi," he mumbled. "He's your boyfriend, right? I told him if you're dating, he probably should just wait until you're done with the bathroom before barging in."

"We're not dating."

Jack straightened up. "Cool. Hey, you're cute-"

Declan sighed. "Jack. Come here."

Jack obediently took two small steps forward, until he stood beside Declan.

"I think you're cute!" Rosa chirped up helpfully. "Jack, I mean."

"Really?" Jack twisted his neck around to look at her, eyes bulging. "Thank you!"

"You can leave now." Declan's gaze stayed fixed on Camila. His words were sharp and commanding. It was clear he was used to being obeyed. 

Rosa shrugged. "Until next time." She flashed Camila a smile, her teeth glistening in the pale yellow lighting of the bathroom

The rusty hinges squeaked as the door slid shut.

"Could I leave too?" Jack squeaked out. 

Declan didn't glance at him, but his hand closed around Jack's thin upper arm. He tilted his head, regarding Camila. "Tell me what you're planning."

Camila swallowed. She raised her chin.

"I'm not planning anything."

She heard the rattle of the air conditioning in the vents. Outside, a bird chirped a sweet melody. The marble counter was hard and cold against her hip.

Declan reached out. His hand wrapped around Jack's pale pointer finger, and in a quick, brutal motion, he bent it to one side. A sharp snap cracked through the silence.

Jack screamed. He looked at his finger, bent sideways at a right angle, then back to Declan. He screamed again.

"Declan, wha-" Camila started.

"Tell me what you're planning."

"Nothing!" Camila hurried forward, pressing her palms to Declan's muscled chest. If she could use the bond, distract him in some way—sparks rocketed down her fingertips, like her veins were on fire—but Declan's expression barely shifted. "I'm not planning anything," she whispered.

"D- Dude, what the fuck?" Jack tried to pull away. It was like watching a toddler struggle with his parent. Declan's grip was hard as steel. 

"Tell me what you're planning, Camila." 

"I told you." She looked him in the eye, trying to get him to focus on her. "I'm not planning anything. Let him go. He hasn't done anything wrong."

There was a snap. Like firewood. Jack's thumb popped out of the socket, bent backwards across the back of his hand. 

"Last chance. Tell me what you're planning, or I'll snap his neck."

Jack's eyes were brown, glistening with tears and fixed on her. Would Declan let him live if she said the right thing? But if Declan was willing to murder a stranger, what would he do to Alex?

Her hands shook. She clasped them tightly together, pressing her palms against each other. Her knuckles were pale, almost white, her muscles trembling. 

"Alex is dead," she whispered. The tears weren't far off—they just needed a little push—and all she had to do was think of her brother. A tear rolled down her cheek. 

"How?" Declan growled.

"In the attack. I got in contact with... with his friend Manuel. I wanted to escape but I don't have anywhere else to go." Camila didn't let herself look away from him. "I'm sorry. Please don't kill him."

Slowly, Declan released Jack. A knot of tension in Camila's neck relaxed and she bowed her head.

"Thank you," she whispered.

The mating bond sung with joy—he'd believed her, he trusted her, he wanted her—but the knowledge was empty. Meaningless. 

He'd almost killed someone. 

Jack spared a glance at Declan, his eyes wide as a cartoon characters. Camila glared at him, jerking her head towards the door. He nodded quickly, mouthed something about calling the cops, and ran out the door.

The sound of his footsteps—quick and squeaky on the smooth tile floor—faded into the distance.

"Hey." 

Declan's voice was quieter now, deep and soothing. Her eyes burned and tears streamed down her cheeks, dripping off her chin. Her vision was blurry, like trying to see underwater.

She risked a glance up.

Declan had taken a step closer. Tentatively, he pressed a hand against her back, pulling her to him. Her cheek collided with his muscled chest. 

"I know he was...important to you. I'm sorry."

Camila felt the words vibrate in his chest. A part of her wanted to stay there, to relax in the sheer pleasure of the mating bond. A part of her wanted to vomit. What would've happened if he hadn't believed her? She didn't dare pull away.

She felt the soft touch of his lips on the top of her head. Sparks shot straight to her stomach. Camila closed her eyes. 

"We should go." Camila choked out, pulling away, careful to let one hand linger on his shoulder—was it for show? She wasn't sure—so he didn't get angry.

They left.

Who feels bad for Jack? I feel bad for Jack! Any ideas on what Camila's plan is?

Thanks for reading!

-Harley