Bound To You

|Chapter 40|

||Hopeless: Having no expectation of goodness or success; feeling or causing despair, very bad or incompetent.||

Arabella's eyes snapped open, the blinding white lights beamed harshly into her eyes. The king sat forlorn in the cushioned chair beside the bed. His head in his head, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. She glared at his fatigued figure. She had been moved to a new room. It was more regal. It was washed in creamy elegance as most of the furniture was eggshell and beige. Similarly to the king's room, it had ceiling to floor windows. She looked maliciously at it. The curtains were drawn shut and the bed sheets were under her arms.

"Get away from me!" She croaked.

He looked up at her in silence. Getting up he entered his closet retrieving some of her clothes. Dropping it lightly on the bed, he looked at her with a passive face.

"Morning, shower and get ready," he told her lowly.

She cocked her head to one side. She still wanted a fight. She wanted blood, more blood. She felt emotionally drained and weak. Violating such a sacred and intimate custom of marking your mate unwillingly was bound to have consequences. The treachery and violation make her suffocate from the sting. Her wolf was strong the last time she attacked, a new fledge. However, someone who dared to force a mark was the worst werewolf there would ever be. Arabella hated to admit it, but she was slightly scared of the King now. Now it seemed she was moving on to a phase of her life where she didn't want to live.

She moved to get up, he came closer to help her, reaching out to touch her. She flinched before he retracted himself, almost looking pained.

"Don't come near to me," she whispered out almost meekly.

He backed away slightly, standing rigidly after her request. His gazed pierced her body with an intensity of authority.

"Arabella-" he began.

"Leave," she commanded.

He stood rooted in his space, "I need to speak with you. When you're ready, meet me in my study."

Seated at the edge of the bed, she leaned over silently. She didn't answer.

"You have to understand-" he trailed off.

"I'll meet you in your study," she stopped him.

She got up and went into the bathroom, after which she heard the door of the bedroom shutting softly.

She got into the shower, standing in the large space, she peered at the marks on her arm. Two canine scars on both of her wrist. Scarred scarlet. It made her feel upset, nauseous and worthless.

She let the cold water rain on her. Freezing her heated body. She scrubbed the dirt from her skin, the oils from her hair. She attempted to remove his scent from her body as she violently scrubbed herself. Almost scornfully touching her neck and arms. She shuddered as she felt the King's being trying to soothe her, she countered him by projecting her scorn onto her. But quickly, retracted after realizing she would be willingly sharing part of her self with him. The signet on her breast had gotten significantly bolder, no longer pale but had turned a few shades pinker. On her hip, much to her dismay but expectation was the signet of The Grey's. The wolf on its hind legs, it paws in the air, and a growl sneered in its face. It was about eight centimeters long, almost like a tattoo with incredible detail. A tattoo she did not want. It meant she was officially a part of the Grey Legacy. And the people knew it. Which meant they knew their king had found a queen, and her family knew she had been marked.

She exited the shower, after drying herself. The piece of clothing he had picked out was a traditional dress, which exposed the neck and wrists. It was a satiny material, dark green, a nod to her pack's signet colour. It was long, it would have reached her ankles. She wouldn't wear it. She pulled on a high neck dress, she found in the same closet, that had long sleeves as well. Covering up new marks were a sign of shame and disgrace of the mark. It was disrespectful to the mate and meant that the mate was unworthy. It was black and loose.