Page 130 of Pretty Savage: Defy

The hood falls from his face, but his expression gives me nothing. He has arranged every feature into perfect blankness, his attention fixed somewhere beyond my shoulder. He doesn’t glance at my necklace. He could be standing beside anyone.

My heart plunges. The answer is brutally obvious.

He doesn’t want me anymore.

I look over him again, searching for evidence of the battle. His face is unmarked, healed by Thom like Sam said, but his knuckles are swollen, the skin split and newly scabbed.

Interrogated. Yeah, right.

Carr raises the dagger between us. “Place your palms against the blade and clasp hands. Carrson will speak first. Then Laurel.”

I press my palm to the steel and curl my fingers around Carrson’s hand on the other side. The edge parts my skin before I apply any pressure. Blood slips down my wrist, runs beneath the white cuff, and blooms through the fabric, turning white to crimson.

“Speak the vow,” Carr commands, his voice carrying through the hall.

Carrson continues to stare over my shoulder.

“I, Carrson Rowe Ashford, under the laws of The Order, bond you, Laurel Ann Turner. In blood and will, I claim you as mine, bound to my name, my house, and my purpose. Your strength is mine. My power and protection are yours to bear. From this moment forward, we stand as one, unbroken, unchallenged, and unending.”

His voice is controlled to the point of lifelessness.

I had hoped the vow would bind us for life because he loved me. Instead, he makes it sound like duty.

Carrson finishes. Carr’s shoulders lower as he exhales. Relief softens his face, and he begins to turn toward me.

Carrson does not release my hand.

“Under the laws of The Order,” he continues, each word stronger than the last, “I invoke the right to a singular bond.”

Singular?

Carr rears back, horror wiping the relief from his face.

A single gasp passes through the hall, hundreds of people inhaling at once. Benches creak. Whispers break out through the rows.

Carrson continues as though none of it reaches him.

The blankness is gone. His eyes blaze with every emotion Carr taught him never to show. His fingers squeeze, crushing our palms harder against the dagger. Blood runs over the steel and gathers between our hands, red as the roses at our feet.

“I, Carrson Rowe Ashford, solo bond you, Laurel Ann Turner.”

Carr lunges for our joined hands.

Carrson’s free arm closes around my waist, pulling me against him.

“You are my first bond and my last bond. Until my dying day, I will take no second. I will take no third.” His eyes never leave mine. “Only you.”

“No!”

Carr’s shout echoes through the hall. His hand shoots toward Carrson’s wrist, but Carrson closes his other hand over mine, trapping the dagger and our joined blood between us.

Carr wrenches the blade free. Steel tears through the cut in my palm, opening it wider. Pain sears up my arm, but Carrson immediately presses his hand to mine, palm to palm, finger to finger.

Then, in front of everyone, he kisses me.

Just like at the ball, the room dissolves the instant his lips meet mine. Carr’s fury, the watching crowd, the blood sliding between our hands. They’re all still here, but none of them can compete with the answer in Carrson’s kiss.

He wants me.