Bitter Vows: A Twisted Arranged Marriage Romance (Crimson Falls Duet Book 1)

by Dani René

  But he doesn’t. And my heart plummets, embarrassment at my thoughts coursing through me. Every inch of my body aches from the stupid escape which the man before me thwarted.

  “Tell me, Lycan,” I command, attempting to sound stronger, more formidable than just the girl he sees when he looks at me. Because I’m certain that’s what I look like right now, dirty and muddy.

  He shakes his head slowly, and I’m not sure if it’s his answer, or if he’s at war with himself trying to figure out what to say to me. He drops his hand from my chin, and I immediately miss the connection. It’s stupid and immature to ache for a man who stole me, who had to have a contract just to get me to marry him. And perhaps I’ll pay for the insane thoughts I have toward him, but just for now, I allow myself to consider what being his wife would be like.

  When Lycan finally steps away, the cool breeze that sweeps away his warmth causes me to shiver. “Get cleaned up.” More gravel rumbles in his throat. “Sleep and don’t leave your room tonight, or I will be forced to lock you inside.” The warning is clear. The mishap of my running from earlier will not happen again, and he’ll make sure of it. “Tomorrow, we’ll talk.” Then he turns and walks away, leaving me staring at his broad back that tapers into a narrow waist. His shirt is filthy with mud, his dark slacks are probably caked in dirt, and his usually shiny shoes are no longer pristine.

  When he reaches the far end of the hall, he stops and turns toward me. I expect him to say something, but he doesn’t, he only opens the door and walks inside, and I’m left alone in the darkness.

  I don’t know what he could say to me tomorrow that would change my feelings about marrying him, but if I’m going to get out of this alive, I’ll have to play by the rules. For now, I retreat into my bedroom where I shut the door and make a beeline for the bathroom.

  Once the shower is heated and a haze of warmth billows around me, I strip down and step under the spray that has me hissing in pain at the scrapes and cuts from small stones where I had been pinned under Lycan’s heavy frame.

  The memory steals my thoughts, and an ache low in my gut twists and turns with the promise that the events of him chasing me, pinning me down, could happen again. It probably will. And I find myself squirming at the idea. Would I want that? The question hangs in the air, around me, dancing in the steam, and I realize with certainty that I had never felt more alive than when I was under Lycan, begging for him to stop.

  Is it something that I would crave once more?

  Yes. Yes, it is.

  Grabbing the soap and loofah, I lather up to wash away the dirt stuck to my skin. But I know as I clean myself, there’s no way I can wash away the touch of the man down the hall—the man who will soon be my husband.

  After I wash my hair and rinse the strands, I turn off the taps and step out into the foggy room. Wiping my hand against the mirror to clear it of condensation, I stare at myself. The woman looking back at me is different somehow. More… confident.

  I grab a towel and wrap myself in the fluffiness before heading back into the bedroom and opening the closet to find something to wear. When I was brought to the room for the first time, I didn’t think I would find it comforting, but as I pull on the shorts and tank top, I’m at ease.

  Even though it’s late, I don’t go straight to sleep. Instead, I settle on the window seat to look out into the blackest night. The garden below is empty, and I stare out at the darkness wondering why my grandmother hasn’t even bothered to come here to see me.

  Which begs the question—what has Lycan done to my family? My father is obviously not one of his favorite people, but what could my grandmother have done? Also, the book I found earlier addressed to her has me wondering if she knew the Shaws. Perhaps Lycan’s father was C.S.? I think back to the note, speaking about a wolf loving his damsel.

  Can history be repeating itself?

  Is that why Lycan is trying to get me to marry him?

  I need to know. There are so many questions and no answers. Even though Lycan promised we would talk tomorrow, something tells me there will always be more questions, and answers may not always fulfill my need for more information.

  My bare feet pad down the hallway. The sun hasn’t risen yet, and even though I’d love to open the door and step out onto the patio, I have a feeling I’d be caught red-handed. Silence hangs around me, like a thick, cloying cloud, as if he’s already watching. Deep down, I have a feeling Lycan knows when I make the most insignificant move. As if my breathing is on his radar. When I reach the bottom of the staircase, I turn left instead of right. I should go to the kitchen, which was my plan when I shut my bedroom door, but now that I’m here, curiosity has piqued, and my feet move voluntarily toward the office door that’s currently shut.

  With a gentle twist of the handle, I push open the heavy wooden panel and find myself in a dimly lit room. Stepping into Lycan’s personal space feels invasive but also exciting. My stomach twists with anxiety, with fear and elation at walking in and taking something that belongs to him, just like he’s taken me.

  Perhaps I can find answers about what my father is hiding. Lycan promised to talk to me, to tell me the truth, but something tells me he will most certainly be keeping things he deems inappropriate from me.

  All my life I’ve been treated like a child.

  And I’m done allowing it.

  Settling in the expensive leather chair, I cross my legs under my butt and pull myself closer to the heavy, wooden table, which has two drawers on either side of where I’m seated. The first one I tug on is locked, causing frustration to trickle through me. The next one slides open with ease, but all I find is a case of cigars and a stainless-steel lighter engraved with an intricate design of a wolf’s head. It looks like it’s howling at the moon. Underneath the etching is curled script, The Hunt.

  Confusion furrows my brows, and I flick it open, unsure of what I’ll find under the cap, but it’s empty. A few streaks of black, which I’m guessing have come from the flame, but nothing more.

  I open the top drawer to my left and find a small stack of envelopes and a notepad. Two sleek, silver fountain pens and a bottle of black ink. A red sealer stamp sits to the side, and once again, when I lift it, I find an engraving of a wolf’s head, but this time with the name Shaw under the collar of the beast.

  I continue my search, opening the last of the drawers, and find this one filled with one thick folder. Black leather etched with Shaw on the front cover, and a zipper holding everything inside.

  With trembling fingers, I lift it from its hiding place and set it on the desk. The hiss of the zipper echoes in my ears, causing me to wince, praying that the sound wasn’t as loud as it seemed. In the darkness, a whisper can be amplified to sound like a scream. And Lycan’s hearing must be as sharp as a trained hunter because I’m certain he could hear even the slightest noise.

  Flicking open the folder, I pick up the page lying on top of the stack. It’s been written on the Shaw branding letterhead—a letter to my father. It’s the threat he sent to Dad to get him to sign over my hand in marriage.

  But as my gaze scans the words, it doesn’t come across as a threat. Instead, Lycan seems to want to save me.

  She doesn’t need to know the truth to go on living and enjoying her life. You’re the fuck up, not her. And I trust you’ll see things my way. If you or your wife come near me or try to break the contract, I’ll see to it your daughter will never speak to you again. The moment she learns of your indiscretions, she’ll walk away. Think very long and hard about it, Mr. Bardot. Do you really want to lose your daughter over a stupid mistake? Unless you think your stupidity isn’t an error, then I’ll take Scarlett and ensure she gets the life she deserves.

  Don’t mistake me for a patient man. Also, do not think for one second I’m doing this for you. This is all for the girl. She will be mine, and the moment we walk out of your house, we won’t return.

  “Have you read enough, fiancée?” Lycan’s deep baritone skitters across the
silence toward me, the darkness swallowing his form, but his penetrating gaze is laser-sharp, and it’s on me. He doesn’t move from where he’s leaning against the doorframe, his thick, muscled arms folded across his broad, tanned, naked chest. Even in the dim light shining through the window, I can tell this man is more Adonis than human.

  “I—I…” Words escape me. My throat clogs with guilt and shame at being caught red-handed, just like all my fears coming true.

  “When I promised to tell you everything in the morning, I meant it,” he says, pushing away from the threshold and stepping into the room. My hungry gaze takes him in. He’s only wearing a pair of red plaid sleep pants. Every other part of him is bare—feet, chest, stomach, and those arms. A memory of what happened last night trickles through my mind, and I can’t stop from squirming in his chair.

  He stops inches from the desk.

  Dropping his hands to his sides, he pins me with a glare, and my intent stare eats up every other inch of him that was covered when he had his arms crossed. The dips and peaks of smooth skin taunt me, and the deep dip of his navel has a dark trail of hair sneaking down into the waistband of his pants.

  “Are you enjoying the view, soon-to-be wife?” The amusement in his tone has me snapping my gaze to his face. Finding the corner of his mouth tipped, his green eyes blaze with intent, with malice, but also, with desire so hot it’s as if a volcano has erupted behind those deep, orbs.

  “I needed answers,” I respond to his earlier question in an attempt not to talk about how attractive I do find him. I want to hate him right now. In this moment, I want to scream and shout, but I’d rather have him talk to me like an equal, and I know losing my shit will only have him shut down again.

  “And I promised to give them to you.” His expression is stern as if I’m a child who’s about to get grounded for being bad. “But if you insist on acting like an insolent teenager, I’ll happily lock you up and treat you accordingly.”

  “I just don’t want to be in the dark anymore, and somehow, I don’t…” Shaking my head, I push to my feet, and that’s when I realize I’m wearing a tiny pair of shorts and a strappy top that fits tightly against me as if it were a second skin. Lycan’s expression turns dark. His pupils widen, turning the normally green irises into black, but he doesn’t smile.

  “You don’t?” A dark brow arches as he regards me with curious need.

  “I don’t trust you.”

  He considers this for a moment, and I almost expect him to admonish me for what I’ve just said, but instead, he smiles. “Good. You shouldn’t.”

  “I’m supposed to marry you, but I can’t trust you?”

  Without responding, Lycan rounds the desk, stopping inches from where I’m standing. His hands land on my hips, and he holds me close, pulling me the last hairsbreadth until our bodies are flush. “I’m dangerous. I’m lethal. And I’m almost certain I will make you cry a lot more throughout this strange relationship.” His brutal honesty scrapes against his throat, causing it to sound heavy, like tires on gravel.

  For a long moment, I allow myself to stare at him. This close, even in the dark, he’s utterly breathtaking. In such a way that I could forget how I came here. I could even push aside the fact that my father signed my life over to him. I’m still convinced he’s a bastard, but he’s right.

  He is bad for me.

  He will hurt me.

  But even so, people I thought were keeping me safe all my life were clearly lying to me. The realization hits me suddenly—I’m alone. I don’t have my parents to save me, which means I have to save myself.

  My decision is made. I lock my gaze on his and nod. “Then allow me to learn more about the man I’m vowing to spend the rest of my life with.”

  22

  Lycan

  Her request shouldn’t be difficult for me, but it is. I can’t deny the thought of someone knowing me inside and out scares the shit out of me because nobody has ever burrowed their way into my life, or my mind, for that matter. But those wide, cocoa irises seem to dig into me, and I allow her for a split second to see the fear bouncing around my mind before I shut down once more.

  “I don’t appreciate my wife snooping around my office.”

  “Soon-to-be wife,” she throws back, a small glimmer of a smile taking hold of her plump, pink lips, which has me hungry to devour them. I could sit her on my desk. I could also spread those long, slender thighs and feast on her sweet cunt. Temptation to do just that runs rampant through me, and I wonder what she’d do if I were to take hold of her and pin her to the smooth wooden surface and have my way with her.

  Would she fight?

  I would want her to. I hunger for a woman with fire to show me just how strong she is against someone like me—a beast, a wolf in an expensive suit. I step into her, my feet touching hers, the warmth of her skin burning through me.

  Scarlett gently reaches for my face, her palm cupping the scruff at my jaw, sending need coursing from her tender touch to my brain. Messages of wariness hit me in the chest, but this girl, this innocent woman, can’t hurt me because she’ll never be able to find the one muscle in my body that would crack if I allowed it to. It has been locked away for so long I doubt it works besides the fact of keeping me alive.

  “What you’ll find is not something you’ll be able to handle, little red,” I tell her earnestly. The truth scores my esophagus, the raw honesty reminding me of just how bad I am for her.

  I wanted to save her.

  I wanted to claim her innocence for my own.

  When her father signed the contract, I convinced myself she’d be better off with the devil than a monster. Perhaps it’s because I believed her sweet light would slowly snuff out my cloying darkness.

  “You don’t know me very well, Lycan Shaw,” she tells me, both hands holding onto my face. Her thumbs circling my stubble. Her gaze drinks me in like a fine wine, but I’m nothing of the sort. I’m a smoky whiskey at best.

  I can’t stop the smirk that twists on my face. I lean in, slow and steady, keeping my stare locked on Scarlett’s beautiful cocoa gaze. “Trust that I’ll know you by the time you say I do,” I tell her. “While we stand here, at an impasse, I have the urge to bend you over my desk and spank your ass until you’re screaming for me to stop. Punishment for breaking into my office and looking through my private documents.”

  “Then punish me,” she bites, stepping back out of my hold, and my hands already miss the feel of her soft curves. Scarlett crosses her arms, her tits teasing from the low neckline of her tight top. The smooth, creamy flesh taunting from only inches away, and for a moment, I picture them bound with rope, her nipples hard and clamped while I paddle her unruly ass.

  “Drop your arms.” My voice is stern. There is no debate in the order, and when her eyes flash with understanding, she obeys. “Open your legs, wide.” Once again, my dominant voice takes hold, the words spearing into her as she slowly shifts her bare feet on the cool, hardwood floors.

  “Is that what gets you off?” Scarlett grits, her teeth grinding as her jaw ticks in frustration. Fighting the urge to chuckle, I close the distance between us and grip her shoulder. My fingers dig into the soft skin before I trail my touch down her arm to find her hip once more.

  The moment I circle her waist, my hand grabs the fleshy globe of her ass, causing her to whimper when I squeeze. I know she likes the dominance. “It does. I love watching you obey me like a good little girl,” I tell her.

  “I’m not calling you Daddy.” Her voice is cold, icy as it cools the heat between us for a second, and this time, I do laugh out loud.

  “That’s not my kink, sweetheart,” I inform her. “But I do expect you to do as I say, in and out of the bedroom.” Moving my free hand to her other hip, I hold her steady before I trace my fingers over the crack of her ass. “This is mine.” My touch tickles its way over the curve of her outer thigh before I cup her between her legs. “This is mine as well.”

  “Lycan…” My name is a hoarse
whisper that tumbles free from her lips, the usually sweet tone husky with need. “Please.”

  “Please?” My brow arches in question as I dip my fingers into the warm material, the wetness of her seeping through, and I feel like a god taking hold of his prize. “I like when you beg as well.”

  “I… I’ve…” Her words are mumbled, but she can’t form sentences as I tease her pretty pussy with my fingers. Stroking her outside those tiny shorts, I send her reeling as her small hands grip my shoulders in a fierce hold. This is what we did in her bedroom, but this room, this space, is mine. My hand moves up, then dips under the waistband of her shorts.

  “Tell me you don’t want me,” I order, needing her to give me permission to dip into the tight heat I know is waiting for me. “Tell me I’m a bad man, and you hate me.” Her mouth opens, and for a moment, I expect her to refuse my advance, but when she doesn’t, I dip two fingers into her cunt, which is dripping wet. I pump once, twice, before I lean in and whisper my lips along her cheek. “Tell me how I don’t make you crave the darkness,” I murmur, the warmth of my breath feathering over her neck, and my teeth latch onto the soft, fleshy earlobe, and I bite down hard, causing a slew of whimpers and moans to fall free.

  “I can’t.” Her admission has my cock throbbing, begging to be let loose to finally claim my fiancée. I walk her back until her ass hits the desk, and I gently push her down until she’s leaning back on her elbows. My hands tug at her shorts, and then they’re sliding down her legs.

  This is too easy.

  The thought comes to me quickly, and I have a feeling my soon-to-be wife has a plan to bring this contract to an end. Only, she doesn’t realize I’m the one in charge. I’m in control. She may attempt to thwart my plans, but she won’t win.