The Marriage Contract

by Rose Wulf

  Her entire life … her entire life had been an experiment. It was no wonder her father was so cold and distant—he’d never seen her as anything more than a business deal. Whether her mother had known the full truth or only some of it, Ophelia would never know. She no longer wanted to. She needed, more than ever, to think someone had desired only a happy and secure life for her. Even if, at the moment, she struggled to believe it. She’d known for a long time her future had been decided without her, but this was on another level.

  She was just a tool. No … we both are.

  Batson was as much a victim of this mistreatment as she was. For as much as she hurt, she needed to remember that.

  “Ophelia,” Yvette called gently. “You understand now, don’t you? Why it’s so important that you be free?”

  Ophelia drew a shaky breath and wiped the tears from her face. “What you described … is horrifying,” she said. It was the truth. “But if you wanted me to trust you and bend to your will, why didn’t you just tell me all of this years ago? Why the deception?”

  Yvette’s eyes widened, as if she couldn’t believe the words Ophelia had spoken. “I explained—”

  “No, you justified,” Ophelia interrupted. “You could have gone behind Dad’s back any time you wanted. I thought we were close all my life. You’ve been the only family who really still embraced me. You’ve had so many chances to sit me down and tell me these things. So what’s the real reason you waited?”

  Yvette drew a long, tight-lipped breath. The air in the room swirled around and between them.

  Ophelia held her position. Her chest still ached and her eyes continued to burn, but she didn’t look away. She didn’t retract the question. She was done backing down. Her grandmother was obviously willing to throw her father under the bus, but it’d taken her ten years—or more—to do it. Ophelia wasn’t going to leave that question unasked.

  “In your contract,” Yvette began, “it says something about an alliance, doesn’t it?”

  Alliance? Ophelia reflected on the contract once more. That word did show up, once.

  Should either party violate these terms, this contract becomes void. The alliance between the sylph family Flynn and the salamander family Crosse will be nullified.

  “Yes,” Ophelia replied.

  Yvette nodded. “If I simply overruled their mutual agreement, especially after it was signed by all parties, that ‘alliance’ would fall into a war.”

  “What?” The word escaped Ophelia in a gasp. A war? Between their families? The idea was ridiculous! “You’ve got to be joking. Dad’s too busy in his office to fight a war.” She pressed her hand to her chest. “I’m not about to fight anyone.”

  Yvette shook her head. “You’ve been sheltered, intentionally,” she said. “But it’s bigger than that, Ophelia. If a confrontation between two pureblood lines broke out, however small initially, it would incite war between the races everywhere. Sylphs and salamanders would fall into conflict, many without understanding why.” She sat up straighter. “That’s what it is to be of pureblooded descent.”

  Ophelia balked. Her grandmother was proud of that? “But then breaking the contract at all would cause this war, wouldn’t it?”

  “Not necessarily,” Yvette replied. “That’s why they spelled out repercussions for such a circumstance. No one wants a war.” She made a small huffing sound. “Frankly, the Crosses would be on the losing end and they’re well aware of it. There is the chance that their tribe Elder would excommunicate them instead of going to war on their behalf, given this hinged on a union involving their half-breed son. They have more to lose than we do.”

  There it was. The real reason why her grandmother had finally, after all this time, decided to take such a risk.

  But there was still one more thing she needed to know, so Ophelia forced out the question. “How does that explain the secrecy? Why did it have to be some giant secret from the world?”

  Yvette made a muted sound reminiscent of a scoff. “To avoid the controversy and unnecessary questions, of course. Sylphs and salamanders—or any races—don’t mix blood that way. Their Elders might have stepped in and disbanded the marriage. At the very least, the real reason behind the union would have been forced to light.”

  So it was to protect themselves. The big secret had nothing to do with her, or with Batson. It was to protect their investment.

  Feeling sick, Ophelia reached for the purse beside her on the ground. “I’ve heard enough,” she said. “This is … this is all insane. I don’t want anything to do with a war or some stupid experiment. I just want to live my life.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to help you out with,” Yvette said pointedly.

  “No!” Ophelia snapped, standing swiftly. The air swirled around the skirt of her dress and ruffled her hair. “No, you want to manipulate me every bit as much as anyone else does. You just want to do it differently. I’m sick of it.”

  “Ophelia.”

  Slipping her purse over her shoulder, Ophelia turned toward the door. “Thank you for answering my questions, Grandma,” she said. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

  “Why don’t you stay here and—”

  “I’m going home.”

  Yvette moved behind her. “You need to get away from that creature. He’s an insult to you.”

  Ophelia spun to glare at her grandmother. “Batson is the only one in my life who’s been honest with me since I was eighteen.”

  Yvette’s lips settled into a thin line for a long second. Finally, she said, “I refuse to drive you back there.”

  A bitter laugh bubbled up from Ophelia’s throat. “Oh, so you have no problem breaking your own promises, too? Don’t worry, I assumed you’d say that. I’ll walk.”

  “I understand you’re frustrated,” Yvette said as Ophelia turned on her heel again and marched to the door. “But don’t behave like a child. Recognize your options, Ophelia.”

  “I am,” Ophelia shot back. She didn’t look over her shoulder as she jerked open the door. She was a grown woman and a strong, pureblooded sylph. She’d be fine on her own two feet.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was later than Batson would have liked before he made it home. Once most of the guests had taken their leave, Kipp and a couple of the guys from work insisted on moving to a bar. At that point, the birthday party turned into a lopsided drinking party where Batson nursed his last beer of the day and watched the colleagues he less often associated with get sloshed. Kipp laughed and talked with the best of them, a talent of his, but never actually finished his second drink. Which worked out, since the two of them turned into impromptu chauffeurs.

  Batson shook his head as he stepped from his truck. He didn’t spend a whole lot of time with most of his coworkers, so he told himself to hope they didn’t usually behave that way. For their sakes. He dropped his phone into his back pocket and glanced to the side as he moved toward his door. Lia’s car was in the drive, as he’d expected, but her front-facing window was dark. It wasn’t that late. Was she watching a movie? In the back of the house?

  He wondered, dangerously, if perhaps she was waiting for him in his house instead. The possibility brought a grin to his lips and he unlocked his door. It’d be unlike her, but there was no way in hell he’d complain.

  Once the door was shut and locked behind him, Batson looked forward and drew a slow breath. Nothing had moved, no one sat in the darkened room, and he couldn’t feel any heat radiating from down the hall. He exhaled. It’d been a pipedream, anyway. He took a minute to remove his boots and set down his keys and phone before making his way to the display case and slipping into Lia’s side of the duplex.

  Her hallway was dark, too. Her entire house was dark.

  Batson scowled. “Lia?”

  The oppressive silence of an empty house met his call. He knew it was empty, or at least devoid of life, but he headed toward the bedroom anyway. He checked the bathroom then made his way down the hall to the bulk of the
house. He hadn’t seen exactly how she’d left it before heading off to set her trap for him that afternoon, but if he had to guess, he’d say she hadn’t come back since.

  Except her car was in the driveway.

  Batson turned and stomped through the house, all but shoving the couple of show-coats off their hangars until he was back in his half of the duplex. Something was wrong. He could feel it in his bones. He moved to the island, nearly identical to hers, where he’d dropped his phone and quickly unlocked it. No new messages of any type. Not terribly surprising. He stared at the screen for a second, debating whether he should text or call.

  She should be home.

  He might have ordinarily assumed she was out with Alice, but Alice had stayed for a while after Lia left. Shortly before they’d parted for the night, Kipp had wiggled his phone in Batson’s face, bragging about already getting text messages from Alice. Why would Alice be texting Kipp—Batson assumed they were conversational or flirty—if she were visiting with Lia? No, more likely, Lia wasn’t with Alice.

  Batson punched her number into the keypad and put the phone to his ear. It didn’t ring at all before going to voicemail. His stomach clenched at the implication. “Checking in,” he said, since he couldn’t say more, and disconnected. Why the hell is her phone off?

  He drew and released a slow breath, attempting to think through the worry suddenly gripping him.

  Lia was like him. She didn’t spend a lot of her free time with a variety of people. It was incredibly unlikely a different friend would have pulled up at the curb and convinced her to go for a ride at or after sundown. There was a possibility she might go somewhere on her own, but that late in the day, she wouldn’t go without her car. So what the hell was going on?

  Where the hell is she?

  Batson ground his teeth and grabbed his boots. There was no way he could sit around and wait for her to call him back when—assuming—she got his message. If something really was wrong, she might not get the chance to call. He’d leave a note on her pillow to contact him if she made it home while he was out.

  ****

  Ophelia pried her eyes open with unusual difficulty. She felt groggy, but … when had she fallen asleep? It was still dark and the air was thin. Wait. The air was thin? Ophelia frowned and pushed to her knees. She wasn’t on her bed, or her couch. The material beneath her was thinner and less comfortable. It reminded her of a futon. What’s going on?

  She tried looking around, but it was too dark. She couldn’t see. Fear crept in like a spider stretching its legs up her spine. Ophelia shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. As best she could tell, she was still wearing the dress she’d worn to Batson’s party. Her feet were bare, though. Her lungs shook as she tried to draw a large, comforting breath and only partially succeeded. Something was very wrong with the air in this place.

  “Hello?” she called, her voice weak from breathless fear.

  Absolute silence greeted her question.

  Swallowing hard against the lump in her throat, Ophelia unlatched her hands from her upper arms and pushed to her feet. Wherever she was, whatever was going on, she couldn’t just sit around. At least she didn’t hit her head on the ceiling. Since she couldn’t see, she carefully extended her arms. One out, in front of her, until her fingers were wiggling in open space. Then both at her sides, as far as they would go. She never felt a wall of any kind. That should have reassured her, but considering she could barely draw enough breath and she couldn’t see a single thing, Ophelia was far from comforted.

  What she wouldn’t give, at that moment, for a salamander’s night vision.

  With her heart doing its best jackhammer impersonation, Ophelia took a cautious step off the futon. The floor beneath was hard, cool, and somewhat uneven. As if it were unfinished, uncovered rock. A basement? Could she be underground? If she were underground—truly underground—that would explain a lot. Except how she’d gotten there in the first place. She kept one arm in front of her, slightly bent and palm up, bracing, the other arm out at her side in a similar position, and forced her feet to move.

  How did I get here?

  Ophelia racked her brain for the last thing she remembered. The last clear memory. She’d shuffled forward several nervous steps before it came to her. The house. The small little house Grandma Yvette had purchased, supposedly for her. She’d been there with her grandmother. The jackhammer in her chest stuttered as the memory of the conversation flooded Ophelia’s mind for a precious second. She shoved it aside and focused on what came after.

  She’d realized her grandmother’s intentions. The Elder’s desire to create friction between the sylphs and salamanders—to risk war, or at the very least to cause lasting pain and unnecessary heartache to an entire family—for the sake of her pride. So she’d left. Her grandmother had refused to drive her home and Ophelia had had to walk. But I definitely left. She remembered walking down the driveway, the house and her grandmother behind her. She remembered passing the seafoam Buick.

  Her feet halted. And then…?

  A momentary flicker of warning, like hairs raising on the back of her neck, but it had come too late. All at once, the oxygen in her lungs had been forcibly ripped up through her throat. It had happened too fast for her to catch, to stop. The bulk of air being torn out of her in one singular motion physically hurt, like scraping flesh on stucco. Then it had been over and everything … had gone black.

  Everything was still black. She was only conscious for it now. The pain in her throat, the burn in her lungs, made so much more sense.

  Ophelia’s chest heaved as another fissure ruptured in her heart. There was only one person who could have done such a thing to her. Only one other sylph who’d been in the area. As far as she knew, she and her grandmother were the only sylphs who actually lived in the entire county. Not that her grandmother told her everything. Obviously. But she was sure, in what was left of her heart, who was responsible for her present situation. Who had attacked her. There was no doubt at all.

  Grandma.

  Her knees wobbled and she had to consciously lock them in place to keep from collapsing to the rough ground. She wasn’t going to give in to her grief, not here. She had to get out. Her grandmother wanted her to think about escape? To fight for her freedom? Fine. She would. Somehow, she would get out of this deprivation box.

  First, she needed a wall.

  Body trembling, Ophelia pushed forward. Small step after small step, holding her arms up even when they started to cramp. She could barely breathe as it was. The last thing she needed was to walk face-first into something and break her nose.

  I don’t know what you think you’ll gain from trapping me here, Grandma, but you’re wrong.

  Maybe it was all wrong. Maybe Jonas and Irena had been just as wrong, in their way, as Yvette was now. Maybe her mom had been wrong. For all the answers she had now, Ophelia knew she would never fully understand. She wasn’t like her father. But she wasn’t like her grandmother, either. She didn’t give a damn about cross-breeding experiments or age-old hatred between the races. All of that could go to Hell.

  At that moment, as she stubbed her toe on a raised lip of the floor and a teardrop stole down her cheek, her body shaking with too many emotions to handle at once, Ophelia made a decision. She had a life to get back to. No. She had a life to take charge of.

  Fuck the contract.

  ****

  “Batson?” Irena Crosse asked, her voice a mixture of tired, concerned, and irritated. “It’s one o’clock in the morning, what—”

  Batson shouldered his way past his mother and into the foyer of the house. He was losing his damn mind. The last thing he needed to be doing was standing still. “Lia’s missing,” he said shortly.

  Irena had barely shut the door, her lips already dipped in a disapproving frown. Any lecture she may have been working on stalled as her eyes widened. She’d taken her brown contacts out for sleep, as she always did, and for the moment, her irises were as red as his. “
Missing?”

  “Who’s missing?” Jake asked, sounding half-asleep, from the opening of the hall. “What’s going on?”

  Batson dragged his hands through his messier-than-usual hair. “Lia. She’s fucking missing. I’ve been driving around for hours trying to find her. Her phone’s off, or dead, and she hasn’t returned my message.”

  “Okay,” Irena said. She took hold of Batson’s arm. “Let’s go sit down.”

  “I don’t need to fucking sit down,” Batson snapped. “I need another pair of eyes. You’re the only people I can turn to.”

  His parents exchanged an unreadable look.

  “Why are you so sure she’s missing?” Jake asked instead. He tucked one hand into his dark blue robe as if they were having a casual conversation and gestured subconsciously with the other. “Couldn’t she simply be asleep? Or ignoring you?”

  “Or out with her friend? That human woman she’s known all these years,” Irena offered, crossing her arms over her chest.

  Batson barely restrained the growl. “Her car’s in the driveway,” he said. “Her house is empty. Her friend was still at the damn birthday party when she left to go home. I checked the house again before coming here and my note is still right where I left it.”

  Irena arched a brow. “Birthday party?” The accusation in her tone was hard to miss.

  “Goddamn it, what does that fucking matter right now?” Batson asked. He failed to fully contain his snarl. “Kipp set it up. We know what we’re fucking doing. The point is she left around sunset, her car made it home, but she didn’t.”

  Jake slipped his other hand into his pocket. “I see. That is concerning.”

  “You don’t think she ran away, do you?” Irena asked calmly.

  Batson nearly threw his fist into a wall. “No, I don’t think that!”

  Irena sighed and leveled a firm stare at him. “Listen to me, Batson. I appreciate that you’re concerned, but at this point, it sounds as though you’ve done all you can. Go home, try to get some sleep. Check again in the morning. If she’s still missing, let me know and I’ll call Jonas.”