Vicious Bonds: A Dark Romantic Fantasy (The Tether Trilogy Book 1)

When I open my eyes, there’s an ache in my belly. I wince and groan as I clutch my stomach. The warmth of my skin clings to my fingers, and I realize I don’t have a shirt on. Just a bra.

Frowning, I sit up and lift the blanket to see I’m in my panties too. I’m half naked, and at the realization, a jarring memory hits me.

Rami taking my pants off, trying to force himself on me. The slap. The anger in his eyes as he choked me. The hopelessness.

Tears fill my eyes just as someone clears their throat, making me gasp.

Looking up, I find Caz sitting in a chair in the corner of the room. He’s dressed in all black—pants, shoes, and a T-shirt that hugs his upper body. His arms are out, muscled, with those dreadful black veins all over them. Everything about him looks refreshed but his eyes. His eyes are tired, dark bruises around them, as if he hasn’t slept in weeks. He’s leaning forward, elbows on his lap, his fingers laced together beneath his chin. His blue eyes are locked on me.

“Nothing happened to you,” he says, then sits up, dropping his hands. “Nothing of that nature, anyway.”

“Oh.” Relief swims through me. Something shifts to my right and Silvera pops up, her front paws on the bed.

“Oh. Hi, girl.” I rub the top of her head as she nuzzles her damp nose into me. I wonder how long she’s been here.

“She hasn’t left your side since we got here. We’ve had to bring her food because she wouldn’t leave.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

I start to stroke her back but notice my hands are shaking. The shakes are bad. I can hardly control it.

“It’s the aftereffects.” I meet Caz’s eyes again as Silvera hops down. “Della had to create some concoction to throw off the suppressant. It zaps the nerves, but it clears the suppressant out of your system. Which reminds me, you should probably go take a piss before you end up going in the bed.”

I blink at him, realizing my bladder does feel full, before attempting to climb out of the bed. As I place one foot on the ground, one of my knees buckle, but Caz is up in an instant to catch me. I cling to him as best as my shaky hands will allow and carry my gaze up to his. Our eyes connect—his cloudy, tired, and swimming with mild concern.

He breaks the connection. “This way,” he says, guiding me to the bathroom. He places me on the edge of a clawfoot bathtub then steps back, taking a look around, as if he isn’t sure what to do next.

I huff a laugh. “I think I’ve got it from here.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to fall.”

I smile. “I’ve got it. Thanks.”

With a quick nod, he leaves the bathroom, shutting the door behind him, and I sit for a moment, taking in the details. The walls are a shimmery black, the floors made of gray stone. The silver tub is in pristine condition, not a scratch or dent on it, and I’m almost certain it’s never been used. I run my hands over the silver knobs and faucet, then make use of the toilet, because I really do have to pee.

When I’ve relieved myself, I catch a figure next to me. There’s a mirror on the wall, and the figure is…me. I wobble toward the mirror, taking careful steps. My shaky fingers reach to one of my locs and I wrap it around my finger, but I can’t help noticing the reflection shows a girl I don’t know. She appears thinner, and there are bruises on her body, around her ribs and her neck. She’s been beaten and attacked, and the reminder of that brings tears to my eyes. She isn’t the Willow who landed here only days ago. She’s even more broken now.

I close my eyes as reminders of Rami fill my brain again, and I flinch when I remember the way he slapped me. Hot tears run down the length of my cheeks, and my throat closes at the sheer reminder that I was alone in that moment.

And then it hits me about Garrett and what it will be like when I go back. The way he tries to control me, the way he grabs me, shakes me. Rami was an example of what Garrett would eventually become and feeling the wrath of it was horrifying.

I’m abused.

I’m damaged.

I’m useless.

It’s no wonder I’m so depressed.

A pair of hands take hold of my face, and I open my eyes as two thumbs stroke my tears away. I suck in a sharp breath when I see Caz standing in front of me, holding my face, stroking my wet cheeks as he studies my eyes. I try to find the words to tell him I’m fine—that this is just a misunderstanding and that I’ll be okay.

But he says, “You’re not okay.”

I look into his eyes for a long, long time, until my vision blurs and I can no longer see him, and the tears break out like a flood. My stomach is sore, and it hurts even more as I try to hold in the sobs, but the sobs are uncontrollable and they burst out, and that feels much better than fighting it.

Caz releases my face, and I think to myself, Don’t go.

He doesn’t. He picks me up in his arms, and I rest my head on his chest. I’m not leaving you.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. I hate when people see me cry, and he of all people is witnessing it. I’d think he was laughing on the inside if I couldn’t hear his concern.

He doesn’t say anything as he carries me out of the bathroom and places me down on the bed again. I’m surprised when he lies next to me. He doesn’t touch me, just lies there, waiting for my wave of sadness to pass. As he does, Silvera comes over, looking between us. It’s almost like she’s asking, “Did he do this to you?”

I force a smile at her, pat her head, and she gives us another thorough look before sauntering through of the crack of the bedroom door.

“You have to stop thinking about it,” he finally says.

I turn onto my side, peering out the window. There’s an ocean out there, the water nearly black. The water ripples beneath gray clouds, crashing at the shoreline. A barge moves along the water at a snail’s pace. “I’m trying.”

He’s quiet a moment. “Is it only Rami that has you this way?”

Truthfully, no…but I’m not telling him that. Doesn’t matter anyway. He’ll read my mind and figure it out. I really need to learn how to do that mind wall thing.

Caz sighs. “Willow, will you look at me?”

I don’t move. I keep my focus ahead.

“Who is Warren?”

I whip my head, glaring at him. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Why shouldn’t I? You keep thinking his name. Him and some person named Garrett. And Garrett is clearly no good for you, so I don’t understand why you allow him to take up so much space in your mind.”

“I should get back to my world,” I say, steering the subject.

“Look, you can’t let the things Rami did beat you down.”

His statement, though true, infuriates me. I sit up and face him, frowning. “How can you say something like that?” I shout, and he stares at me, unflinching. “I came to this world with no clue what was going on or what I was doing! I’ve been getting attacked constantly, Caz! I’ve been called names that I never thought I’d hear, and a man almost raped me!”

“I stopped him,” Caz counters.

“Yeah, when it was almost too late!” I’m battling tears again. “I called for you—I kept calling for you, but you didn’t say anything back, and I thought…” I bite hard into my bottom lip, so hard I think it’ll bleed. “I thought you wouldn’t come. I thought you’d left.”

Caz’s brows dip and his head goes into a slight tilt, but I don’t look any longer to find out what else he does. Instead, I draw my legs to my chest and place my forehead on my knees. “I just want to go home.”

“That’s the second time you’ve said something like that.”

“Like what?” I mutter.

“That you thought I’d left you. You said this before when we were in Whisper Grove for the night. Why do you think I will abandon you in your times of need?”

“Because you hate me!” I shout, glaring at him, and his eyes widen. He’s slack-jawed. “Ever since I’ve gotten here, you’ve made it very clear that you don’t want me around. And I don’t want to be! I didn’t ask for any of this!” I drop my legs and realize I sound like a whiny little girl with my next statement, but I say it again— “I just want to go home.”

Caz climbs off the bed, walking around to the bottom of it. “You think I hate you?”

“Don’t you?” The question comes out snarky. I don’t mean for it to, but at this point, I’m tired and in pain and I don’t want to talk anymore. He won’t answer anyway. He’s too fucking stubborn. He may as well just leave the damn room.

He marches around the bed and stops when he’s next to me, his knees hitting the edge of the mattress.

“Just go, Caz. No one’s forcing you to stay and look after me. I can take care of myself.”

I rest my back against the headboard, lowering my gaze, and when I do, he bends down and brings a hand to the back of my neck.

I look up into his crystal eyes, and a surge of energy hums through me as his lips fall down on mine. It takes me a moment to digest what’s happening, but not long because the energy is so potent, so powerful that I moan into his mouth. He’s kissing me.

A coolness courses through my veins, like tiny ice chips have been pumped into my bloodstream, and Caz buries his fingers into the hair at the nape of my neck, deepening the kiss and groaning. I’m not sure what to do with my hands, but I kiss him back just as deeply, just as passionately. He tastes like he’s just eaten fruit, crisp and tangy.

With a groan, he climbs on the bed to mount me, cupping my face in his hands, and I lace my legs around his waist. I feel him growing hard as he grinds his dick between my thighs, and this kiss…it’s incredible. If there were meant to be fireworks going off for the best kisses, they’d be loud and booming for ours right now.

Heart beating harder, I curl my fingers into his silky hair, and he releases a guttural noise, like what I’ve done hurts him but feels good all the same. Our lips part, then connect. When they part again, I run my tongue over his bottom lip, and he hisses.

“Fuck, Willow,” he rumbles.

His voice sets me on fire. He dives in again, losing himself in my touch, my lips. His body becomes rigid, his dick harder, rubbing against me. It skims over my pussy, and I whimper, aching. I can’t help myself when I reach down to grip him.

He breaks the kiss, hissing again, and we take a moment to study each other’s faces. There’s a confused expression on his.

“Am I hurting you?” I whisper.

He studies my eyes, then shakes his head. “No.” Then he coaxes my lips apart again and lightly wraps a hand around my throat. I thread my fingers through his thick hair, giving it a tug, and a strained noise fills the base of his throat. His dick strains in his jeans, skimming the fabric on my clit. I clench for him. Damn my panties. I want our clothes off. I want him inside me. God, why do I want him so much? I know he wants me too. I can hear him.

She tastes so good. Fuck, I don’t know if I can do this. Her hands… I’m so fucking hard. How is she doing this to me?

More. I beg for it, and I know he can hear me. I need more. I need him to wash away everything and make all of what happened to be worth something, so I grip the ridge of his dick again, rubbing it. I drop my other hand, working to unbutton and unzip his pants, but it’s when I’m about to push them down his waist and free him, that he grunts and tears his mouth away.

The weight of him is gone, as well as the heat of his body. When I look up, he’s standing, and he takes a few steps back, breathing raggedly. Using the back of his hand, he wipes the corner of his mouth and stands tall, clearing his throat.

Once he’s gained his composure and has fixed his pants, he asks, “Did that feel like hate to you?”

I don’t answer. I’m trying to catch my breath and digest what’s happened. I’ve kissed men before, but none of them have felt like that. None have made me want to be swallowed whole by a kiss, to be buried with it. No man has ever made me ache the way he has right now.

He clears his throat again, swiping his palms down the length of his shirt. “Regardless, we’ve found Beatrix,” he says, and I try focusing on his words, but my eyes drop to the erection in his pants. He’s still hard. Why doesn’t he just take me? I’m right here. Just take me. “She gave me the chant,” he continues. “Della will bring some clothes for you, and then you can go home, back to your world, like you want.” He says the final statement with a whisper of disappointment. After he does, I feel a sharp pain in my chest, tight and constricting. I lift a hand, rubbing my chest. He doesn’t react, but I’m sure he feels it too, and it bugs me that I can’t hear him. His wall is high and thick, not a single thought escaping.

Caz looks me over, eyes glossy, then makes his way toward the door, leaving the room and shutting it behind him.

I run a finger over my lips, staring at the door, wishing he’d come back to do that all over again, but he won’t. He’s proved his point. He doesn’t hate me, but he also doesn’t want me staying, and I need to get back home, so I’ll go because this world is nothing but a vicious fantasy, and my real life is much safer.

Regardless, knowing he’s walking away physically hurts, and the wider the space grows between us, the more I feel the pain inside cutting deeper, like a sharp knife through the heart.