The Lycan's Stolen Bride

Chapter18

Chapter 18

"It's nothing," Callie said automatically, the same flat deflection she gave everyone. "Ceremony preparations. There's a great deal to organize."

"Ah," Chase said, something knowing in his tone. "The date's been moved up, I take it. I heard mention of it from your father this morning."

"Three weeks," Callie confirmed, immediately regretting how easily the information had slipped out. She straightened, trying to reclaim the careful blankness she usually kept in place. "If you'll excuse me, General, I have tasks to attend to."

"Of course," Chase said, stepping aside to let her pass, no pressure in his tone, no attempt to draw the conversation out further. But as she moved past him, he added quietly, almost like an afterthought, "The token I gave you. It still stands, whenever you're ready."

Callie did not answer, continuing down the hallway without looking back, though her hand twitched faintly at her side, some part of her aware of exactly where that small carved token still sat hidden among her few belongings.

She had three weeks now, less time than she wanted, more complications piling up by the day. A ceremony to survive quietly in the shadows. A general who refused to let his suspicions rest. A family more concerned with appearances than anything real, pressing her further into corners with each passing week.

She quickened her pace toward the kitchen, pushing the thought of the token, and of Chase's steady, patient gaze, firmly out of her mind. She had far too much to prepare for, and far too little time left to waste on distractions she could not afford.

The days leading up to the ceremony blurred into a constant stream of tasks, one after another with barely a breath between them. Callie moved through the house from early morning until well past dark, carrying supplies, relaying messages between the kitchen staff and the caterers, checking deliveries against lists that never seemed to match what actually arrived. She welcomed the exhaustion, in a strange way. It left less room in her mind for worry, less time to dwell on the shrinking window she had left before the ceremony swallowed the household whole.

That evening, she carried a stack of folded linens and fresh candles through the narrow servant corridor that connected the kitchen to the storage rooms, her arms full enough that she had to angle sideways to fit through the tighter parts of the hall. The corridor was dimly lit at this hour, most of the wall sconces left unlit to save on oil until the ceremony itself required every inch of the house properly illuminated.

She did not hear him until it was too late.

A hand shot out of the shadows near a side alcove and closed hard around her wrist, yanking her sideways with enough force that the linens and candles spilled from her arms, clattering and thumping against the floor. Callie's back hit the wall of the narrow side hall before she fully understood what was happening, the breath knocked half out of her.

"Well, well," a voice slurred close to her face, thick with the unmistakable stench of strong drink. "Look what wandered off all alone."

It was one of the guards, a broad, heavyset man Callie recognized vaguely from the front gate rotation, his eyes glassy and unfocused, his balance clearly unsteady even as he crowded closer, one hand still locked tight around her wrist, the other bracing against the wall beside her head.

"Let go of me," Callie said, keeping her voice low and even, an old habit even now, even with fear spiking sharp and sudden through her chest.

The guard laughed, low and slurred, leaning in closer, his breath hot and foul against her cheek. "That's cute. You think you get to tell me what to do? I've seen the way this family treats you. Nobody's coming to save you, sweetheart. Nobody's even going to believe you if you go crying about this later."

His free hand moved, sliding up along her arm with a familiarity that made her stomach turn violently, his grip tightening painfully around her wrist as she tried instinctively to pull back.

"I said let go," Callie said again, sharper now, the calm control in her voice starting to fray at the edges.

He only laughed harder, pressing closer, clearly enjoying the fact that she could not easily escape the narrow space he had backed her into. "Come on now. Don't be difficult. Nobody's going to miss you for a few minutes. I'll even be quick about—"

He never finished the sentence.

Something inside Callie simply switched, the way a held breath finally releases when the pressure grows too great to bear any longer. Years of quiet, careful training in the hidden corners of the labor camp surged up through her body before her mind fully caught up with what was happening, muscle memory built painstakingly over countless secret nights taking over completely.

Her free hand shot up and caught his wrist where it pressed against the wall, twisting hard and fast, redirecting his own weight against him in one smooth motion exactly the way her second mentor had drilled into her body a thousand times over. He gasped, more surprise than pain at first, as she pivoted her hips and drove her elbow up sharply beneath his extended arm, forcing the joint to bend in a direction it was never meant to go.

He yelped, a raw, startled sound, and his knees buckled beneath him as pain overrode the alcohol dulling his senses. Callie kept the pressure locked in place, her body moving with a precision that felt almost separate from her own conscious thought, some deeper instinct guiding every motion with terrifying calm.

For one dizzying second, something cold and clear settled over her, an old, familiar readiness she had buried deep for two years, the part of her mind that had once learned to recognize exactly how much further pressure would be needed to break something permanently.

The guard's face had gone from confusion to real fear, his mouth open on a strangled sound of pain, his legs half collapsed beneath him, held upright only by the awkward angle of his own trapped arm.