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22: The truth of it
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Sold to the coldhearted beast 23: Brute or savior ?
*Everly* Hope. I had never considered him to be a man who would hope, who would voice that word. My mom had been a mistress, and an alpha had fallen in love with her. Would this man come to love me? I very much doubt it. I would not be happy in the rookeries, of that I am certain. I would not be content. I would be cold, hungry, and dirty. And very much alone. I angle my chin haughtily. “I’m not certain why you felt compelled to bring me here. I gave you my answer last night.” “I must have misunderstood. I thought you were having doubts.” He says softly. Tightening my fingers on his arm, I shake my head. “Good.” He mumbles.He leads me back to the carriage. After he has handed me up, he says something to the servant, then climbs in and takes his place opposite me. He tugs on his waistcoat as though it has become askew. “Why are we not leaving?” I ask. “My servant is spreading around a few coins.” He tells me. I suspect it is a good many more than a few. Eventually, the carr
Sold to the coldhearted beast 24: Keeping his rules
*Tristan* I had wanted to dine on the terrace with candles flickering because it provides more shadows than light, and I have already given away far too much. I do not want her studying me, trying to decipher me. I also do not want the formal attire that is required in the dining room … although it being my home I can wear, or not wear, whatever I want. I am in a loose white linen shirt. My frock coat, waistcoat, and neckcloth is on the floor of my bedchamber. She is still in the hideous black, but she has removed all the pins from her hair and secured it with a black ribbon. The golden tresses reach the small of her back. It is a vision that will haunt me tonight when I return to the club. I can’t remember the last time I have spent so few hours in a day at my establishment. Odd that I have not given it any thought until this moment. She has been my focus for much of the day. I study her over the rim of my wine glass, imagining her in the clothing that the dressmaker is no doubt
Sold to the coldhearted beast 25: Is he good or bad ?
*Everly* I wait several heartbeats, taking in shallow breaths, working to regain my composure. I unfurl my hands. my nails have dug into my palms. I have come close to drawing blood. When I am sure I am no longer needing the wall for support, I walk on trembling legs to the table, lift the wine bottle, and begin pouring what remains into my glass. I am quite glad he is gone. Or so I tell myself. The alternative is to wish he had stayed, and had he stayed, I have little doubt that things between us would not have ended with the kiss. If not for his silly rule, I would have melted against him, entwined my arms around him, might even … to my immense shame … have begged him to carry me to his bedchamber. He is so skilled at stirring heat and passion, such torrid heat and passion. Considering his stiffness, his distance, his aloofness, I had not expected him to send my senses ablaze. Perhaps in the bedchamber is where he unleashes everything. If so, he might reduce me to a heap of cind
Sold to the coldhearted beast 26: Checking in on her
*Tristan* She has left a lamp burning by the bed. And now I am wondering if she suffers from nightmares, if monsters visit her in sleep as they do me. But then I suspect the existence of monsters is a recent discovery for her. Soon she will add me to the list, if she hasn't already. She appears so innocent in sleep. On her back, but not completely, twisted a little to the side, her hip raised slightly, one bent leg resting over the other. One of her hands lays near her head on the pillow, fingers curled. So trusting, certain I won’t come to her tonight, that I won’t claim what I am owed. I do not know why I am here and not at my club. I had planned to work until dawn, until I was too exhausted to think of her, to want her. Instead the clock had barely struck midnight when I left. Like some misguided fool, I had hoped to find her sitting in the morning room, staring at her father’s portrait, sipping wine or rum or Scotch. I had hoped she had not yet retired, but then she is still n
Sold to the coldhearted beast 27: Bare feet
*Everly* To me the words sound like a challenge. But then from the moment I had awakened to find him standing in my bedchamber, I suspected that something was going on that I didn't quite understand. Orley had always stayed out all night at his clubs. I had assumed Tristan, as the owner, would be occupied until dawn. But then perhaps as the owner he has underlings to do the work. I suspect he is a man who does whatever he wants when he wants. Just as now, in a predatory manner, he moves to sit at the foot of the bed, his back against the post, which can’t be very comfortable. He lifts his legs onto the bed, and I can’t stop my eyes from widening. His feet are naked. Large and naked, with rough soles that look as though he might have run through the streets with no shoes at all. The intimacy of it almost has me crawling out of the bed and going to stand by the window. I don’t know why I am so surprised. He wears only his familiar linen shirt and breeches. I am fairly certain that h
Sold to the coldhearted beast 28: Fate is no friend
*Tristan* I want her flat on her back, with her legs spread. I want to be buried deeply inside her, thrusting, thrusting, until the pleasure carries away the pain of memory. I had told her almost everything, the dark secrets that I have never shared with anyone, that I have been carrying with me since I was ten. I have accumulated more over the years, each one weightier than the one that came before. But if I told her, she would choose the rookeries over me. She would know the blackness that is my soul, the horrors that haunts me, the desperation that had once filled me with dread. Now that desperation is turned toward her. I have never wanted a woman as I want her. If only some of her innocence could wash over me, but it is more likely that my darkness will rub off on her. I hate the thought of touching her, of destroying the light in her eyes, but I hate more the thought of never possessing her. I wait, my patience barely tethered until her fingers are no longer clutching the bl
Sold to the coldhearted beast 29: Her musings
*Everly* As I lie there in my bed I hear Tristan prowling about in his bedchamber. Perhaps he is right. Best to just get it over with. I do take immense pleasure in his kisses. I can only imagine the pleasure I might find in his bed. He isn’t Ekro of the pudgy fingers wanting to probe me, Bermp of the rancid breath making me feel sick, or Pennleg of the wrinkles in the wrong places. She furrowed her brow. Where precisely were the right places ? Are there right places to be wrinkled ? I guess it depends on one's age. It doesn’t matter. Tristan will not have wrinkles. He is young and firm and powerful, so very powerful and strong. But I imagine I would want to hold him, caress him, stroke him. Lying there like a fallen tree is going to be difficult. At least I imagine it will be, especially if he is right and I am enjoying it. Perhaps she should come up with a few rules of her own. Tell him what I want and do not want. I quickly slip out of bed, pads toward the door, and then raise
Sold to the coldhearted beast 30: Gone, and returned
*Everly* The following morning I enjoyed a solitary breakfast. It seemed that Tristan had left early for his club. He doesn’t return that evening or the next. Or the one that follows. No word from him. Is this the uncertainty that will be my life? Curiosity had gotten the better of me one night and I attempted to open the door to his bedchamber, only to find it locked. I had tried both doors, the one that leads into my room and the one in the hallway. I wonder what secrets he harbors in there, what I might learn about him. He is so mysterious, and if he isn’t returning to the residence, how am I to come to know him better? I know all he desires is the bedding. Unfortunately I dream of more. On the fourth afternoon, following a midday meal, I sit in a chair beneath the shade of a towering elm, near the brick wall that borders the massive garden of the property beside this one. From a window at the end of the hallway in the wing where my bedchamber is located, I had been able to g
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Sold to the coldhearted beast 66: Epilogue
Snow Moon Castle, WolfshireWinter 1864 Tonight is the night we were supposed to die. Instead, we will make love to our wives. But for now, in the late wintry afternoon, we sit upon our horses, at the top of the rise, looking down on Snow Moon Castle. The castle looms in the distance, its frost-covered stone walls shimmering as the sun begins to set. The frigid air bites at our cheeks, and our breaths create clouds of steam as we take in the sight before us. From our vantage point, we can see the remnants of the tower that had served as our prison so many years before. Stephan, with a determined look in his eyes, has been slowly tearing it down, his sledgehammer against one brick at a time. The once imposing structure is now a mere skeleton of its former self, a testament to the resilience and defiance that had brought us to this moment. "Difficult to believe it's been twenty years". Raphael says, his voice filled with disbelief and a hint of nostalgia. The years have left their m
Sold to the coldhearted beast 65: Wedding Night
*Everly* Tristan carries me up the steps. The door opens. Laurence bows his head slightly as we walk past. "Welcome home, my Beta, my lady”. My lady. I almost laugh. As Tristan begins climbing the stairs, I say. "Who would have thought the illegitimate daughter of an Alpha would one day be a lady ?" "You were a lady the moment you were born”. He says softly. "You once told me I was ruined the moment I was born”. I point out. He gives me a sheepish grin. "That was before I knew you. I was a foolish man then”. Not so foolish, I think. Cautious, rather. Not daring to care for anything that he might lose. He lost me once. He will never lose me again. The door to his bedchamber is open, and he sweeps me inside, kicking the door closed behind him. When he sets me on my feet, I knock aside his hat and run my fingers up into his hair. "Oh, I have missed this, missed you”. "Mary and her silly rules about respectability”. Bracketing his hands on either side of my face, he looks at me ser
Sold to the coldhearted beast 64: Wedding
*Tristan* Studying my reflection in the mirror, I tug on my light gray waistcoat. It takes an inordinate amount of time to dress these days. My hand has healed but the mobility in it isn't what it once was. Dr. Grimley set the bones together as best as he could. I'm grateful for that, at least. I haven't lost my hand completely, and I'm learning to write with my right. In retrospect, I suppose I could have told Grimmock from the outset that I was left-handed, so he would have broken the right, but I'm familiar enough with the man's torturous ways to know that a time would come when I would have signed anything the man put before me in order to stop the pain. And I would be damned before I gave the man anything that belonged to Eve or to Mick, for that matter. So damned I am. But not as much as Grimmock. During the three months since my rescue, I have found myself spending more time with my brothers, and I wonder why I had resisted being in their company for so long. Late into th
Sold to the coldhearted beast 63: Settling debt
*Tristan* The boxing room is more shadows than light, but then it usually is. Most of the light focuses on the ring where Alpha Ekro stands, as he keeps glancing around at the other men surrounding the roped-off area. I called the meeting, and invited Ekro into the ring. It seemed like he was going to decline the invitation until Mick ushers him in with a gentle prodding and the lifting of the rope. Splints keep my left hand immobile and it's far from being completely healed, but I can pack quite the punch with my right. I wonder if Ekro recognizes the significance of the group of men who are in attendance. If any of them realize why they have been singled out for this particular lesson. "Don't keep us in suspense, Tristan. What's the meaning of all this ?" Ekro asks. "Beta Rafe". I correct him. He looks at me with confusion. "Pardon ?" "Not Tristan, but Beta Tristan Rafe. That's how I should be addressed". He huffs lightly. "I didn't think you cared much for your heritage".
Sold to the coldhearted beast 62: I want to make you laugh
*Tristan* They come for me and take me back to the almost empty room, placing me in the chair at the table, securing me to it. This time Grimmock is sitting too, scrawling on the paper. "When I'm finished here, you will just sign it as best you can”. He says. "Then your hell will be over”. I doubt it. I have not gone mad with the binding. I simply pretend that they are Eve's arms, wrapped around me, holding me close, as she whispers words of encouragement. All will be well, everything will turn out fine. Lies. I can survive on lies. So could a boy. "Do you already forget that I write with my left hand?" I ask. "I don't forget anything. I did not forget how you blackmailed me”. He lifts his gaze and stares pointedly at me, with one eye closed and the other hard and accusing. "I did not forget how you turned my own lads against me. Even those who owed me coins stopped fearing me, thought you were keeping watch over them”. I won't go so far as to say that I was keeping watch over
Sold to the coldhearted beast 61: Some truths and some pain
*Everly* As I follow Manson down the hallway, with Raphael and Stephan behind me, I realize how differently I view this residence now. Once I considered it my home, but I understand now that it was my father who made it a home, not the walls, the portraits, the furniture or the decorative pieces, although there seem to be far less of those now. I wonder how many items Orley has sold to relieve his debts. When we walk into the library, Orley jumps out of his chair and hurries around his desk. “My Alpha, Beta Raphael, sirs, this is an unexpected surprise”. I can't help but notice how he ignored me. “You know Miss Everly, do you not ?” The Alpha asks. Orley's face turns mottled red. “Yes, of course”. “You would be remiss not to greet her as well”. Stephan says in a tone that is clearly a demand. He gives me a perfunctory nod. “Miss Everly”. “My Alpha. May I say that you are not looking well these days ?” He had lost weight, much like me after the death of my father. His skin ha
Sold to the coldhearted beast 60: Searching
*Everly* I think I should be hungry, especially as the dinner set before me is one of the finest I have ever seen, but everything tastes of nothing. I eat tiny bites because it makes things more palatable. "Is it not to your liking ?" Mary asks. "I can have Cook prepare something else”. I smile at her. "I have no appetite. That's all. You have been so kind”. They took me in the night I walked out on Tristan. I didn't know where else to go, but I learned early on that the Luna is an extremely compassionate sort. She held me while I wept and blubbered. She passed no judgments on Tristan except to say that I had been right to leave him. But if that's the case, why do I hurt so badly ? Why do I sit in my bedchamber and stare out the window at the residence across the way, hoping for a glimpse of Tristan ? Is he well ? Does he miss me at all ? Sometimes I consider returning to him, but I want so much more than he can give me. I yearn for the essentials that can't be purchased: love,
Sold to the coldhearted beast 59: A pest from the past
*Tristan* I am standing at the window of my apartment at the club, watching people coming and going, trying not to remember how much they had fascinated Eve. I find it impossible not to think of her. Everything reminds me of her. As I walk through my residence, I inhale her fragrance. I can no longer bear being there, not even for a moment. Every room holds a memory of her. It's equally difficult being here, at my club. When I box with Mick, I think of Evie enduring my lessons in the ring. When I look out over the gaming floor, I see it through her eyes. When I go to my office, I regret not showing her the globe that Tristan had carved for me, not telling her that I was afraid to be grateful for it. If I truly care for something, it will be stripped away. The best recourse is not to care. Then I will be immune to hurt. So why am I now in so much blasted pain ? Because I adore her, dammit. That's the reason I am in such agony now, why I am not seeing after my club, why I don'
Sold to the coldhearted beast 58: Left behind
*Tristan*I press my back to the vibrating door. I didn’t need my key because it's no longer locked. I should be familiar with the room by now, but it still takes me off guard. All my clothing is gone. Every torn shirt, waistcoat, jacket. Every pair of trousers. Every scrap of remaining neckcloth. Every discarded bit of attire that once offended me, threatened to suffocate me. Gone.Eve had gathered them up and taken them to the poor.The bare mattress upon which I once slept when the thought of sheets or blankets would make me break out in a sweat is no longer visible. It's covered by violet velveteen. The recently hung draperies are drawn aside to let in the night. Not a speck of dust is to be seen. The wooden floor is polished to a fine sheen.The room smells of beeswax and polish. The room smells of her.She has done this. She has chased back the demons. She has returned to me the magic of touch. She has helped me conquer the madness.I stride over to the window and gaze out when e
