Betrayed By One. Bound To Three-Chapter 36: Bleeding.

Third Person Narrative:

He bent his head again, pressing slower kisses along her neck, lingering just long enough to suggest desire rather than surrender to it.

His hand slid from her waist to the small of her back, his fingers spreading there with a deliberate firmness that sought to anchor her to him.

The gesture was possessive and deliberate, a reminder of a bond long promised.

"I want you beside me tonight," he murmured, his breath warm against her skin. "Not as a duty. Not as a formality. I want you because you are my mate."

She could almost admire the performance. The tone was measured, the words chosen with care, the pacing of his touch designed to coax rather than demand.

It would have been convincing to anyone who did not know him as intimately as she did.

Slowly and with deliberate composure, she let her hands slide upward along his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall beneath her palms.

The fabric of his shirt was smooth beneath her fingers, and she traced its line upward until her arms curved around his shoulders.

She tilted her head slightly, granting him easier access to her throat, allowing the illusion to deepen and settle between them like a veil.

If this was a test, then she would pass it without hesitation.

His breathing grew heavier, though she sensed the restraint within it. There was calculation in the rhythm, an attentiveness that betrayed his vigilance. He was not losing himself in the moment.

He was studying her, waiting for the smallest tremor of reluctance, the faintest tightening of her muscles that might signal refusal.

She let her fingers thread lightly into his hair, drawing him nearer as though overcome by the tenderness he offered.

Her movements were unhurried and responsive, neither eager nor withdrawn, a careful balance that mirrored what he wished to see.

As his mouth drifted lower, she let one hand slip briefly between them, her nail dragging deliberately across the sensitive skin at the base of her palm.

The pain was sharp but brief.

She pressed her hand lightly against her thigh, ensuring the scent would not be missed.

The metallic edge in the air had unsettled him before she spoke.

"There is something you should know," she said softly, her voice steady and almost shy.

He paused at once, his mouth hovering near her collarbone, his breath warm against her skin. "What is it?"

She allowed a brief silence to linger, as if weighing her words. "This would be pleasant," she continued gently, keeping her tone apologetic without being distressed, "if I were not bleeding."

The words settled between them with quiet finality.

She felt the change immediately.

His body stiffened, the subtle tension traveling through him before he could conceal it.

The hand at her back loosened, his fingers curling inward before dropping away entirely. He stepped back a fraction, then another, as if distance had suddenly become necessary.

"I was not aware," he said after a brief silence.

"It began earlier," she replied calmly. "I did not think it would matter."

A faint crease formed between his brows before he smoothed his expression, reclaiming composure with visible effort.

"It is no inconvenience," he said, though the warmth had faded slightly from his voice. "There is no need to hurry then. We have time." 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝔀𝓮𝒃𝙣𝓸𝒗𝒆𝒍.𝙘𝒐𝒎

She tilted her head, watching him with mild curiosity that bordered on innocence. "Some couples do not mind," she observed lightly.

He cleared his throat, the sound restrained but unmistakable. "Yes. I understand. But I want you to be comfortable. Moreover, this is our first time together. It should be memorable."

She studied him carefully. The disgust had been fleeting but unmistakable. The very idea had unsettled him more than he had anticipated. It had not been her reluctance he feared, but the inconvenience of her reality.

"As you wish," she said softly, lowering her gaze as though conceding to his preference.

He stepped back fully now, adjusting the front of his coat as though restoring a balance that had been disturbed. His movements were precise, almost mechanical, as he reassembled the composed exterior he preferred to present.

"When your cycle is over, we will revisit this," he said. "Tonight you should rest."

"And you?" she asked quietly.

"I will return to my chambers."

He moved toward the door, his pace measured and controlled. Just before reaching it, he paused and looked at her once more.

"You did not stop me," he observed.

She met his gaze with a faint smile that revealed nothing beyond mild affection. "Why would I?"

His eyes lingered on her face, searching for any hint of evasion or concealed triumph. Finding none, he inclined his head slightly and opened the door.

"Good night, Selena."

"Good night."

The door closed behind him with a soft click that seemed louder in the stillness of the chamber.

She remained where she was for several seconds, listening to the echo of his footsteps fading down the corridor. The palace was quiet at this hour, and the sound carried faintly before dissolving into silence.

Only when she was certain he had gone did she allow herself to exhale fully.

Relief came first, sharp and immediate, like the release of a tightly drawn cord. Her shoulders sagged, and she turned away from the door, crossing the room slowly.

She rested her hands against the edge of the dresser, leaning forward slightly as she steadied her breathing.

He had not come seeking comfort.

He had come to measure her loyalty.

And he believed he had succeeded.

She straightened after a moment and moved to extinguish the dying lavender flame, watching as the last thread of smoke curled upward before vanishing. The scent lingered faintly in the air, mingling now with the trace of him he had left behind.

Outside in the dim corridor, Silas paused once he was out of sight of her door. He drew in a controlled breath, forcing the tension from his shoulders.

The encounter had been unpleasant in ways he had not anticipated. The scent of her condition had lingered faintly in the air, and the thought alone unsettled him more than he wished to admit.

She had not resisted or withdrawn. She had responded with softness and compliance.

There had been no defiance in her eyes. No flash of resentment. No hesitation strong enough to confirm his suspicions.

He began walking again, his steps echoing softly against the stone floor. Perhaps he had misjudged the situation entirely.

Perhaps the changes he had sensed were nothing more than the natural consequence of her recent trials.

A woman who had endured hardship in the wild might carry herself differently, speak with greater confidence, guard her thoughts more closely.

That did not mean she had turned against him.

If she had truly drifted from him, or even remember that he was the one that struck her in the forest, she would have refused him outright. She would have created distance.

She would have shown reluctance or discomfort beyond what modesty required.

She had done none of those things.

By the time he reached the stairwell that led toward his own wing, his mind had already begun rearranging its conclusions.

The herbs would continue their subtle work. Time would settle whatever restlessness had taken root within her.

There was no immediate threat. And if one emerged, he would extinguish it.