Barren Vows (Fates of the Bound Book 3)

by Wren Weston

  Lila would not be able to speed through the intersection again, but she still zipped forward too quickly to stop.

  Thinking quickly, Lila crossed several lanes of traffic and swung to the right-hand lane, turning sharply. She cut off a skittish car, and her knee almost tapped the asphalt in front of it.

  She nearly lost control.

  She gripped the handlebar all that much tighter when she did not.

  Merging with traffic, Lila downshifted into fourth, her speed still too fast for the cars around her, too fast for the intersections spaced far too close. Unfortunately, the street she had been forced onto was not built for much beyond a slow crawl at such a late hour of the morning.

  Threading in between the vehicles, Lila yelped as her rearview mirror shattered and flew off, decapitated by a car’s side mirror. Both smacked against her hand, leaving her bones throbbing, glass and metal shards ricocheting off her jacket and helmet with a few dull plinks. The handlebar wrenched to the left and almost twisted her off course with the impact.

  Correcting her course, she vainly searched for a side street, one without an interaction so soon after the last. She endured a half-dozen honks and a dozen middle fingers, as well the catcalls of the workborn on the sidewalk. The women and men wore cheap, puffy coats in bright colors, laughing and calling out to their friends. They pulled out their palms, those who had enough money to own them, for all had the same idea.

  Film her when she crashes.

  Sell it to the media.

  Cash out on the net.

  It would serve the rich bitch right.

  Up ahead, a line of cars braked before the next intersection, ready to turn.

  Lila was still going too fast. Thinking quickly, she rode her Firefly up a handicapped ramp and zoomed over the sidewalk, taking the corner.

  Pedestrians shouted and cursed. Their palms and shopping bags flew into the air as they scrambled to get away from the speeding bike.

  Her body jostled harshly as she landed on the next street.

  Lila downshifted once more, too frightened to laugh at their confusion, her hand throbbing harder and harder. Her bike joined traffic toward the downtown bridge. Brakes squealed as cars crawled forward, impatient drivers cycling constantly between stop and go.

  She had to stop too, but she was trapped in a sea of guardrails and cars and brick storefronts, all threatening to crush her. They were her only options, though, not unless she wanted to launch herself from the bridge and go for a swim fifty meters below.

  The water’s impact might break her neck.

  Thinking quickly, she downshifted again, slowing her bike as much as possible, dodging what traffic she could.

  Then she turned her bike toward a lowborn business, stamped her boots against the asphalt, and slammed her beloved Firefly into solid brick.

  Chapter 11

  Lila lay on the ground in shock.

  The Firefly lay a few meters away, the wheel bent at an odd angle, the frame dented. Her body felt as though it had been through a particularly tough workout, overseen by the most torturous of trainers.

  But she was alive.

  Lila wiggled her arms and legs, wincing as she tried to clench the hand that been hit by the rearview mirrors. It throbbed almost as much as her hip and shoulder, which had absorbed much of the impact when she hit the sidewalk and rolled away. The bones in her hand still worked. She made a fist and moved on, turning her head from side to side, then gripped the bottom of her helmet and pulled it off.

  “No, no, no,” the mystery rider shouted, downing the Barracuda on the sidewalk with a clutter. The rider sprinted toward Lila and ripped off his helmet, letting it drop and thunk dully beside her. “Lie back down,” he ordered.

  Lila’s eyes widened as Tristan crouched beside her.

  “Don’t ever move after a crash, you hear me? Not ever!” He cupped her cheeks and tilted her face upward, squinting into her eyes. “Why were you driving so fast?”

  “I thought you were trying to kill me.”

  “What?” Not waiting for an answer, Tristan yanked his palm from a jacket pocket and jabbed at the screen for several seconds. Then he put his palm away and knelt on the street next to her, pulling at her arms and legs as though searching for hidden contraband. She tried to push him away, wincing as her injured hand made contact, but he ignored it. Now that her adrenaline was fading, his poking and prodding began to hurt. When he brushed her belly, Lila cried out, for her soreness had increased after the tumble.

  “Oh shit, don’t move. Don’t move,” he pleaded.

  “I’m okay, Tristan. Just stop poking me.”

  He fell back on his ankles, his frown deepening. “I sent a message to Doc. He’ll be here in five minutes. Lie down until he gets here.”

  “I don’t want to lie down.” In truth, Lila desperately wanted to lie down; she just didn’t want to lie down in the middle of the sidewalk.

  “What happened?”

  Lila opened her mouth and tried to answer, but she didn’t know what to say.

  What had happened?

  Both sets of brakes had failed somehow, and Pax had almost mourned a sister.

  It all had happened so quickly, out of nowhere. Her death would have been stupid and commonplace and no one would have been surprised. A motorcycle accident in downtown New Bristol. Chief Randolph dead. Film at eleven.

  This time, none of the regrets she’d gotten so used to had flashed through her head, and not because she didn’t have any. She’d just been too busy trying to live to regret anything. She had felt only panic.

  Bone-clenching, pee-in-your-pants panic.

  It slowly drained away, but it had nowhere to go.

  Tristan touched her face at the wrong time. She gasped, and it was that small noise that broke something inside her. Tears spilled over her cheeks, and she gulped in air, struggling to breathe, still terrified, still in shock that she had managed to survive at all. She bowed her head, resting it on Tristan’s shoulder.

  She didn’t just cry.

  She fell apart, and she hated herself for it.

  It was worse than how she’d cried after her mother had kicked her out. Lila had gotten hold of herself almost immediately, like a true highborn should, but she wasn’t sure she’d be able to do the same this time. Tristan’s nearness only made it worse. His strong arms enveloped her, trying so very hard not to squeeze too tightly.

  He rested his chin on her forehead and stroked her back. The weight rubbed up and down against her leather jacket, warming her.

  Occasionally, people leaned out of their cars to offer assistance, but Tristan waved them on. “Help is coming,” he assured them, and they moved on without another word.

  Soon, a large truck filled with Tristan’s people stopped before them, half on the sidewalk to avoid traffic. Lila dug her face into Tristan’s neck, hiding her face while they loaded up her bike with stamping boots and quick shouts of “One, two, three, lift!”

  All the while, she focused on her breathing. It was an attempt to settle her nerves and stop the flood of tears. Every time she drew breath, Tristan’s scent flooded her nose. He smelled of soap, a bit like whiskey, and a little like engine grease from the shop. It calmed her, and she drew his scent in deeper.

  A pair of boots stopped beside her. She heard a rustle of fabric and a popping knee. A hand clasped Lila’s shoulder. “I’m a doctor, madam. Let me have a look at you.”

  “I’m fine,” Lila said, glad to have her voice back at last.

  “She’s not okay, Doc. She was crying.”

  “It was only a little,” Lila said, her cheeks growing hot against Tristan’s neck.

  “Now she’s grouchy. Forget everything, Doc, she must be better now if she’s grouchy.”

  “I’m not grouchy.”

  Doc chuckled, his deep voice rich and warm. �
�I’d be grouchy too if I just crashed into a brick wall. Let me check you out, madam. It will only take a moment.”

  Lila shook her head. “I wasn’t going that fast. I’m okay.”

  “You were going fast enough.” Tristan tried to gently pry Lila’s fingers off his neck. “Let the doctor check you out.”

  Lila hid her face and refused to face the doctor. She’d only met him when she had a hood on. She didn’t know if he could be trusted.

  “I know your voice well, Hood. The others have returned to the truck, and none of them can see you. Let me assure you, I may be a lot of things, but I’ve never broken the confidentiality of my patients. I’m not about to start now.”

  “It’s either him, or I’m taking you to Randolph General whether you want to go or not,” Tristan vowed.

  At that, Lila finally let go. She had no intention of spending the day in the emergency room while scores of doctors ordered unnecessary tests because their boss had been brought in. Nor did she relish the thought of her mother finding out she’d wrecked her bike.

  Again.

  As she turned around, she came face to face with the older man, dressed in the garb of a workborn, his hair carefully styled. His work boots had been polished to a shine befitting a highborn, and a stethoscope peeked out from under his green tartan scarf.

  The doctor’s eyes did not light up when they looked at one another. If he recognized her, he covered it well.

  When Lila did not speak, Doc took it as permission. After helping her out of her jacket, he pressed the stethoscope into her chest and checked her breathing. He noted her pulse, tracked her eyes with a light that popped out of his thumb ring, and squeezed her hands.

  Lila yelped at that, and he removed her gloves. One hand had turned angry and pink across the back.

  “It’s not swollen. That’s a very good sign,” he said calmly, marveling at the crisscross of scratches across her palms.

  “That happened a few weeks ago,” Lila said, pulling her hand away. “I’m fine. A rearview mirror just bounced off it. I’ve broken bones before, and this isn’t broken.”

  “Bet it smarts, though.” Doc grinned slightly. “Do you feel cold, or at least colder than you should?”

  Lila shook her head.

  “Does anything hurt?”

  “No.”

  “Her belly,” Tristan answered for her.

  Lila’s hand shot out and held the doctor back. “It’s something else entirely. I’m fine, really.”

  The doctor nodded. “You’ll likely be sore tomorrow, but if anything changes, you go to the emergency room immediately. Sometimes it takes a few hours for the shock to wear off, then people realize they were hurt worse than they thought.”

  Lila nodded.

  “I think she’ll be fine,” Doc explained to Tristan before getting to his feet with a grunt. He whipped the stethoscope over his head, hid it under his scarf, and marched back to the truck.

  Tristan’s people drove away with her Firefly, and Lila realized that she didn’t care where it might end up.

  “Is he even a doctor?”

  “He was once, and a damn fine one at that. The drink took him. Sometimes people won’t let you come back after so many mistakes.”

  “Did you?”

  Tristan nodded. “Doc’s sober now, and he helped me once when I needed it. I gave him a job. Now he patches up my people.”

  “I’m not your people.”

  “Now you’ve become ornery.” He rose and helped Lila to her feet, brushing a lock of hair away from her face. “It’s a shame, you know. That was an expensive bike.”

  “I have expensive tastes.”

  “Me too.” Tristan grinned. He clasped her good hand tightly and dragged her toward his navy Barracuda. Lila did not know whether to laugh or scowl.

  “Why aren’t you on your Amazon? I didn’t recognize you. You scared me half to death on this old thing.”

  “Shirley’s making a few upgrades on mine. I wasn’t sure if you’d stop for me, anyway. You’ve been avoiding my calls. You go back to your family for one meal, and you forget all about me.”

  “I didn’t forget.”

  Tristan pushed his toe into the sidewalk. “Don’t worry about your bike. Shirley will work her magic on it, just wait and see. It will be good as new in a few hours. If you give us a few days, we could even repaint it.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “It doesn’t have to be necessary. What happened back there?”

  “The brakes failed. Both sets.”

  “It’s almost impossible for both sets to fail. Are you sure?”

  “No, Tristan, I’m not sure. I decided to take a dive into a brick wall just for grins.”

  He held up his hands. “Sorry. Shirley will find the problem.” Slipping his palm from his pocket, he typed out a message. “I’m telling her about your brakes. If both sets failed, someone might have tampered with them. She’ll find proof.”

  Lila scooped up her helmet on the sidewalk. “Look, if you could just ask your people to drive it to… I don’t care where. I’ll have someone pick it up. My family has our own mechanics. I—”

  “No. I want to know what happened to your bike, and I want to know now. I trust my people. I don’t trust yours.”

  Lila fiddled with the strap of her helmet. There was more truth in Tristan’s words than she wanted to admit. Being prime was dangerous, and if someone knew already, then they might have just tried to assassinate her. Even her family’s mechanics might have been in on it.

  If they’d tried once, they might try again.

  It wasn’t like it hadn’t happened before. The first time someone had tried to assassinate her, she’d only been six months old. Her mother had held the poisoned bottle, tainted by her own cousin. She’d rushed Lila to the hospital soon after.

  In the end, Lila had been lucky. She’d recovered, and her doctors had declared it a miracle.

  Perhaps she’d just won a second reprieve.

  Perhaps she wouldn’t next time.

  “How’d you even find me?” she asked, not wanting to dwell too long on the thought.

  “You wouldn’t pick up, so I had Toxic trace your palm. I didn’t get to the condos before you’d taken off again, though, so I tailed you.”

  Lila frowned. Her snoop programs hadn’t caught Toxic. Either the girl was getting better, or Lila was slipping. She’d have to be more aware, perhaps more paranoid to survive life as a prime.

  “What was the chief of security doing in that neighborhood? You visiting your dealer?” Tristan tugged open the top of her coat as though looking for drugs.

  Lila batted his hand away.

  “Come on, let’s go home,” he said, climbing on the back of his Barracuda.

  “Your shop is not my home,” she muttered, climbing on behind him.

  Chapter 12

  Tristan gently pushed Lila back onto his bed, his weight heavy against her sore belly. In between stolen kisses, he pulled off his sweater, his hair a mess as the collar tugged at his ears. “I was so scared,” he whispered as a trail of kisses poured down her neck, brushing her skin. “I thought I was going to lose you.”

  Lila’s hands fumbled at the hem of her sweater, her back arching as he hit the place on her neck that always triggered a giggle, a deep arousal, a wetness between her legs, a need for Tristan in her arms, thrusting as he took her mouth. Her fingers stilled, sweater half off, half on. She turned her head, and Tristan grinned against her, nibbling upon her ear.

  “Stop making me worry so much.”

  Lila nodded, willing to say anything as long as he didn’t stop. Tristan shifted on her belly again, and she sucked in a breath, biting her tongue against a grunt of pain.

  She didn’t want to call out.

  She didn’t want to tell him to stop.
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br />   She barely remembered why her belly hurt at all. Her only thought was of Tristan’s body against hers, his cock between her legs, his clever lips and clever fingers and soft skin enveloping her, sweating against her.

  Perhaps for the last time.

  Lila pulled at his waistband, and he was all too happy to oblige.

  She tugged off his clothes while he did the same with her, both chuckling when their limbs got tangled. Within seconds they were naked, hands groping and sliding upon warm skin.

  “I missed you,” Tristan said as he sucked at her lips, his thumb brushing against her cheek. “I’ve grown used to having you here with me all day.”

  A straining cock pushed at her. Before she could say a word, he pumped inside her, too eager to wait for their usual foreplay.

  Lila’s mouth opened, and she arched her back.

  A burst of pain hit her all at once. A river of fire and tightness started between her legs and rushed up her spine to her shoulders.

  Tristan pulled out at the third thrust and knelt beside her, his face a mass of confusion. “Lila, what’s wrong?” His hands went to her face, gripping both sides.

  “Lila, you’re scaring me. Talk to me.”

  “I’m okay,” she said with some effort.

  But she wasn’t okay. The pain remained, though it had dulled. She twisted away from him and curled on her side, panting from the fire that had wrenched at her.

  “Damn it, I’m taking you to the—”

  “No, I’m okay.”

  Lila squeezed her eyes shut. Gods, she was an idiot. Helen had told her not to have sex so soon after surgery, and she’d gotten caught up in the moment.

  They both had.

  And they’d never have a last time.

  The bed wobbled as Tristan lay behind her, snaking his arm around her chest. He kissed her bare shoulder, a small breath across her skin. “Are you really okay?”

  Lila nodded, then regretted it instantly. Even that small movement triggered a wave of nausea.

  “You don’t look okay. I—”

  “Just lie quiet,” she said, burying her head in the pillow. “Please.”