by Haven Handel
Princess of the Pack
Shifting the Tale Series - Book One
By
Haven Handel
Copyright 2017© Haven Handel
Part One
Cassandra
Chapter One
The first time he told me to lay over his lap, I laughed in his face. The second time, I quickly obeyed. I never make the same mistake twice.
It all started with two little words. Life altering words that I would soon realize I didn’t even mean. Words that came from the frustration of always seeing the problem, but never realizing a solution. And, maybe, just seeking a little attention.
“I’m leaving.”
I spat the words at Deo in the middle of one of those knock-down-drag-out yell till someone left the room fights. We seemed to be having a lot of those lately. Although, it is always me doing the yelling, and Deo, standing with his arms crossed and his brow furrowed, anger radiating from his face, saying, “Cassandra, be reasonable,” but never raising his voice.
On that day, with those two words, I finally broke through Deo’s calm external barrier. I’m leaving. I couldn’t take it anymore. The fights, the silent nights, the walking around each other on imaginary eggshells. Worse were the mornings after the fighting when we would politely move around each other in the kitchen, never touching. Sitting, pouring coffee and reading the paper together, like strangers.
I was leaving. I was going to divorce my husband. After ten years of our passionate dance, I was closing the curtain. At least I said I was. It never crossed my mind, even for a second, that Deo would not allow it, much less that he would change the course of our very existence.
Deo spoke, his tone unfamiliar and deathly quiet. “Excuse me?” His dark eyes flared, and he took a menacing step towards me.
“I’m leaving,” I said, with less confidence than before, stepping away from him.
Deo’s words were almost a growl. “You think you are leaving this house?”
My husband, who had become normal, maybe even a little boring to me, in the mundane routine of our everyday lives, seemed to transform in front of me into a dangerous stranger.
Deo’s name meant ‘god like’, and his looks lived up to it. Tall and muscular with olive skin, his facial features looked like they had been carved with a chisel. And his hair. God that hair. Almost black, he wore his dark locks long, but swept back, framing his strong brow, charcoal eyes, and dark lashes. He wore a full beard that he kept short, close to his face, outlining his chiseled jaw. Anger overtaking him, Deo’s striking features now made him look like a menacing Greek god.
“You think you are leaving me?”
“Yes,” I managed to choke out, trying to hold my head high and putting my hands on my hips for good measure. I really thought I meant business at the time. “Be reasonable, Deo,” I said, turning the familiar condescending words onto him.
Another step was taken in my direction. “Is it I who is unreasonable?” he asked, his voice dripping with venom, his finger pointed towards my face. “You made a vow to me. You took an oath. Till death do us part, yet, we are both still standing here.” Placing his hands on his hips, he took another step towards me.
Backing up, my shoulders jarred into the wall behind me. I braced myself against it. Deo had never lifted a finger to me, so why was I scared? In the bedroom, he was always gentle, even when I wanted something more. It seemed as if he was afraid of hurting me, but not now. His eyes alone seemed capable of murder.
Lifting my arms and shrugging my shoulders, I argued, “People get married, they fight, they get divorced. Deo, it’s the norm nowadays. We’ve been screaming at each other for ages. Aren’t you tired of it?”
Moving slowly, he continued towards me, stopping only inches from my face. I flinched as he raised one arm above my head. Placing his open palm flat against the wall next to me, his strong arm blocked me in. Deo’s other hand reached up, grabbing my face, trapping my chin between his finger and his thumb. With only the grasp of his fingers and his body surrounding me, I was pinned to the wall. Terrified, I felt a thrill run through me. A product of Deo’s sudden dominance over me.
“Let me tell you what I am tired of, little girl.” His voice rasped into my ear.
I gasped as he leaned closer, tilting my chin up with his hold and forcing me to connect with his hard, dark eyes.
“I am tired of your screaming. I am tired of your games. I am tired of you acting like a child.”
The grip he had on my chin tightened. My eyes were locked on his. I could not look away.
“I have stood by long enough, giving you your way, thinking—praying even—you would mature. It was my mistake. And I take full responsibility.”
Suddenly, I was rendered as speechless as a lawyer when new evidence is presented during the middle of a trial. To my colleagues, I am nothing short of a powerhouse. How could it be that my husband felt he could compare me to a child? I had no words, feeling shame for the way his callous tone was causing my insides to melt.
“Today, it begins.” Deo released the tight grip he held on my face. His arm returned casually to his side.
My back pressed into the wall, my knees weak, my tongue came to life. “What begins?” I asked, intrepidly. I was too intrigued by his words and intimidated by his demeanor to even begin to lay into him about his assessment of me.
His eyes softened. “Discipline. You lack discipline, my sweet.” The tips of his fingers trailed over my bottom lip. Gently, his index finger brushed underneath my chin, closing my gaping mouth.
A shiver ran down my spine, there were chill bumps on my arms, and the hairs on my head tingled. It felt as if the temperature in the room had risen ten degrees. Without thinking, I closed the distance between our mouths, pressing my lips to his.
Withdrawing from my kiss, Deo placed his hand on the center of my chest and pushed me back until my shoulder blades hit the wall with a thump.
“I thought you were leaving.” His eyes flashed, and a forbidding smile crossed his face.
Confusion swallowed me. I should be insulted by his throwing my words back into my face. I should have slapped him, not kissed him, but suddenly, I wanted nothing more than to stay and have this new version of Deo carry me off to our room, to do dark things to me.
“I-I am… I was,” I stuttered out, trying to salvage what remained of my dignity. The intensity of his gaze was too much. I looked away, down at the hand that felt like it was burning into the center of my chest. I was feverish—everywhere. The truth tumbled from my tingling lips, “I was just… testing you, I guess.”
“You aren’t going anywhere.”
Deo brought his lips to mine, pushing my head against the wall. The kiss was hard, and there was a message behind it that I couldn’t quite read—hunger mixed with anger and a touch of desperation. When he pulled away, I was left breathless, my mouth feeling bruised. I wanted more. I wanted him to press me up against the wall and take me.
Instead, Deo pulled away. Giving me one last, cold stare, he grabbed my hand. Without a word of explanation, he led me through the dark halls of our massive house. My high heels clicking across the marble floor was the only sound as we made our way. My stomach twisted with nerves as we reached the heavy door at the end of the hall. The one that led to his office.
Even though we had lived in this house the full ten years of our marriage, I had only been allowed in Deo’s office a handful of times. Opening the door with one hand, he led me to the center of the room. Releasing his hold on me, he left me standing alone on the Persian carpet. He walked to the massive mahogany desk, pulling out his rolling antique chair. Opening a
filing cabinet, Deo removed a crisp, white envelope, tossing it onto the desk. Disgust lined his face as the paperwork landed with a smack. Hands pressed into the desk, he simply said, “Our vows.”
Standing dumbly in the middle of the room, I began to shift my weight and fidget. Suddenly, I pictured myself as a naughty school girl brought before the principal. Why was I in trouble? This was ludicrous. A grown woman tells her husband she’s leaving. It’s that simple. Everyone does it. In fact, over half the women in my firm had divorced their husbands. But why did I suddenly feel powerless in the situation? My usual lawyer tendency to argue did not appear. I was intimidated by Deo’s anger. An odd feeling of submission had come over me, gluing my mouth shut.
Taking a seat in the chair, Deo leaned his elbows on the desk. His tone patronizing, he asked me, “Do you need to read them?”
“No,” I whispered, clasping my hands in front of me and turning the toes of my feet inward. I remembered, well, that day the vows were exchanged. Head over heels in love, I’d promised my life to my husband. Dressed in a dark suit, Deo standing, stoic, at the altar, tears forming in his eyes at the sight of me in my wedding gown came to my mind’s eye. It was one of my favorite memories.
Deo sat back in his chair, eyeing me casually. Placing his hands together, he brought them towards his face. “Take off your shoes,” he commanded, his hands clasped, index fingers together, pointing at me like a gun.
I obliged. One by one, the Christian Louboutin patent leather peep toe pumps with the five-inch heels hit the carpet with a soft thump.
“Now, take off your dress.” His voice had deepened.
Unsure of where these demands would lead, I acquiesced. Getting the dress off would be tricky. Deo knew he had zipped it up himself, this morning. Trying to maintain my dignity, I pulled my long dark hair over my shoulder, then reached around my neck and began to pull down the zip of my red Boden work dress. I managed to get it down a few inches before having to reach up from behind my waist. With a little wiggle, I pulled it the rest of the way down. Sliding my arms free, the dress cascaded to the floor, leaving me standing in the center of the drafty office wearing only my underwear and white, silk slip.
The cold air did nothing to help the shivers and chill bumps I already suffered from. My legs almost gave way underneath me when my husband growled, “Come to me, Cassandra.” Dark eyes flashing, Deo looked as if he would devour me.
I tiptoed, barefooted across the soft carpet, then hesitated before stepping onto the cold, bare wood floor. Noticing my hesitation, Deo held a hand out towards me. I took it. His hand felt large and warm in mine. His eyes were cold.
Remaining seated in the large desk chair, he spread his legs, pulling me towards him until I was confined between his knees. The silk of my slip clung to the wool of his charcoal dress pants. I stood before him, trembling.
Looking up at me, my hands in his, Deo said, “Now, what do I do with a little girl who thinks she can break a contract with me?”
Feeling small, I looked at the floor. His powerful hands still held mine, and the heat from his touch ran through me as his thumbs ran over mine, applying a gentle pressure as he spoke.
“I know what I would do with a business partner, but my wife? That’s another story. This is not the world of finance, but the world of marriage.”
I stared at his familiar hands. The gold wedding band, the chain bracelet he never took off. At this point, I had no idea what my husband had in mind, or why I had obediently taken my clothes off and stood before him wearing only my underthings. But I knew, without a doubt, for the first time in our lives, I had pushed Deo to some limit I had not known existed.
“Cassandra. Look at me.”
Shyly, I gazed at my husband through my lashes. The anger was washed from his face, leaving behind determination. Chiseled jaw set, Deo raised his brow to me.
“The time has come for discipline, little one.” Letting go of my hands, he pushed his chair back, leaving me. The material of his charcoal dress pants made a quiet swishing noise as it pulled away from my slip.
Unbuttoning the cuff of his light blue pinstriped button-down shirt, he began to roll up his sleeve.
Little one? Discipline? I should have seen it coming sooner, but I hadn’t. The full picture did not come into my mind until he said the words.
“Over my knee. Now.”
That was when I laughed. The laugh was a product of nerves and disbelief, but it was loud, and it was aimed at Deo. What happened next, well, as I said, I never made that same mistake again.
***
“You let that man do what?” Cynthia exclaimed, her tight curls standing on end and her mouth gaping open.
It was the day after my ‘meeting’ with Deo. Pretending to arrive late, I had stood in the back of the conference room for the weekly meeting with the partners, something I had never, ever done before. Even after spending the night sleeping on my stomach, my bottom was still sore, and there was no way I was going to sit down on those hard, wooden chairs for over an hour.
Cynthia had cornered me immediately afterwards, dragging me into the women’s bathroom, asking me why I was late, helpfully informing me I was never late, and demanding to know why on Earth had I stood in the back of the room. The story of what happened between Deo and me tumbled out of my mouth, and now I was getting the full Spanish inquisition from my friend.
“I didn’t exactly have a choice, Cynthia,” I grumbled, digging through my bag for the lip gloss I would never find.
Grabbing a lipstick and slender tube from her own purse, Cynthia retorted, “Oh, yes, you did, girl. You could have run. No man has an excuse to hit a lady.” She handed me the pink tube of gloss.
“It wasn’t like that,” I murmured, unscrewing the cap and dabbing the sheer color onto my lips.
Pausing in her lipstick application, Cynthia asked, “Well, what did you do to upset him so much?”
“I told him I was leaving.”
A low whistle emitted from Cynthia’s freshly painted hot-pink lips. “You need a plan if you’re going to leave a man like Deo. He seems”—Cynthia cocked her head to the side, thinking and checking her handiwork in the mirror, the bright pink a perfect contrast to her warm complexion—“powerful. I always thought Deo was in the mob or something. Too damn good looking, making too much money to be in ‘finance’.” She used her fingers to make air quotes around the last word she spoke.
“He’s not in the mob. He’s just”—my thoughts trailed. I was still in shock and hadn’t had time to figure it out myself—“strict. He was saving our marriage.”
Blotting her lips with a tissue, Cynthia scrunched up her face. “Maybe he’s into kinky stuff. All that fifty shades of gray.”
In the mirror, my brown eyes widened, my auburn hair swinging against my pale skin as I shook my head. “He definitely wasn’t playing a game.”
Cynthia considered my face in the mirror. “Well, you seem more confused than upset. I don’t think you were really planning on leaving; you just wanted to get his attention. If I didn’t know better, I would say you seem like you liked it,” she said, bumping her hip with mine.
“Cy.” A warm blush crept into my face. There was no way I could tell Cynthia how right she was. I’d loved the discipline. I craved Deo’s power over me. I always had. Years wasted, wishing he would take control. He had just never shown that side to me before last night, and I had always been too shy to ask.
I would not share the whole story with Cynthia. What happened afterwards, I knew I would take to my grave. Deo had held me, rocking me as I sobbed, whispering in my ear words he had never said before. Childish words, making me feel vulnerable and protected. Words that I had longed to hear my whole married life. Words shame would not allow me to repeat.
Fussing with her short curls in the mirror, Cynthia said, “I don’t know. Powerhouse lawyer gets taken over the knee and spanked like a little girl. And it just happens to be by the hand of her dark, handsome, mob husband. That�
�s hot.”
I could feel my face turning as red as a stop sign, but I knew that wouldn’t signal to my best friend of eight years enough was enough.
“Tell me, Cass. How did it feel?”
Leaning against the sink for support, head in my hands, I miserably muttered, “I liked it.”
Cass hooting like an owl had me clarifying. “I mean, I didn’t like it when it was happening. It hurt.” The memory of Deo’s hand coming down hard and sharp against my bare skin, the shocking pain making my breath leave my body, invaded my thoughts. “But afterwards I felt…” My words failed my emotions. I couldn’t describe it, and I didn’t want to share. It was too intimate.
Sensing my unease, Cy put a gentle hand on my shoulder, speaking softly. “Okay, girl. I’ll let you be. But please”—her hand gripped my arm— “if he does something that scares you, call me right away. Promise?”
The last words Deo had said to me before I’d left the house this morning ran through my mind. His eyes dark, he had held me tight as he growled the threat in my ear, “I protect what’s mine.”
“I promise,” I told Cy, giving her a quick hug. Little did I know how soon I would be breaking that promise.
***
Andrew was already waiting for me at the pub when I finally got free of Cynthia’s worried clutches. I pushed through the heavy wooden doors, relaxing in the atmosphere of the dark wood interior. Entering Hibernia transported me to the traditional Irish pubs I had enjoyed while studying abroad in college, full of cozy nooks and beautifully sculpted bars.
“Hey,” I greeted my friend quickly, undoing the tortoise shell buttons of my beige trench coat. Shrugging my arms from the coat that was much too light for the season, I folded it over the back of our usual booth. Sliding into the familiar seat, I flinched as my bum hit the hard wood.
Andrew looked at me, suspiciously. “You look—frazzled. You never look frazzled. What’s up?”
Looking over at Andrew in his navy suit jacket and pink button-down, his tie with little sailboat anchors on it, pale blue eyes and sandy, wavy hair, I mused that he had a young, fun boy-next-door look and air about him. The only thing missing would be a few freckles dotting his straight nose.
