carried across 75

 

75 Refusal To Break 

Sera 

My thighs rubbed together as I walked, smearing my own wetness across the dark cotton of my underwear. 

Fenris did not slow down. He kept his heavy grip on my upper arm, pulling me down the stone corridor away from the Great Hall. The muffled roar of the pack faded behind the thick walls. My heart hammered violently against my ribs. My breathing was ragged. 

I was completely ready. I wanted him to push me against the stone wall. I wanted him to tear the leather laces off my pants and finish exactly what he started under that heavy oak table. My clitoris throbbed with a heavy, localized ache. Every step I took sent a sharp spike of friction straight into my core. 

We reached the central staircase. I stepped toward the winding stone steps that led up to his private den. 

Fenris pulled me the other way. 

“Where are we going?” I asked. My voice sounded entirely wrecked. 

“Outside,” he replied. 

He didn’t explain. He dragged me down a narrow, dark hallway I had never seen before. We reached a solid iron door at the very end. He threw the heavy latch open and pushed me through. 

The freezing mountain air slammed into my flushed skin. It felt like walking into a wall of solid ice. I gasped, wrapping my arms around my chest. The contrast between the suffocating heat of the Great Hall and the biting cold of the northern night was absolute. 

We were standing in a narrow gorge behind the main keep. High walls of sheer black rock blocked out 

the wind. 

I followed him. My boots crunched loudly on the frozen dirt. I tried to ignore the agonizing, unsatisfied ache between my legs. We walked for ten minutes, venturing deeper into the natural fissure in the mountain. The air grew surprisingly warmer. The sharp, biting cold began to recede. 

I inhaled. 

I smelled wet earth. I smelled crushed leaves and blooming night-flowers. 

“How is that possible?” I muttered. 

Fenris stepped out of the narrow gorge. We entered a wide, sunken pocket in the mountain. 

It was a massive, thriving garden. The ground was covered in thick, lush green grass. Tall, leafy trees formed a canopy overhead, blocking the snow entirely. The air was incredibly humid. Small, bubbling pools of water sat among the rocks, emitting thick clouds of steam. The thermal heat from the deep mountain springs kept the entire caldera perfectly warm, creating an impossible oasis right in the middle of a frozen wasteland. 

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“My brother made this place,” Fenris said. He stopped walking and let go of my arm. 

I rubbed my bicep, staring at the vibrant green vines crawling up the black stone walls. 

“He tended to it,” Fenris continued, his voice dropping in volume. “These were his children. He spent hours down here digging in the dirt. If you looked for Dimitri around the fortress and couldn’t find him, you just came here. He was always here.” 

Fenris paused. The silence stretched out. I watched his broad shoulders stiffen. He looked like a man bracing himself against a physical blow. 

He pointed to the far end of the garden. 

I followed his hand. A raised platform made of smooth, white stone sat in the center of a small clearing. It was surrounded by blooming blue flowers. 

“When he died, we brought him back,” Fenris said. The words sounded scraped raw. “I buried him here. In his favorite place.” 

I stared at the raised stone platform. The air in my lungs turned completely stale. 

Dimitri Volkov. The golden son. The man who drafted the Valdris treaty. The man who bought me. He was lying right there under the warm dirt. If he hadn’t died, I would be walking in this garden with him. I 

would be his Luna. 

Fenris walked over to a patch of thick, bare grass a few feet away from the grave. He sat down heavily. 

He rested his forearms on his knees and looked at the white stone. 

He tapped the ground beside him. “Sit.” 

I hesitated. I looked at the grave, then looked at the massive, lethal warlord sitting in the grass. I walked over and lowered myself slowly to the ground. I sat cross-legged, leaving a foot of space between us. 

“He had no mind for violence,” Fenris said quietly. He kept his eyes on the white stone. “He was the firstborn. He was supposed to be the strongest. But he hated the sight of blood. Father put a sword in his hand when he was six years old, and Dimitri dropped it. He refused to strike the training dummies.” 

“Your father allowed that?” I asked. 

“Father beat him for it,” Fenris said flatly. “It didn’t change his mind. Dimitri just took the beatings. He 

was stubborn. He used his words to disarm people. He was brilliant at it.” 

Fenris let out a short, dry laugh. It sounded entirely out of place in the dark. 

“The only violent thing he ever did was fight for Mina,” Fenris said. A ghost of a smile pulled at his mouth. 

I looked at him in surprise. “Mina?” 

Fenris nodded. “We were teenagers. Some of the older warriors’ sons cornered her in the lower courtyards. They were roughing her up, pushing her around. Dimitri saw it from a balcony.” 

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“What did he do?” 

“He jumped off the balcony,” Fenris said, shaking his head. “He didn’t call the guards. He just landed in the dirt and started swinging his fists. He didn’t know how to fight. They beat the absolute shit out of him. They broke his ribs and fractured his jaw.” 

“Did he win?” I asked. 

“No,” Fenris said. “But he didn’t stay down. Every time they knocked him into the mud, he stood back up. He just kept standing up until they got exhausted and terrified of his sheer persistence. They eventually ran away. Mina dragged him to the healers. He spent three weeks in bed, but nobody ever touched Mina again.” 

I smiled. It was a completely different kind of strength. It wasn’t the brutal, lethal force Fenris possessed. It was a quiet, unyielding refusal to break. 

** 

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