Bind Our Fortunes

Selfie by Claire Estabrook

"You're safest staying here," she added, taking up her seat again. "There's space for your sister as well." Tilting her head slightly, she looked him over more carefully. "Are you Canid? Lycan?" It didn't seem likely that he was Garou. Garou tended to react to her kind rather specifically. She'd anticipated violence when he woke for a reason, and yet so far he seemed more confused and frightened than anything.

Lycan, most likely, she would assume, but that would add complications to the mix. He certainly wasn't a local pack. Her brows furrowed briefly.

Stepping away, he pulled down the back door for the truck before kneeling down by the rest of the children. "I bet you're all missing your homes right about now. I don't know where everyone lives, though, so we're going to take you to the hospital and make sure you're all checked out, and then your families can come pick you up, okay? Have you ever ridden in the back of a truck before? You have to make sure you're sitting," he informed them, getting up to help hoist a couple of them into the bed of the truck. "I'm gonna drive nice and slow, but make sure you stay sitting, okay?"

Looking over at the eldest of the kids, he smiled warmly. "You make sure they all behave and stay sitting, okay? It shouldn't take too long to get there. Atta girl."

Eric Byrd was a son-of a bitch. It wasn't an insult when it was true, was it? Spit up and chewed out by the Byrd family matriarch and heir Elyse Collins didn't exactly know if she should laugh or cry about the three years of her life that she had wasted on the arm of a man who still took orders from his mommy. She supposed their was a weird kind of psychology to it, seeing as his mother was merely a pawn in the grander scheme of things. It was his father, Claude who truly had a choke-hold on the city and apparently his wife. His tech company was more than meets the eye and the journalist knew far more than the people around her thought she did. She may have looked the part of air-head blonde accessory, but there was far more to her than that. Her intelligence and unwavering will threatened the simple minded Madeline and in turn Madeline had tried numerous times to undermine Elyse and Eric's relationship.

It would appear that the woman had finally worn down her son because he left Elyse. Or so she assumed. It had been three weeks with no contact, no voice message, email, text or direct message sent to him had been returned, or opened for that matter. The pin to his pent house had been changed, and his doorman switched. It was odd. All of it.

He wasn't dead though. No, far from it. His social media was full of stories of the young millionaire living it up at clubs they had once frequented together. Where she should have been stood a cheaper, tanner, and more Hollywood version of herself. She had been replaced.

Replaced.

It was a good thing that she had a life of her own outside of her socialite boyfriend and his insufferable family. While many speculated she had used Eric to gain a following the opposite had occurred. She had made a sad rich boy iconic and he repaid her by ghosting her. His message was received loud and clear. She was dead to him so she would do what ghosts did best; haunt the living.

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

The night of the founders gala had approached shortly after her breakup, if one could even call it that. The young woman had spent an extraordinary amount of time preparing for the event seeing as it would be her first event without Eric beside her. She wanted him to see her, to know that she wasn't crying or broken - if anything she was liberated.

Dressed to impress and feed the gossip columns the blonde appeared red carpet worthy. A scintillating red cocktail dress whose sheer bodice and slit up the side accentuated her figure was paired with tasteful gold jewelry. Her blonde curls were styled in a way that allowed a few ringlets to hang loose while her bangs tastefully framed her face. She kept the makeup simple, shimmery gold eyeshadow, a swipe or two of waterproof mascara and a bold lip. A small designer bag that she could use as a clutch and a comfortable pair of red bottoms rounded out her ensemble.

Arriving just as the gala was about to begin the blonde took a deep breath and hyped herself up. She had one goal that evening and that was to deliver a message, once that was done she could leave and carry on with life as if Eric didn’t exist. She lived a successful life before him and would continue to do so now that he wasn’t a part of it.

As soon as her heels hit the pavement adrenaline took over. There was a certain kind of excitement that accompanied being devious and the woman hadn’t known just how delicious a feeling that was until she was standing in line to be allowed entry into the event. As she grew closer to security she felt a tugging sensation somewhere deep within her mind, looking up her cerulean hues met the unnaturally colored ones of her ex-lover. Fuck Me. Keeping her head held high, Elyse wouldn’t let Eric’s ominous presence dissuade her. As her time came to check in she would smile at the staff member assigned to take roll. “Elyse Collins, my date has already checked in.”

Skimming the list the attendant would look from Elyse to the large security guard next to them and then back to her. “My sincerest apologies Miss Collins, it would appear that your reservation is no longer available. Mr. Byrd has brought another guest.” Blinking once, Elyse would look up at the attendant with veiled disbelief, “I’m sorry, I think I’m mishearing you. My spot has been taken by someone else? The donation I made to the founder’s foundation which grants me entry into this fundraiser, has been taken?” Panic was visible on the attendant’s face as they began scanning through the list to see if by chance they had made a mistake. Not wanting to cause a scene, she would calmly ask, “Is it possible to make another donation?” Was her ego and pride worth funneling more money into this event?

Extracting her revenge wasn’t exactly something she could do sitting at home on her couch eating a pint of ice-cream and asking the gods why they chose her to punish.

There were plenty of things in his life that Beryl enjoyed. Good food. Good music. Good looking people. Good parties.

Money made most of that easy to attain. But good drama? Oh good drama only came up every so often, the opportunities something that required holding onto tightly. And so, overhearing at least a little bit of the fuss at the door, Beryl scanned the woman in question before stepping up, a matte black glove taking up her hand before he pressed a kiss to the back of it.

"Elyse, sweetheart, I'm sorry I'm late." It was easy to slip in. To gently tuck her arm into his, the deep black of his suit jacket offered as a place for her to hold as he looked between her and the maître d'. "Is there a problem? Has my guest's reservation not been updated?" He asked, raising his eyebrows over a tight but polite smile.

He'd intended to come alone, frankly. It gave him more freedom to come and go as he pleased. Then again, he could always make room for a knockout blonde beauty on his arm. And any woman who wore red as well as she did deserved to be fawned over at least a little bit.

Clearing his throat, the maître d' hesitated as he flipped a few pages quickly. "Ah. It seems there must have been an error in communication, Mister Sinabi, my apologies."

(Throat) - sender grabs reciever by their throat

(jaw) - sender takes hold of recievers jaw harshly

(wrist) - sender has hold of recievers wrist / wrists

(twist) - sender twists reciever's arms behind their back

(bind) - sender restrains reciever with item of choice

(pull) - sender pulls reciever roughly to them

(drag) - sender drags reciever to / away from something

(hair) - sender pulls or controls receiver by their hair

(pin) - sender pins reciever to the wall

(knife) - sender uses a knife against reciever as a threat

(nick) - sender nicks reciever with a knife

(push) - sender pushes reciever roughly

(eyes) - sender forces receiver to look at them

(neck) - sender grabs the back of reciever's neck

(smack) -sender slaps reciever

(grip) - sender grabs reciever by their shirt

(gag) - sender forces reciever to stay quiet (with hand or with a gag)

(strike) - sender hits reciever with their hand or other item

Russian Tea Room

The man was sleeping deeply when he felt something beneath his arm stir. It was enough to pull him into an awaking state. A deep moan escaped as consciousness slowly ebbed in. Orange blazed behind his closed eyes, telling him he'd somehow managed to make it to morning.

Strange...the last thing he recalled last night was a bonfire after the nuptials and then...nothing.

The thought jolted him awake as he opened his eyes to find himself wrapped rather intimately with a complete stranger.

A beautiful naked stranger.

Letting his gaze soften to her lovely form, he let out another moan, feeling as if he had been in some sort of accident. Lifting his arm to unpin the woman from his grasp, he muttered a gentle, "Sorry," as he slowly tried to turn over, as every muscle resisted the act, but also his wrist was not cooperating.

Great. Bound and naked to some woman.

Again, leaving him to apologize, "Oh...shit, sorry," before he attempted to cover roll his hips to the bed to spare, as not to offend her. A dull ache in the back of his head served as a memory that he'd been here before. Clearly, he slipped in his sobriety, and the pain of the realization cut deeply.

Forgetting, he went to pinch the bridge but stopped as her hand followed. He tried to rally, but could not pull anything out of his memory. A slightly broken voice asked as he caught those silver eyes, "I'm not exactly sure how we ended up like this?" While his free hand pulled at the rope binding them together as he muttered, "Shit, If I had anything to do with this, forgive me? I'm not typically into bondage." There was always time for a joke.

Liberting them from the rope, he muttered, "I'm Boden by the way." A small forced smile and brow lift accompanied, "It's nice to meet you, I guess."

"I'm not exactly sure either," she began, her free hand reaching up to stop his other hand from removing the ropes. "But I can take a couple of educated guesses. And, uh," wiggling the fingers that were bound to his, she smiled, "I need a second before you undo those, if you don't mind. I'm not exactly opposed to bondage, myself, but this isn't exactly that."

It took her a second, sitting up to look over each of the knots before she let him finish his removal of it, a slight sigh leaving her as, at least, one of the bonds was clearly broken. A wedding knot was a powerful spell, and for a moment she wondered if it would be enough to overpower her own protections. Thankfully not.

She wasn't overly particular about her own nudity, though her hair covered most of her chest anyway. Maya looked him over for a long moment, contemplating the new information she had, before she sighed softly.

Would it kill you to just apologize for once!

Just leave me alone!

You're not sorry for what you did, you're just sorry you got caught!

I wish I'd never met you!

Stop, just stop! Why do you have to ruin everything?

Can't you stay out of trouble for once!?

This is all your fault!

Is there a point to this, or do you just like the sound of your own voice?

I actually trusted you. That’s the funniest part, isn’t it?

Tell me, was any of this worth it?

Believe whatever helps you sleep at night.

You have ten seconds to get out of my sight before I do something we'll both regret.

Don't act like you're the victim here.

You really think you're the hero of this story, don't you?

Look me in the eye and say that again.

Was any of it real, or was it all just a game to you?

Just stop talking, no one wants to hear it.

Don't you dare walk away while I'm talking to you!

You can't be serious?

You didn't used to be like this.

How long were you planning on lying to me?

Oh, so now it's a problem when I do it!

And what would you know!?

You deserve to be alone!

You’re exhausting. Has anyone ever told you that?

How many people have to get hurt just so you can get what you want?

You’re pathetic.

Stepping over to the desk, Deva withdrew a picture from her pocket, smiling cheerfully. "Brutality doesn't bother me in the slightest." She set the picture down, nudging it over the desk towards him.