A Cruel Kindness

Chapter 1

Bellamy

I handed over my body to be ravaged and raided and the only thing they gave me in return was a Soul Mate.

Some people would consider that a fair trade. A little pain for a lot of love and all that fanciful, hopeful thinking.

I, on the other hand, knew that it was nothing but a lifelong prison sentence.

The searing, bone-deep pain that felt like burning plasma melting me from the inside out was only half of it. I barely heard my own scream as it was ripped from my throat, my senses focused on the fire burning through my veins.

The torture pooled around my back and shoulders, my skin flaying apart to make room for my Mark, the reminder of the fact that I was no longer an individual in this world.

I would be a half of a stronger whole. Half of a destructive, conquering pair that had nothing to do with love and everything to do with power.

As I bit down on the fabric they’d shoved in my mouth to prevent my teeth from breaking and dug my fingers into the carved wooden chair underneath me so hard it felt like hot metal was burning into my skin, I hoped that even with this curse, I would at least be lucky.

Foolish thinking. Only those truly blessed walked away with a weak Match, somewhere in the seventies or eighties percent of compatibility. Their Marks similar, but branching off into distinct patterns and images.

A stable, but short-lived pairing.

That wouldn’t be me. I knew before those priestesses ever put their hands on my bare back, digging their claws into my skin, what I’d be walking away with. I knew I’d be getting a Soul Match. One hundred percent compatibility that was impossible to escape.

It was a deep knowing , just another example of the deities laughing at me, flipping the coin between two horrible fates.

The pain was ebbing, leaving throbbing, raw skin in its wake. When my vision cleared, blinking away tears that had sprung against my will, I clocked my reflection in the mirror in front of me.

It wasn’t my face I was looking at.

It was my back, once an expanse of untouched skin. Now covered in a twirling, intricate tattoo of a tree, spreading its branches over my shoulders and cementing its roots into my lower back and hips.

My breath seized in my throat, even though I knew nothing should have shocked me at this point.

I hadn’t prepared, it seemed, to recognize the Mark the priestesses pulled from me.

To realize that in addition to this death sentence, the man who donned an identical Mark would be the one to do the killing, probably smiling while he shoved a knife through my back.