Bloodbound: The Alliance
Chapter 54 - 58

Chapter 54: Chapter 58

Avara POV

Perched high on the rugged mountaintop, the restaurant seems to float between earth and sky, nestled like a hidden gem amid the vast, sweeping valley below. Its sleek, modern architecture blends harmoniously with the natural surroundings, the large glass windows offering uninterrupted views of the jagged peaks and the lush valley cradled beneath. The air is crisp, carrying the scent of pine and the distant murmur of wind threading through the cliffs.

The convoy of luxury vehicles pause around the grandiose fountain so we’re near the immaculate staircase. I take a readying breath, the door opens and my legs slip out as the gleaming fabric cascades beneath me as Frank offers his hand to help me out. Dressed in an emerald one-shoulder satin gown with gilded embellishments.

Around me, the Vacherons climb out, their structured silhouettes sprouting into view. Landen approaches me with his hand extended. I lift a wavering hand before I place it in his as he raises our hands aloft as we ascend the staircase with his brother and father at our rear. I cast a glance behind me and Vance is already staring up at me, fixated and unflinching.

Out of nowhere, Landen pulls me to him with a reproachful tug as he snakes his arm around my waist in a rough lock. Smiling, he leans closer so the tip of his nose can nudge away idle strands, his breaths making my scalp prickle.

"They say it’s a bad... dangerous thing to focus on the past when your future is ahead of you," he says icily, his words cutting through me with chilling clarity.

He draws back so we can lock eyes and his smile is deceptive, seemingly warm and loving, unseen is the shadows flitting behind it. Outside of the restaurant is an extension of the summit. The polite hum of conversation and the occasional sound of clinking glasses rise gently from the gathering, carried upward on the breeze. Everything seems like an intricate chess board, where powerful figures move carefully between tents, discussing deals that could change the world.

Inside the restaurant, the atmosphere is hushed yet electric. The polished wooden floors gleam under the soft, ambient light, while the stone walls offer a rustic contrast to the sleek, modern décor. Tables are set with fine linen and polished silverware, waiting for the next round of discussions or sparkling reflection over gourmet meals and vintage wines. The panoramic windows give the sensation of floating above the world.

Mr Vacheron ushers us towards a gauntlet of suited men.

"Congratulations," one of them says with a scornful smile. "Second times a charm."

"Tell me, Landen, how is it that you are all so well-endowed but end up with Vance’s hand-me-downs?"

Vance bursts past us to launch an explosive blow at the man that said that, sending him sprawling on the floor. Three men appear to restrain Vance as the man tries to lift himself up, Landen comes out of nowhere to thrust a violent kick at his face—blood spurting in arc before he smashes against the floor as Landen casually strolls away, adjusting his custom cufflinks. Security starts swelling behind Mr Vacheron as he merely flicks up a halting hand and the entire squad skids to a stop.

"Anything else?" Landen says, raising a roar that stills the atmosphere. "Anyone else wants to make a comment that I will happily make them regret?"

A beat of silence.

Landen swivels around mockingly, surveying both staff and guests. "Nothing?"

Vance wrenches himself of their hold, straightening his blazer and adjusting his lapels. Landen wanders before me to secure his hold before he leads us away from the scene. Only then does Mr Vacheron permit the staff to intervene, watching them try to scrape the poor man off the floor—a glob of his blood staining the polished floor. Landen leads me away and in a breath, another cluster intercepts us, a mix of women and men.

"Are you alright?" a middle-aged woman asks with sincerity in her eyes, concern pinching her brows.

I conjure a smile as I lay a loving hand on Landen’s chest. "Thanks to him—both of them."

She nods with a tight smile. "Only one thing more scrutinizing than the media is the landed gentry."

"People should just keep their attention from business that’s not theirs," Landen warns ominously.

"Your relationship is a public affair," another man points out. "You made it the public’s business."

Landen tenses like he’s bracing to burst so I pat a calming hand on his chest before it draws down to his stomach to quell that furnace of fire that still burns fresh.

"All we mean," I begin diplomatically, "is that the wrong elements are being scrutinized. Things change and with the nature of relationships there is no exception. Simply life. It’s that simple. Yet everyone has blown it all out of proportions to something salacious. When it isn’t. My heart simply belongs to another," I confess ambiguously, one face they imagine, but only one other name etched in the tablet of my heart.

They nod, varying in degrees of confidence but enough to shut them.

"Oh, baby," Landen drawls.

He leans in for a kiss and my head whips just in time so his lips land on my cheek. I made a promise to Botan that I want to honor and that is I won’t kiss any pair of lips other than his own.

Shortly, we’re all beckoned to take our seats and Mr Vacheron occupies the one head of the main table. Landen is next to me but Vance is seated right opposite me, his mere gaze demanding my own, bound by sheer will alone.

Landen grips my thigh under the table—I jolt. My eyes dart to him when his hand slips up the slit of my dress, fingers roaming deep toward my inner thigh, fingertips idling sensitive spots in a way that makes me squirm slightly, heat stinging my face as I fail to remain composed. Memories yank at my mind violently, images of Grayson, pertifying parallels as a dread-inducing rush floods my system to the point that my vision fractures, fuzzy like a camera out of focus.

"Landen, what are you doing," I whisper in a furtive frenzy.

"I need to get your attention somehow," he whispers back huskily.

A crack in my voice "You have it—please."

His fingers caress the fabric of my underwear and I seize his hand to stop him.

"Stop."

"Then give me a kiss."

"No," I blurt.

His hand forces his way out of my grip and a blaze of panic coerces me to crash my lips on his with my eyes clamped shut. I can feel Landen smiling against the kiss before his hand retracts so he can tip my chin and he doesn’t hesitate to delve his tongue into my mouth. And I am viscerally aware of Vance tensing from all the way on the opposite side. I break away first, wiping the corners of my mouth carefully, making sure I didn’t mess the lipstick. I glance at Landen, smiling victoriously and my eyes slip to Mr Vacheron who eyes Landen down shrewdly.

The soft clink of silverware and the rustle of starched linens signal the arrival of the first dishes, carried with practiced grace by servers dressed in crisp, dark uniforms. As they move between the tables, the scent of freshly prepared food fills the air—a tantalizing blend of herbs, spices, and simmering sauces that dance on the senses.

Each plate is presented like a work of art, placed before the guests. A delicate swirl of truffle oil glistens on the surface of velvety butternut squash soup, the aroma rich and comforting. Beside it, an intricate tartare sits atop a thin, golden crostini, crowned with microgreens that add a splash of color against the white porcelain dish.

As the plates are set down, the low murmur of appreciation ripples through the room. Forks are lifted, and the first bite is savored slowly. Landen is occupied in the conversation on the other side of him, assailed by questions as this is his first corporate—anything, he has attended, let alone attended with a special plus one. Halfway, Vance discards his utensil, his meal untouched before he rises and goes past the bathroom—he’s making a start for the exit. I fix on a worn smile before I get up to go after him and once they’re all out of view, I accelerate, heels clip-clopping on the varnished wood as I go after him.

"Vance!"

He stops and whirls around with a jaded expression.

"Where are you going?"

"I agreed to attend the events, not stay," he clarifies coldly. "I made my guest feature. Now I’m leaving."

"Don’t," I say thoughtlessly, too desperately. I make an amendment. "I don’t think you should."

He shrugs carelessly. "I’m going to leave. The question is, am I leaving alone?"

My eyes flare at the proposition. "Are you insane, your father is here—everyone is here so I can officially debut my relationship with Landen."

"And you’ve done that," he says tightly. "One thing is damn sure is that you’ve never kissed me like that."

The skin around my eyes tauten.

"Want to make it up to me?"

My eyes narrow even more. "I didn’t know I was in the position where I owed you something?"

"You don’t. Quite the other way around," he says with a glimmer of a sad smile. "Come on, we’ll say you got sick and that’s why you left early."

"The same time you did?" I say quickly.

"I had other engagements as I always do," he counters just as fast. "No one will make that nexus. So are you coming or not?"

"It was usually Landen trying to rope me into this kind of mischief." I walk forward to join him in the threshold. "Where are we going?"

"A mate of mine has a place around here—he visits one time a year. He won’t be there but I know where he keeps the spare key."

I sneak a nervous glance behind me.

He catches it and gives me a thoughtful once over. "You know, I’m not trying to force you here. Just giving you a choice."

I meet his eyes and smile kindles. "That’s why I’m choosing to go."