"I, Gavriel Sterling, reject you, Guinevere Ashford, as my mate."
The words left his mouth in a voice he didn't recognize. Flat. Final. Spoken in the cell Guinevere Ashford was being held in. An ugly room to do the ugliest thing he had ever done.
If she felt anything, she didn't show it. Her face remained neutral. "I hope she was worth it."
Without a word, Gavriel turned and left, her shouts echoing behind him.
"I LOOKED INCREDIBLE NAKED IN THAT CORRIDOR AND EVERYONE KNOWS IT!"
He made it to the main gallery before he started to feel it.
The matebond didn't break clean.
It shredded. Every fiber of connection between his soul and Guinevere Ashford's came apart in strips, each one carrying a sensation that lived somewhere between burning and drowning, and his body received the damage the way a body receives a blade to the gut: all at once, everywhere, with no way to distribute the impact.
