Aria
I woke drenched in sweat. My skin was on fire. My bones felt too heavy, too hollow.
The healer’s den was dim, lit only by a few flickering candles. Herbs hung from the ceiling, the air thick with lavender, mint, and something bitter I couldn’t name. My breath came in sharp gasps, each one harder than the last.
A cool cloth touched my forehead. “She’s awake,” someone whispered.
I turned my head, blinking through the blur. Elias. His eyes were full of worry.
“What happened?” I croaked.
The healer, a soft-spoken woman with gray hair and tired eyes, stepped closer. “The mate bond is destabilizing. Too much trauma. Too much pull. It’s tearing through you.”
I swallowed. My mark still throbbed, pulsing with pain.
“If it isn’t stabilized,” she continued gently, “you’ll burn out. Or worse—your body might reject it entirely.”
I tried to sit up, but the room spun.
“What if it’s severed?” I asked, desperate. “What if I choose—”
“Not an option,” the healer said quickly. “Not now. Not after the bite’s been sealed. If he rejects you while your bond is this unstable… it might kill you.”
I sank back against the pillow, cold despite the fever. Footsteps thundered outside the den. Then the door burst open.
Ryle. Of course.
“She’s a liability,” he growled, eyes like frost. “The bond is making her weak. Making him weak. Serve it. Get it done.”
“No,” Matthew’s voice snapped behind him.
Ryle glared over his shoulder. “We have allied packs watching us! She’s an embarrassment!”
“She’s mine,” Matthew growled.
Elias stood between them. “Then let me help her. I know someone. A witch who can do a temporary severing spell. Just to give her relief. A way to heal.”
Matthew shook his head, stepping forward. “No one touches the bond. Not while I live.”
“You’d rather watch her die?” Elias shouted, stepping toward him.
They stood nose to nose, fury vibrating between them. And I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Stop!” I screamed.
Everyone froze. My voice cracked, but I kept going. “You all talk like I’m an object. A burden. A mistake. But I never asked for any of this.”
Matthew turned to me, something flickering in his eyes.
“I never asked to be chosen,” I whispered. “I never asked to be claimed. Or protected. Or owned. I just wanted to be—without being someone’s possession.”
Silence. For a long, awful moment, none of them spoke. And then Ryle scoffed. “Sentimental nonsense.”
He turned and stormed out. The others followed, the room falling quiet again—except for the hammering of my heart.
Later that night, I woke to hushed voices just outside the healer’s door. I sat up slowly, careful not to make a sound.
“Do it your way,” Ryle’s voice said, low and sharp. “Mark Selene. You’re already halfway there.”
Matthew said nothing. Ryle kept going. “End the bond. Officially. Make it clean. You don’t need a ceremony—just a new claim. You have options. Use them.”
My chest went cold. My mark pulsed again, sharp and painful. I wrapped the blanket tighter around my shoulders and stared at the candlelight until I couldn’t breathe.
I shouldn’t have gotten up.
I was too weak, too raw—but something in my bones dragged me down the halls, my bare feet silent on the stone. The den was far from the training hall, but the way there felt like seconds.
The door was ajar. Just enough to see. And what I saw shattered me.
Matthew. Selene.
His shirt was gone, tossed carelessly on the floor. Her hands were on his chest, her lips close, too close.
I stood frozen. And then, she kissed him. And he didn’t stop her. I saw her smirk against his mouth as if she knew. As if she wanted me to see.
And my heart broke.