Bound By Rejection

Chapter 3: Jailed in Silver

She was losing her mind.

At least it felt that way.

Lyra lay curled on the cold stone, spine bowed, cheek pressed to the wet, moss-slick floor. Her breathing was shallow, sharp, every exhale barely clouding in front of her lips before dissolving into the bitter, crushing chill of the mountain cell. The silver cuffs dug deeper with every twitch, every involuntary tremor. Even the simple, shallow act of breathing hurt.

They hadn't even given her a cot.

She was the Luna once. Almost. Promised. Touched. Marked. She had been the equal, the partner, of the most powerful Alpha in the Northern Peaks.

Now? Just a girl in a hole, shackled like a rabid dog, wearing her shame like a shroud.

The cold had crept inside her days ago. An uninvited guest that had long since taken up residence in her marrow. Her limbs trembled uncontrollably, her body stripped of any natural warmth her suppressed wolf might have offered. And that was the worst of it.

The wolf.

Silenced. Dulled. Buried.

Every few hours, she’d feel her magnificent wolf stir, clawing toward the surface, trying to rise, to shift, to howl her defiance. The mere effort of its struggle sent fire lancing through her, instantly countered by the agonizing, burning bite of the silver. It was a vicious, soul-level torture designed to break the spirit before the body.

And that was when the vents hissed.

A soft, mechanical sound overhead. Like a serpent breathing its venom.

The wolfsbane mist descended in a pale, poisonous cloud, snaking toward her nose and mouth. It choked her, burned her lungs, and coated her tongue with a thick, paralyzing bitterness. Her wolf would whimper, a tiny, wounded sound, then fall silent again, drowned beneath the drug’s invisible, suffocating weight.

She had counted the cycles at first. Six per day. Or was it eight? It didn’t matter now. Time had dissolved, leaving her trapped in a perpetual, freezing twilight. The sun never touched this subterranean tomb. There were no windows, no torches, just the faint, eerie glow of the silver reflecting the damp stone walls.

To survive, Lyra had constructed an internal fortress of hatred and memory.

She tried to focus on the betrayal on Raina’s smug, triumphant smile, on Kael's cold, calculating amber eyes. But the silver was a counter-spell to her rage. When she tried to summon fury, the chains flared, stealing her energy.

So she thought of the future.

Ronan. The image of the rogue alpha was a hazy, distant concept, but she focused on the idea of him: freedom, rebellion, and a life outside of Kael’s shadow. She was going to find the rogues. She was going to be the fire they rallied around. She was going to build an army and walk back into this stronghold not as a Luna, but as a queen of vengeance.

But the mind was a treacherous country, and the un-severed mate bond was a constant, poisoned guide.

When the wolfsbane mist hit hardest, it didn't just mute her strength; it weaponized her memories.

The bond, sensing her distress, would flood her mind with moments of exquisite, agonizing tenderness. Not the arguments. Not the politics. But the private memories.

Kael’s voice, rough with possession, whispering promises against her throat in the pre-dawn quiet.

The night they first shifted together under the full moon, two halves of a whole, running through the snow-capped peaks, their bond roaring with pure, unquestionable destiny.

His rough laughter as she beat him in a sparring match, pulling her into a fierce, proud kiss that lasted until they were both breathless.

These memories, once her anchor, now sliced into her consciousness like hot knives. The wolfsbane amplified the feeling of those moments, the fierce joy, the blind trust, making the betrayal fresh every time. Her mind was a hellscape of the love she had lost, a mental ward where the ghost ofKael the Lover tormented her for the crimes of Kael the Alpha.

This was his masterstroke of cruelty. He hadn't just rejected her; he had turned their entire history into a personalized weapon. He had left the bond intact to ensure that, even in a silver cage, he was the last thing she ever thought of. He wanted her to look back on their love and realize it had simply been the set-up for her demise.

She would not give him the satisfaction of breaking her.

Sometimes, in the fevered haze between doses, she felt him.

Faintly. Through the bond.

It was a dull echo now, like trying to hear through a locked door underwater. But she caught glimpses of his immediate emotions, his current state of mind.

Anger. Sharp and political. He was clearly fighting the Council, defending his actions, or possibly dealing with the fallout of the public trial.

Frustration. Heavy and grinding. Likely due to her magical resistance, or maybe even Raina, who was ambitious and certainly not as submissive as the Alpha likely required.

Lust. A fleeting, hot flash that made her want to vomit and rage simultaneously. He was with someone. That was a certainty. And gods help her, she hated that the bond still responded. That she still felt the unwanted tug of primal jealousy when he was nearby. That her drugged, dying wolf still tried to reach for him, even betrayed.

“Stupid,” she croaked into the dark. Her voice cracked like brittle wood. “You’re so gods damned stupid.”

The silver pulsed. Her body convulsed, shaking violently as another wave of wolfsbane slithered through the vents. She choked, coughed, curled tighter.

I won't break. She pressed her cheek to the cold, wet stone. I will not die like this.

She made a vow, an internal contract with the tiny, suppressed spark of her wolf.

Listen to me, Wolf. When we get out of here, we don't look for peace. We don't look for a cure. We look for retribution. We find the poison they used to trick him, and we make him pay for every second of this pain. You fight for me now, and I promise you vengeance later.

Pain flared through her chest, sharp enough to steal her breath. Her vision blurred. She passed out again. The last thing she felt was the agonizing, distant thrum of the bond.

The dream came again.

Kael, shirtless, reaching for her. Raina, laughing behind him. Chains. Cold. Fire. Her own voice, calling out his name. Begging.

Then silence.

Only this time, when she looked into the reflection at the end of the dream, it wasn’t her chained, battered reflection staring back.

It was her wolf.

Eyes glowing with fire-red defiance. Fangs bared. Snarling.

Alive.

And in that moment, Lyra understood something vital. She wasn’t dead. Not yet. Her wolf wasn’t gone. Just waiting.

She opened her eyes in the cold dark. She was going to survive this. And Kael would regret the day he chose control over their bond.