Unbroken bond

Chapter2

Raziel’s POV

The sun hadn’t even fully cleared the horizon when the sound of a door slamming echoed through our shared suite. I didn't need to open my eyes to know Killian was back. He walked with a heavy, confident stride that made the floorboards groan in recognition.

I pulled the pillow over my head. "You’re late. And you smell like Clare’s perfume and regret."

The mattress dipped significantly as Killian dropped his weight onto the edge of my bed. He didn't even bother going to his own. He leaned back, his shoulder thumping against my hip.

"It’s not regret, Black, it’s exhaustion," he groaned, kicking off his boots. One of them hit my desk with a loud clack. "Do you have any idea how much that girl talks? I think I know her entire family tree back to the seventeenth century."

I pushed the pillow aside and looked at him. He looked ruffled—his dark hair sticking up in three different directions—but he was grinning. That was us. No boundaries. He’d spent the night with a girl and the first thing he did was come to my bedside to complain about it.

"You chose to go over there," I reminded him, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from my eyes. "Don't act like a victim of conversation."

Killian laughed, reaching back to shove my shoulder. "Shut up. At least I’m getting some action before I’m legally bound to some 'fated' stranger. I’m living for the both of us."

He stood up, stretching his arms over his head. His shirt pulled tight across his chest, and for a split second, my eyes tracked the movement of his muscles. I looked away quickly, grabbing my laptop.

"Get in the shower," I muttered. "We have Advanced Pack Law in forty minutes, and I’m not letting you sit next to me smelling like a flower shop."

"Yes, mother," he teased, grabbing a clean towel and snapping it at my leg before disappearing into the bathroom.

Forty minutes later, we were slumped in the back row of the lecture hall. This was our sanctuary. The professor, a grizzled old wolf named Henderson, was droning on about the "Spiritual Weight of the Alpha-Beta Connection."

Killian was doing what he always did—not paying attention. He was leaning back, his long legs stretched out under the desk, occupying twice as much space as any normal human.

"Hey," he whispered, nudging my arm with his. "Look at Jax."

Down at the front of the room, Jax was fast asleep, his head nodding rhythmically. Killian stifled a laugh, his shoulder shaking against mine.

"I bet you five bucks he drools on his notebook within the next ten minutes," Killian murmured, leaning closer to my ear.

His breath was warm against my skin. Usually, I wouldn't think twice about it. We’d huddled together for warmth on winter scouting trips; we’d shared oxygen in cramped hiding spots when we were kids. But today, the proximity felt like a live wire.

A sudden, sharp itch flared up on my shoulder blade. I winced, shifting away from him.

"You okay?" Killian asked, his playful expression dropping instantly into one of concern. He was always attuned to me—part of the "Right Hand" instinct he bragged about.

"Fine," I said, rubbing the spot through my hoodie. "Just a cramp."

"Let me see," he said, reaching out. It wasn't a question.

"Killian, we're in class—"

"I don't care. Turn around." He gripped my chair, pivoting it toward him. His large hand slid under the collar of my hoodie, his fingers brushing against the skin of my upper back.

The contact felt like a lightning strike. My heart hammered against my ribs so hard I was sure he could hear it. His fingers were hot—unusually hot—and as he pressed his thumb against the skin where my mark was hidden, I felt a low, vibrating hum resonate through my entire body.

Killian froze. His hand didn't move. He wasn't looking for a cramp anymore. His blue eyes were wide, fixed on the side of my face, his nostrils flaring as he took in a deep, sharp breath.

"Black," he rasped, his voice dropping an octave. "What is that?"

"What is what?" I asked, my voice trembling.

"You smell... different," he whispered. He sounded confused, almost irritated. "Like... the woods after a storm. It’s making my head spin."

I pulled away, tugging my hoodie back into place. "It’s just the transition, Killian. We’re both on edge. My hormones are probably just haywire because of the countdown.

"Killian blinked, the trance breaking. He shook his head, rubbing his eyes as if trying to clear his vision. "Yeah. Yeah, probably. This 'mate' fever is getting to everyone. Mila was getting on my nerves about it earlier, too."

He slumped back in his chair, but he didn't joke for the rest of the hour. He kept stealing glances at me, his brow furrowed, his hand repeatedly clenching into a fist on the desk.

The easy "bestie" energy was still there, but a shadow had fallen over it. The air between us wasn't just friendly anymore—it was heavy. It was charged.

I looked down at the clock on the wall.

36 hours.

The countdown was no longer just a number on a screen. It was a ticking time bomb strapped to the center of our friendship. I looked at Killian, my best friend, the boy who had promised that no mate would ever come between us.

I wondered if he realized that the "stranger" he was so ready to reject might be the only person he actually loved.

The professor finally dismissed us, and the lecture hall erupted into the chaotic shuffle of students. Killian was out of his seat before the bell finished ringing, his restlessness practically radiating off him in waves.

"I need to move, Black," he said, rolling his shoulders until they popped. "If I sit through another hour of 'Spiritual Weight,' I’m going to lose my mind. Gym. Now."

"I have a lab report due, Killian," I started to protest, but he already had my bag slung over one of his broad shoulders along with his own.

"The report can wait. Your Alpha needs a spotter," he grinned, that arrogant, playful spark returning to his eyes. He hooked an arm around my neck, dragging me toward the exit. "Besides, you look like you’re about to vibrate out of your skin. You need to burn off some of that Beta energy.

"The campus gym was a sprawling industrial space filled with the sounds of clanking iron and the heavy breathing of wolves in training. It was the one place where the hierarchy felt simple—whoever could lift the most or run the fastest was on top.

Killian headed straight for the bench press, drawing eyes as he moved. He was the heir, the golden boy of the Blackwood lineage, and he knew it. He stripped off his hoodie, leaving him in a sweat-wicking tank top that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

"Alright, Black. Start me at two-twenty-five. Let’s see if your reflexes are still sharp today."

I took my position at the head of the bench, my hands hovering near the bar as he settled in. This was our routine. We had done this hundreds of times. But as I leaned over him to check his grip, the air changed.

The scent of him—Cedar and Rain—was amplified by the heat of the gym. It wasn't just a smell anymore; it felt like a physical pressure against my chest. My wolf, usually quiet and composed, let out a low, internal thrum of approval.

Killian started his set. His muscles bunched and shifted with every rep, his veins popping under the skin of his forearms. I watched the rhythmic movement, my heart rate spiking for a reason that had nothing to do with exercise.

"You're... you're off-center," I managed to say, my voice sounding a little too tight.

Killian grunted, racking the bar with a loud thud. He sat up, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. He looked up at me, his blue eyes searching mine. "Am I? Or are you just distracted?"

"I'm not distracted," I lied, stepping back to give myself some air.

"You are. You've been weird since this morning," Killian said, standing up. He stepped into my personal space, towering over me. He didn't do it to be intimidating—it was just how he was—but today, it felt like he was crowding my entire world. "Is it the party? Or is it all that 'mate' talk Mila was spewing?"

I looked at the floor, focusing on the black rubber mats. "It's just the countdown, Killian. It’s a lot of pressure. For both of us.

"Killian let out a huff of laughter, reaching out to cuff the side of my head playfully. "I told you, forget the pressure. Whatever the moon decides tomorrow, it doesn't change us. You’re my best friend. That’s the only bond that matters to me.

"He grabbed a water bottle and took a long swig, his Adam’s apple moving as he swallowed. "I’m serious, Raz. If some girl shows up tomorrow claiming she’s 'The One,' she’s going to have to get used to the fact that you’re not going anywhere. We’re a package deal."

"A package deal," I repeated, the words tasting bitter-sweet.

"Exactly." He slung his towel over his shoulder. "Now, come on. If we hurry, we can hit the dining hall before the freshman horde eats all the good protein. My treat."

The dining hall was a blur of noise, but we sat in our usual corner booth, tucked away from the main crowd. We joked about Jax's disastrous dating life and Mila's terrifyingly high grades. We were just two best friends sharing a meal, just like we had for the last fifteen years.

But as the sun began to set, casting long, orange shadows across the table, the itch on my shoulder turned into a slow, rhythmic throb. It felt like a second heartbeat, synced perfectly with the pulse I could see jumping in Killian’s neck.

Every time our knees brushed under the table, or our hands moved toward the same napkin, a jolt of electricity snapped between us. Killian would flinch, his brow furrowing in confusion, but then he’d just shake it off and make another joke about how "static-y" the campus carpet was.

He was so determined to ignore it. He was so sure that he could just laugh his way out of the inevitable.

As we walked back to our dorm, the cool night air did nothing to soothe the fever burning under my skin.

"Tomorrow night, Black," Killian said as we reached our door. He looked at me, his expression uncharacteristically soft for a moment. "One last night as 'just the guys.' No Alphas, no Betas. Just us.""Just us," I agreed.

I went to my room and closed the door, leaning my back against the wood. My heart was thudding against my ribs like a trapped bird.

I pulled my phone out.

24 hours, 00 minutes, 00 seconds.

The final countdown had begun. One day left of being "Just Raziel." One day left of being his "Right Hand."

I looked at the closed door, knowing Killian was just on the other side, probably already scrolling through his phone or planning which shirt to wear to the party. He was so ready to reject his destiny, so ready to fight for his freedom.

But as the first real wave of the bond-fever crashed over me, I realized with a terrifying clarity: I didn't want to be free.

I just wanted him.