The Pull
1798 Words
I didn’t go to work that day.
I told myself it was because I had a migraine. Because my head was pounding and my thoughts felt like broken glass rattling around inside my skull. Because I needed time to process.
That was all technically true.
But the real reason was the mark on my neck.
I stood in my bathroom for a long time after Damien left, staring at my reflection like it might change if I looked hard enough. The mark hadn’t faded. If anything, it looked sharper now—like it had settled into my skin instead of sitting on top of it.
A mating mark.
I pressed my fingers against it, half-expecting pain.
Instead, a wave of warmth rolled through me.
Not heat exactly. More like… awareness. A low hum in my chest, as if something had been switched on without my permission.
I yanked my hand away.
“Nope,” I muttered. “Absolutely not.”
I showered, scrubbing my neck harder than necessary. The water fogged the mirror, but when I wiped it clear, the mark was still there. Mocking me.
I pulled on a hoodie with a high collar, tugging it up until the fabric brushed my jaw. Then I grabbed my phone.
Three missed calls.
All from Damien.
My stomach twisted.
I ignored them.
---
The first symptom hit around noon.
I was sitting on my couch, laptop open but untouched, when the feeling crept up on me.
Loneliness.
Sharp and sudden, like a hook under my ribs.
It made no sense. I wasn’t lonely. I had friends. A job. A city full of people. I’d lived alone for years without any problem.
But this wasn’t normal loneliness.
This was directional.
Pointed.
My chest tightened, breath going shallow, and without thinking I stood and walked to the window. I stared out at the city, heart racing, senses on edge.
The feeling intensified.
Not fear.
Longing.
My phone buzzed in my hand.
Damien: Please answer.
I stared at the screen, pulse pounding.
The moment I did, the pressure eased. Just a little.
That was when panic really set in.
---
I lasted until evening.
Until the ache came back stronger, accompanied by a restless heat under my skin that had nothing to do with arousal and everything to do with need.
By the time I finally answered his call, my hands were shaking.
“Ethan,” Damien said the moment I picked up. His voice was strained, controlled by force alone. “Where are you?”
“At home,” I snapped. “Where I should be. Because you basically told me my life is over.”
Silence.
Then, quieter, “I told you the truth.”
“You told me I’m bonded to you,” I said. “Without my consent.”
“I know.”
“And you expect me to just… what? Accept it?”
“No,” he said immediately. “I expect you to survive it.”
That made my breath hitch.
“What does that mean?”
“It means the bond is already forming,” he said. “And the first few days are the worst.”
“Worst how?”
“Pain. Confusion. Pull.” His voice dropped. “If we don’t manage it, it can hurt you.”
My chest tightened again, like my body was responding to his words.
“Manage it how?”
Another pause.
“By proximity,” Damien said. “By control. By learning each other’s boundaries.”
My face heated. “That sounds suspiciously like you’re saying I need to be around you.”
“Yes.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
“I know,” he said softly. “But I won’t touch you unless you want me to.”
The words hit harder than I expected.
“Then why does it feel like you already have?” I asked.
His breath stuttered on the other end of the line.
“Because the bond doesn’t care about my intentions,” he said. “It only cares that you’re mine.”
My pulse spiked.
“That’s not okay,” I whispered.
“I agree,” he said. “That’s why I’m asking. Ethan… come to the estate tonight. Just to talk. Just to stabilize things.”
The ache in my chest flared, sharp and demanding.
“I don’t trust you,” I said.
“You shouldn’t,” Damien replied honestly. “But I would never harm you.”
I closed my eyes.
The truth was, every instinct in my body was already leaning toward him.
“Fine,” I said. “But this doesn’t mean anything.”
“It means everything,” he said quietly.
---
The Blackwood Estate felt different at night.
Less like a party venue. More like territory.
The forest surrounding the house loomed dark and alive, the air thick with unfamiliar scents that made my senses buzz. My heart raced the moment I stepped out of the car.
Damien was waiting for me at the door.
He wasn’t in a suit this time. He wore dark jeans and a fitted black shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms dusted with dark hair.
My mouth went dry.
He looked at me like he was starving.
And like he was terrified of taking a bite.
“You came,” he said.
“I said I would.”
He stepped aside, letting me in. The house was quiet—no staff, no guests. Just us.
“Marcus knows you’re here,” Damien said as we walked. “He insisted.”
“That’s comforting,” I muttered.
Damien huffed a quiet laugh, then sobered. “How do you feel?”
“Like I’m being pulled apart from the inside,” I said honestly. “Like my body wants something my brain is screaming at me to run from.”
He stopped walking.
“That’s the bond,” he said. “It’s trying to sync us.”
“That sounds invasive.”
“It is.”
I crossed my arms. “So what now?”
Damien gestured toward the living room. “Sit. Please.”
I did, perching on the edge of the couch like I might bolt at any moment. Damien sat across from me, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tightly.
“For now,” he said, “we establish rules.”
“Rules,” I echoed.
“Yes.” His eyes locked onto mine. “You control physical contact. Always. If you say stop, I stop.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I still don’t touch you unless you explicitly invite it.”
The tension in the room thickened.
“Why?” I asked. “If I’m already ‘yours,’ why bother?”
His jaw tightened.
“Because I refuse to become a monster.”
Something in his voice—raw, sincere—made my chest ache.
“What about emotions?” I asked quietly. “Because I can feel… things. When you’re not around.”
His gaze softened. “I know.”
“You’re doing this to me,” I accused.
“Yes,” he said. “And I hate myself for it.”
The honesty knocked the fight out of me.
I rubbed my face. “Okay. So. Physical rules. What else?”
“We avoid triggering dominance responses,” Damien said. “No commands. No public claiming gestures. No scent-marking.”
I blinked. “Scent—what?”
“Later,” he said quickly. “The point is—we keep you as human as possible for as long as possible.”
“That’s not ominous at all.”
“I won’t let you lose yourself,” he said fiercely.
The ache in my chest shifted, warming.
“Then why does it feel like I’m already changing?” I whispered.
Damien stood and crossed the room slowly, stopping a careful distance away.
“Because bonds don’t ask permission,” he said. “But love does.”
My heart stuttered.
“Love?” I repeated.
His eyes flicked to my neck.
“Eventually,” he said. “If you choose it.”
Silence stretched between us, thick with everything unsaid.
The pull surged again, stronger now that he was close. My body leaned forward before my mind could stop it.
Damien noticed.
He inhaled sharply.
“Ethan,” he warned. “If you step closer—”
“I know,” I said. “But I need to understand something.”
“What?”
“Is this pull one-sided?” I asked. “Or are you feeling it too?”
Damien laughed softly, without humor.
“It’s worse for me,” he said. “Because I’ve spent my entire life learning how not to give in to it.”
My throat tightened.
“Then why bring me here?” I asked.
“Because distance will hurt you,” he said. “And I’d rather burn than watch that happen.”
The room felt suddenly too small.
I took a step toward him.
He didn’t move.
“I don’t want to be controlled,” I said.
“You won’t be.”
“I don’t want to lose myself.”
“You won’t.”
“I don’t want to wake up one day and realize I didn’t choose this.”
His voice dropped. “Then don’t choose it yet.”
My breath caught.
“Just stay,” he said. “Let the bond settle. Let me prove I can be more than an alpha.”
The pull thrummed between us, almost audible now.
Slowly, deliberately, I reached out and placed my hand on his chest.
His heart was racing.
Damien sucked in a breath like it hurt.
“Is this okay?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said hoarsely. “But if you keep going, I won’t be able to pretend this is just theory.”
I felt the truth of that in the way his body reacted beneath my palm.
“I don’t want theory,” I said.
His eyes darkened.
“I want honesty.”
His hand came up—slow, careful—and rested at my waist. He didn’t pull. Didn’t claim.
Just held.
The contact sent warmth flooding through me, the ache easing into something steadier. Safer.
We stood there, breathing each other in, the bond humming quietly between us.
No rush.
No dominance.
Just two men standing on the edge of something terrifying and beautiful.
“This changes things,” Damien murmured.
“I know,” I said.
“But it doesn’t end them,” he said.
I nodded.
For the first time since waking up with a mark on my neck, I didn’t feel like I was falling.
I felt like I was being caught.
- Writer
