Chapter Seven
810 Words
Elara
The cliffs weren’t new to me.
I’d come here before. Many times.
When the pack house felt too small. When the bruises were too fresh. When the walls felt like they were pressing in on me and I needed air that didn’t smell like fear or blood or wolfsbane.
Up here, the wind was honest. It didn’t whisper lies. It didn’t look at me like I was something dirty. It didn’t call me weak.
I used to sit near the edge, legs folded beneath me, watching the valley stretch endlessly below. Sometimes I’d pretend I belonged to it — wild and untouchable and free.
But tonight was different.
Tonight, Lyria’s voice wouldn’t stop echoing in my head.
It would be so much easier, she had said softly, almost kindly. One step. No more pain. No more worrying about what my father might decide he wants from you next.
I had laughed then.
But now the words wrapped around my ribs like chains.
I stepped closer to the edge than I ever had before.
The drop was steep — jagged rocks waiting far below. One misstep. One surrender. And it would all be over.
My body swayed slightly in the wind, weakened from the latest injection. The wolfsbane still burned faintly in my veins, making my limbs feel like they were filled with sand instead of blood.
It would be so easy.
No more beatings.
No more Maren’s hands grabbing at me.
No more my father’s disgust.
No more waking up afraid.
My Lycan stirred faintly inside me — not strong, not commanding, barely there at all. The bond between us felt thinned by poison and years of suppression.
And yet… she pushed against me.
Not with strength. With pleading.
I swallowed hard.
“I can’t,” I whispered to the wind.
Because it wouldn’t just be me falling.
It would be her.
The Lycan was rare — a stain in my father’s bloodline from generations ago. No one else carried it. No one else had survived it. She was already weakened, already forced small by wolfsbane and witch-binding and years of control.
If I jumped… she would die with me.
And that would be selfish.
She hadn’t asked to be born into this body. She hadn’t asked to be chained and poisoned and silenced.
I couldn’t doom her just because I was tired.
My toes curled against the edge of the cliff, heart pounding violently in my chest. The wind whipped my hair around my face.
I took one more step—
—and nearly collapsed as dizziness swept through me.
The world tilted.
The wolfsbane.
My knees buckled and I stumbled back from the edge, landing hard against the dirt. My breath came in ragged pulls as black spots danced in my vision.
That’s when I felt it.
Not fear.
Not wind.
Something else.
A presence.
Strong. Dominant. Wild.
My Lycan twitched weakly inside me, barely audible beneath the poison.
…mate…
The whisper was so faint I almost thought I imagined it.
I lifted my head slowly.
A man stood several yards away, half-shadowed by the dying light.
Tall. Broad. Covered in blood that wasn’t all his own.
He looked like war.
But I didn’t really see him at first.
I was too exhausted. Too lost in my own head. Too focused on keeping myself upright.
He moved slightly, and only then did my gaze fully settle on him.
His posture was tense, predatory — but unsteady. His shoulder was torn open, blood soaking into his shirt. One side of his face was bruised and already swelling.
He was injured.
Badly.
My heart thudded once.
Hard.
And then it happened.
I pushed myself shakily to my feet and took a hesitant step toward him.
“I… you’re bleeding,” I managed, my voice hoarse from disuse.
He didn’t respond.
His eyes were sharp — assessing — calculating whether I was threat or prey.
I wasn’t either.
I was barely standing.
Still, I stepped closer.
My wolf stirred again — faint, barely conscious — and when I reached out to steady him as he swayed, my fingers brushed his skin.
The world ignited.
Heat shot up my arm like lightning. My breath caught violently in my throat. My knees nearly gave out beneath me.
The connection slammed into me — fierce, undeniable.
Mine.
My Lycan strained forward, her whisper stronger for a single fragile second.
Mate.
He sucked in a sharp breath at the contact, his hand instinctively catching my wrist.
The sparks were there.
Even through the wolfsbane.
Even through the blood.
But confusion flickered in his eyes.
He couldn’t scent it.
The poison masked me.
To him, I probably smelled weak. Human. Broken.
But the electricity between us didn’t lie.
And for the first time in my life, something inside me didn’t feel cursed.
It felt chosen.
- Writer
