Bittersweet Brothers
1246 Words
Saoirse
I stride in, lips pressed into a blade. “What did you do?”
His smirk slices through the room like it owns the air. “Cain canceled the invitations,” he purrs. “To everyone from the academy. And no one knows who you are so they think it’s unimportant.”
His voice is silk wrapped around a knife.
I suck in a breath.
Of course he did. I was planning to vanish in the noise anyway. Because no one—no one—can know I’m tied to the Blackthornes. Especially not him. The mutt. The prince of manipulation.
“That’s not what I asked,” I say, every word strained. “You sent me a gift.”
He tilts his head, eyes glinting. “Didn’t like it?”
“Oh, I adored a lingerie that one of your sluts probably wear,” I snap. “Really classy. Does your twisted little brain think that’s romantic, or just a warning?” I closed my fists.
“You tell me,” he drawls. “You opened it.”
I grit my teeth.
He’s pushing. Always pushing.
And gods help me, a small part of me—the unhinged, broken part—likes it. I love the idea of him trying to break me, and I want to prove I’m not that disposable.
“I’m so done with you playing your little predator games,” I hiss. “You chew through people like gum.”
He smirks, lips curving slow, wicked.
“Aww. Poor little sister,” he coos. “Getting jealous? Want me all to yourself now?”
“In your dreams and your delusions,” I fire back.
“You sure?” he steps closer, the space crackling. “Because the way you’re shaking… either you’re about to slap me, or—”
“Or stab you,” I growl, eyes flashing.
He laughs, low and dangerous.
“Then stab me, Princess. Let’s see how deep you want me.”
My breath catches.
I hate this.
Him.
Myself.
“What happens when the council hears what you’ve done?” I ask, deflecting. “You think they’ll just clap for you?”
“Canceling a few invites? Please. Cain’s a master at this. We’re not attending some tea party—we’re walking into a den of power-hungry monsters. And we own them now.”
He says it like he believes it. Like power was something he crafted with his bare hands and now wears like perfume.
“That’s not how things work—”
“Don’t be naive,” he cuts in, voice dropping an octave. “My father still thinks he’s in charge. He’s wrong. We’ve been making moves while he’s playing chess with ghosts.”
Then he leans close, eyes pinning me like a storm.
“He still parades Cain like a goddamn Alpha-King-to-be. But deep down? He knows. Cain doesn’t give a damn—especially not with your mother under this roof.”
My nails dig into my palm.
I don’t flinch. I don’t breathe. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing the twitch in my jaw.
“Thanks for the warning, asshole,” I say, turning on my heel. “Next time, write it in blood.”
But he moves fast—too fast—grabs my wrist and pulls me into him.
His body heat crashes into me like a memory I hate remembering.
Too close. Too warm. Too everything.
His nose brushes my hair. I feel him inhale.
“You smell good,” he murmurs, voice like a promise I don’t want. “Not just good—ripe. Like your wolf’s waking up… starving.”
I freeze. My heart pounds.
He’s too close to the mark.
The mark Cain left.
The one I swore no one would ever notice.
“You look dangerous tonight,” he whispers, lips near mine. “And gods, I want to watch you unravel.”
“You need therapy,” I mutter, shoving him away.
He grins. Unbothered. Unhinged.
“You’ll get used to me, darling. One way or another.”
Then—with lethal calm:
“Cain? He’s just waiting to see how fast you break. He doesn’t give a f**k about you, he’s watching you.”
I stop in my tracks.
“But me?” he says, eyes dark and greedy. “I’d burn down this whole pack just to see if you’d scream my name.”
“Let me go,” I snapped, shoving him off me. My voice cracked—but not from weakness. From restraint.
Cyrus didn’t even flinch. He just smiled. That insufferable, devastating smile like he knew exactly how many times I’ve imagined strangling him.
“Don’t worry, little sister,” he murmured, letting his gaze drag down my body like it was a sin. “I’ll make it up to you next time. Maybe with something… more personal.”
He turned, walking out like he hadn’t just shattered my dignity and left shards of it all over the damn room. The air still smelled like him—dangerous and royal.
I clenched my jaw so tight it ached. My fingers found my hair, ripping out the glittering accessory he gifted me. The metal hit the floor with a dull thud, echoing louder than my own thoughts.
I should be crying. But I couldn’t. Not when part of me—a filthy, traitorous part—agreed with what they did. Cancel the party. Hide me away. Like a secret too shameful to be shown.
I stormed to my room. Washed my face. Scrubbed off the gloss and glamour. Let them rot in their lies and tailored suits.
But then I saw him.
Cain.
Under that damn tree.
Like a brooding wolf god who just ruined my entire life and didn’t even flinch.
I marched over, fire licking up my spine.
“Oh look,” I snapped. “The heir apparent. Thinking deeply after ruining what little I had?”
His eyes flicked up—cold, cruel, calculating. “Who told you to speak to me?”
My fists clenched. “Who told you to mark me?” I threw back. “Do you think I’m stupid? I felt it, Cain. You knew what you were doing.”
He didn’t deny it.
Didn’t blink.
“You think I wanted to mark someone like you?” he hissed.
“Exactly,” I spat. “You think I’m just some mutt you can throw bones at. Some wolfless girl you can brand when it suits your ego—”
“You are wolfless,” he cut me off. “So what does it matter? No one will know. And I won’t say shit.”
That broke something in me.
“You absolute bastard,” I seethed, stepping in his space. “You think marking me means nothing? You think I’m just some placeholder until you find someone worthy to parade around?”
He turned, already walking away. Coward.
“Where the hell are you going?”
“To a party,” he muttered, “far more interesting than your whining.”
“f**k you, Cain!” I screamed. “You marked me, and now you want to pretend I don’t exist?!”
Then a voice—dark, mocking, and too amused to be safe—cut the air.
“You marked her?” Cyrus stepped into the clearing, his eyes glowing like they already planned a war.
- Writer
