What Breaks First
1211 Words
Chapter Six:
Dillion’s POV
And then I broke it—stepping back so fast you’d think he burned me. Maybe he did.
My hand flew to my lips, trembling.
The taste of him lingered—heat, confusion, everything I didn’t want to admit. Everything I wasn’t supposed to feel.
Lucien just stood there, stunned, like he didn’t know whether to yell or pull me back in. His chest rose and fell in quick bursts, his eyes sharp, wide, lost.
I looked at him with something close to grief.
“Don’t,” I whispered, voice barely holding steady. “Don’t confuse guilt with want.”
And then I left.
Because if I stayed…
I wouldn’t have stopped myself from kissing him again.
And that terrified me more than anything.
I didn’t sleep that night.
I sat by the window of my old room, knees hugged to my chest, the kiss playing on a loop behind my eyes. Not because it meant something.
But because it had.
The worst part?
I knew it wasn’t just a slip. Not for him. Not for me.
It felt like something waking up—something ancient and sacred and completely, utterly doomed.
He wanted me.
Even if he hated me.
And I hated that I wanted him, too.
The next morning, he didn’t look at me during training.
Not once.
But he didn’t need to. I could feel his tension from across the mats. The way he clenched his jaw tighter when I walked by, the way he gripped his blade a little too hard.
And when we were paired together again?
He didn’t speak.
He fought.
Hard.
Almost violent.
Like punishing me with every strike.
As if I’d done something wrong by letting him kiss me. Like it was my sin to carry.
Not his.
He knocked me to the ground twice before Mr. Theron barked at him to take a break. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t have to.
The bruise on my shoulder said enough.
That night, I got the invitation.
Thick parchment. Formal crest. My name handwritten in elegant calligraphy.
Dillion Everhart,
You are invited to the Luna’s Memorial Celebration.
I stared at the paper for five whole minutes.
Was it a mistake?
A trap?
Or… an olive branch?
I thought of the Luna—of her laugh, of how she smelled like cedar and honey, of how she taught me how to shift under the full moon. She was kind. Gentle. Everything I imagined a mother could be but never had.
Maybe… maybe they were ready to forgive me.
Maybe it was time.
So I dressed.
Green silk. Pack colors. Hair curled. Back straight.
I took a deep breath and walked into the ceremonial courtyard with my head held high.
And the world stopped.
Silence fell like a dagger.
Every conversation. Every whisper. Every movement. Frozen.
All eyes on me.
Lucien stood near the front, surrounded by pack elites, warriors, council members, his father.
His face didn’t change.
Not once.
And then she stepped onto the stage.
Lori.
“Dillion Everhart,” she said, voice soft and sweet as a poisoned apple. “I don’t remember you receiving an invitation.”
I froze.
People stared.
Someone laughed—quiet, but sharp.
“I… I got a letter,” I said, already knowing the truth. Already feeling the blood drain from my face.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Lori crooned, her voice carrying in the hush, “I’m afraid someone must’ve played a cruel joke.”
A cruel joke.
My mouth went dry.
I looked at Lucien.
He didn’t speak.
Didn’t move.
Just stared.
And that silence?
It said more than anything.
He believed her.
Again.
“Out of respect for the Luna,” Lori added, her hands folded over her chest like she was praying, “we ask that only those with verified invitations remain.”
I didn’t wait.
I turned and walked out as slowly as I could, each step an earthquake inside my chest.
But my hands?
They shook the entire way.
I made it to the edge of the woods before I collapsed.
My knees hit dirt and I let the sobs tear out of me—ugly, raw, loud. I didn’t care if anyone heard. I didn’t care if the whole damn pack came out to watch.
I had nothing left to hide.
They took the Luna from me.
Then they took my reputation.
And now they were taking my dignity.
And Lucien?
He let them.
He always let them.
Monday came.
The Luna’s necklace had been “found” again—conveniently tucked into evidence, connected to me, just enough to reopen the case.
Whispers started again.
Maybe she really did it.
I mean, she showed up to the memorial uninvited. That’s weird, right?
They didn’t even say it behind my back anymore.
Lucien didn’t say anything, either.
Not a word about the kiss.
Not a word about the humiliation.
He just got crueler.
Colder.
He knocked me down again during combat.
Held my gaze too long.
Shoved me a little too hard when we sparred.
And once, when our arms brushed in the hallway, he jerked away like I burned him.
I didn’t understand it.
He kissed me.
And now I was the one paying for it?
Tuesday afternoon, we were in the weapons room again.
Cleaning blades.
Silent.
Tense.
The air between us was thick—heavier than it had ever been. I refused to look at him, refused to speak, even when he moved near me and our hands nearly touched again.
“Why did you come?” he asked suddenly.
His voice startled me.
“To the memorial.”
I paused, blade in my hand, cloth trembling slightly.
“I was invited,” I said flatly.
“You should’ve known it was a lie.”
My head snapped toward him. “And how would I have known that, Lucien? Maybe if someone had warned me?”
He looked at me, eyes unreadable. “You humiliated yourself.”
I laughed. Bitter. “No. Your pack humiliated me. You did.”
His jaw clenched.
“You shouldn’t have come.”
“You’re right,” I snapped, stepping forward. “I shouldn’t have come back at all.”
We were close again.
Too close.
He stared down at me, eyes flickering with something wild. Pain? Anger? Desire?
I didn’t care anymore.
“You don’t get to punish me for kissing you,” I whispered. “You started it. Not me.”
He looked like he wanted to deny it.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he turned away.
Like a coward.
That night, I sat in my room, staring out the window.
Lori had won. Again.
But something had shifted.
Something in Lucien.
In me.
In the way people looked at me, too.
They still feared me. Still doubted me.
But they were watching.
And somewhere beneath all of this…
Someone was scared I might dig too deep.
That I might find something.
So I would.
Not for revenge.
Not even for justice.
But because if I let this go…
I’d never be free.
And neither would she.
The Luna deserved more than a liar’s legacy.
And I deserved to stop bleeding for something I didn’t do.
- Writer
