Moonbound Silence

Chapter 6

Chapter 5

Kael’s voice came through the canvas like it had a hand around my throat.

“Riva. You need to listen.”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t move. If I moved, the tent would creak. If I spoke, my voice would shake. And if anyone outside heard Kael at a Ridgeback tent again, the day would end in blood for sure.

The canvas shifted slightly, like he’d leaned closer.

“I’m not here to fight,” he said, quieter now. “I’m here because your aunt can’t protect you from what’s coming.”

My chest tightened hard enough to hurt. The bond responded instantly, that hot pull under my ribs, like my body had been waiting for his voice all day.

I swallowed. “Go away.”

A pause.

Then, very softly, Kael said, “That’s not an answer.”

I hated him for sounding calm. I hated myself for listening anyway.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” I whispered.

“I know,” he said. “I won’t stay.”

I pressed my forehead to the canvas, eyes closed. “Then why are you here.”

“Because dusk is a trap,” he said.

The word trap hit my spine like cold water.

I forced my eyes open. My voice came out low and rough. “Everything here is a trap.”

“Yes,” he said. “But dusk is where they spring it.”

My hands clenched in the fabric of my cloak. “They already decided.”

“No,” Kael said. “They decided what they want. That’s not the same thing.”

I almost laughed. It would’ve been ugly. “You’re the Alpha. If you don’t want it, don’t do it.”

The bond pulsed, like it knew I’d stepped into dangerous territory.

Kael exhaled slowly. “You think I have more freedom than you do. That’s your mistake.”

The tent felt too small for the words between us.

I couldn’t see him, but I could picture him outside—hands in his pockets, shoulders squared, eyes hard. Like he was made for control and hated it anyway.

I swallowed. “What do you want me to listen to?”

Another pause.

Then he said, “They’re going to make you talk.”

My stomach turned. “They already did.”

“That was the warm-up,” Kael said. “Tonight they’re going to make it official. Witnessed. Recorded. A story they can repeat until everyone believes it.”

“And your solution is what?” I whispered. “Another lie?”

His voice sharpened. “My solution is survival.”

“Whose?”

A beat of silence.

Then, honest and blunt: “Mine. Yours. The child you don’t know you’ll have yet.”

My breath stopped.

The sentence hit me so hard I felt dizzy.

“What did you say?” I whispered.

Kael didn’t answer right away. And the bond did something strange—tightened, then loosened, like it had reacted to the word child on instinct.

Kael’s voice came back, controlled again. “Forget I said that.”

My throat burned. “No. You don’t get to say something like that and then—”

“Riva,” he cut in. “This isn’t a confession. It’s a warning.”

My hands shook. I curled them into fists to hide it. “What are you warning me about?”

Kael’s voice dropped. “Rejection.”

The word landed like a weight.

Even after everything—Liora’s whisper, the elders, the way it hung in the air—hearing it from him was different.

It made it real.

I pressed a hand to my sternum. The bond pulsed, hard.

“I don’t even know what it does,” I said, and I hated how small my voice sounded.

Kael’s silence was immediate.

Then he said, very carefully, “Ask your healer.”

“Aunt Mina won’t let me leave this tent line.”

“Then ask her,” Kael said. “Make her tell you the truth.”

I swallowed. “And what’s the truth, Kael?”

I didn’t mean to say his name. It slipped out like my mouth had decided on its own.

The bond flared, hot.

Kael didn’t react the way he had in the clearing. No anger. No warning.

Just a tight exhale. Like it cost him not to answer what I was really asking.

“The truth,” he said, “is that if they do it right, it will hurt you. It will hurt me. And the people who pushed for it will call it peace.”

My stomach twisted.

I opened my mouth—

A boot scuffed outside the tent. Another set of footsteps. Ridgeback. Close.

Kael’s voice went sharp. “Don’t come out.”

“I wasn’t going to,” I hissed.

“Good,” he said. “Then listen.”

The footsteps passed—slow, deliberate. A guard on purpose.

Kael’s voice dropped again. “You have two options by dusk. You cooperate with the story, or you become the excuse.”

I stared at the canvas like I could see through it. “Cooperate with what story?”

“That you’re nothing,” he said. “That there was no bond. That the feud remains clean. That I am untouched and unclaimed.”

My throat went dry. “And what am I.”

Kael’s voice went quiet. “Collateral.”

The word hit me so cleanly I didn’t even flinch. My body just went cold.

Collateral.

I’d spent my whole life being useful when it benefited the pack. I’d never put the word on it.

Kael said it like he’d been reading my life from the outside.

I forced myself to breathe. “So what are you going to do.”

A beat.

Then, low and rough, “I’m going to do what they demand.”

My stomach dropped. “So you came here to tell me you’re going to reject me.”

Kael didn’t answer immediately.

And that pause was worse than any lie.

Then he said, “I came here to tell you how to survive it.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. The bond pulsed so hard I felt nauseous.

“You can’t survive that,” I whispered.

“You can,” he said. “But only if you stop fighting the wrong battle.”

“What’s the right battle?”

Kael’s voice tightened. “Staying alive long enough to disappear.”

Disappear.

Liora’s word.

My stomach turned.

“You’re both saying the same thing,” I whispered. “You want me gone.”

Kael’s voice snapped. “Liora wants you gone because you threaten her position. I want you gone because you threaten the summit, and the summit threatens you.”

“That’s not better,” I shot back.

“It’s honest,” he said.

The bond reacted, a hot, angry pulse, like it didn’t care about honesty. It cared about loss.

I swallowed, trying to calm my breathing. “If you reject me, won’t it… won’t it make it worse?”

Kael’s voice went flat. “It will make it clean.”

There was that word again.

Clean.

Like a knife.

I hated him for saying it.

I hated myself for hearing the edge under it.

“What does it do,” I asked, voice barely there, “to the person who gets rejected.”

Kael didn’t answer.

I waited, throat burning.

When he spoke, it was slower. Harder.

“It’s not just heartbreak,” he said. “It’s a wound in the bond. Some people can’t eat for days. Some can’t shift without losing control. Some… don’t survive it if it’s done with intent.”

I felt my stomach roll.

“You can kill someone by rejecting them,” I whispered.

“You can,” Kael said. “If you want to.”

My hands went cold. “Do you want to.”

A long pause.

The bond tightened, like it was holding its own breath.

Then Kael said, quiet and blunt, “No.”

My chest hurt anyway.

Because no wasn’t the same as I won’t.

No wasn’t the same as I’ll choose you.

No was only the truth in a moment.

And moments didn’t stop elders.

I swallowed hard. “Then don’t do it.”

“I don’t have a choice,” he said.

I snapped before I could stop myself. “You always have a choice.”

The canvas shifted. I could hear his breath—close, controlled.

“Riva,” he said, voice dangerously calm, “don’t lecture me on choice.”

I flinched, then forced myself to hold still.

When he spoke again, it was quieter. “If I refuse, they don’t call it romance. They call it weakness. They call it a claim. They call it war. And they’ll come for you first because you’re easier to cut than I am.”

My throat tightened.

He wasn’t wrong.

That was the worst part.

I pressed a hand to my sternum again, trying to steady the bond like it was a panic attack.

“I don’t know how to do this,” I whispered.

Kael’s voice softened by a fraction. Not kind. Just less sharp. “Then let your aunt do her job. And don’t let anyone separate you from her today.”

“Aunt Mina hates you,” I said.

“I know,” Kael said. “Good.”

I almost laughed.

It came out as a shaky breath.

“What happens after dusk,” I asked. “If you do it.”

Kael didn’t answer right away.

Then, quietly: “You stay alive. You leave. You don’t look back.”

My throat burned. “And you.”

Silence.

Then Kael said, “I go back to being the Alpha they can predict.”

The words sounded like a sentence.

A punishment.

And for the first time, a thought slipped into me that wasn’t mine.

Not a command. Not Don’t run.

A feeling.

Tight, contained rage—like something inside him was caged and tearing itself apart.

Then it was gone.

And I realized the bond didn’t only pull.

It carried.

I hated that too.

The tent line outside shifted again—voices, boots, the sound of someone stopping near Aunt Mina’s tent.

Kael’s voice sharpened. “They’re checking.”

“I know.”

“Don’t open the flap,” he said.

“I won’t.”

A pause.

Then he said, “Riva.”

My name again. Private.

My chest tightened.

“Don’t let them make you speak again,” he said. “If they ask you, you say you’re sick. You say you can’t stand. You say you don’t remember. Whatever keeps you from saying the wrong thing in front of witnesses.”

“The wrong thing,” I repeated.

“Anything that sounds like yes,” he said.

My throat tightened. “What if it is yes.”

Kael’s breath hit the canvas like he’d moved closer without thinking.

Then, very softly, “Then it’s already too late.”

I stared at the canvas until my eyes burned.

Kael’s voice went cold again. “Stay inside.”

Then his boots moved away.

One step.

Two.

Three.

The cedar-and-smoke scent faded, and the bond loosened like someone had finally let go of my ribs.

I didn’t move for a long time.

When I finally did, it was to wipe my face with the back of my sleeve and realize my cheeks were wet.

I wasn’t crying like a person.

I was leaking like a wound.

The tent flap lifted.

Aunt Mina stepped inside, face tight with urgency.

She stopped when she saw me.

Her eyes flicked to my wet cheeks.

Then to the way my hands were trembling.

Then to the air—like she was reading scent, like she was counting what didn’t belong.

Kael had been careful.

But Aunt Mina was better than careful.

“He was here,” she said.

It wasn’t a question.

I swallowed. “Outside.”

Aunt Mina’s jaw clenched. “What did he say.”

I hesitated.

Because saying it out loud would make it real.

Because part of me still wanted to pretend I could outrun the bond by refusing to name it.

Aunt Mina leaned closer. “Riva.”

I forced myself to speak. “He said the elders want him to reject me.”

Aunt Mina’s face went very still.

Then she exhaled slowly, like she was forcing herself not to explode. “Of course they do.”

“He said it can kill me,” I whispered.

Aunt Mina’s eyes snapped to mine. “He said that?”

“Yes.”

Aunt Mina looked away, jaw working. “It can,” she said. “If it’s done right. If it’s done with intent. If it’s witnessed and sealed.”

I felt my stomach drop all over again. “Sealed how.”

Aunt Mina sat down hard on the edge of the bedroll, like her legs had given out from under her. “By the elders,” she said. “By ritual words. By wolf law. By the council’s mark.”

My throat went dry. “A mark.”

Aunt Mina nodded once. “They can bind it. So no one can claim it later. So no one can use it as leverage.”

“And I’m just… acceptable damage.”

Aunt Mina’s eyes flashed. “You are not damage.”

The fierceness in her voice almost broke me.

I swallowed hard. “Then what am I.”

Aunt Mina’s hands clenched in her lap. “A problem they want solved.”

My chest hurt. “How do people survive it.”

Aunt Mina looked at me for a long beat. “Some don’t,” she said quietly. “The ones who do… have someone with them. They are watched. Fed. Kept from shifting. Kept from doing something stupid when the pain peaks.”

I swallowed. “The pain peaks.”

Aunt Mina nodded once. “The first hours. Sometimes the first day. It depends on how deep the bond was before the rejection. Sometimes it’s worse if it’s fresh.”

Fresh.

My throat tightened. “We met last night.”

Aunt Mina’s expression softened for a fraction of a second. “That might be the only mercy you get.”

Mercy.

It shouldn’t have felt like mercy.

It did.

My voice cracked. “What do we do.”

Aunt Mina stood so fast the tent pole creaked. “We prepare,” she said. “We control every variable we can.”

“Like what.”

Aunt Mina started counting on her fingers like she was making a list to survive a fire.

“Food. Water. Medicine. A healer on our side. A room where no one can crowd you. Guards I trust. And a plan for where you go after.”

“After,” I whispered.

Aunt Mina’s eyes sharpened. “After you’re alive.”

My stomach twisted. “You think he’ll do it.”

Aunt Mina didn’t answer right away.

She turned her head slightly, listening to the camp outside.

Then she said, quiet, “I think he will if the elders corner him. And I think he will hate it. And I think none of that matters if it still happens.”

My chest hurt.

I stared at the tent wall. “How do I not—” My voice broke. “How do I not break.”

Aunt Mina’s gaze softened again, just a fraction. “You might,” she said. “But you’re going to break and still live. Do you understand?”

I nodded because I couldn’t speak.

Aunt Mina exhaled. “Now listen carefully,” she said. “If they try to isolate you from me before dusk, you fight. You scream. You bite if you have to. You do not let them separate you.”

My throat tightened. “Won’t that make me look guilty.”

Aunt Mina’s smile was sharp. “Let them think what they want. I’d rather you look guilty than die quiet.”

The words landed heavy.

Then Aunt Mina’s voice dropped even lower. “And Riva… if Kael asks you anything private again, you tell me. Immediately.”

I swallowed. “He said to disappear.”

Aunt Mina’s eyes narrowed. “He would.”

“He said you’d—” I hesitated, then forced it out. “You’d be relieved because it gives you an excuse to hide me.”

Aunt Mina’s lips pressed into a line. “He thinks he knows me.”

“He does,” I whispered, and hated myself for it.

Aunt Mina’s gaze cut sharp. “Don’t.”

I flinched.

Aunt Mina exhaled slowly. “We don’t have time for feelings.”

I laughed once, brittle. “I didn’t plan to have time.”

Aunt Mina moved toward the flap. “I have to speak to Elder Soren again,” she said. “I have to lock a healer onto you before dusk and make sure you’re not paraded around like a trophy.”

She paused with her hand on the canvas and looked back at me.

Her voice softened. “Eat something.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Eat anyway,” she said. “Pain is worse on an empty stomach.”

Then she left.

I sat there in the quiet, the bond still humming low under my ribs like an injury that wouldn’t stop reminding me it existed.

Kael’s words kept replaying.

Anything that sounds like yes.

I pressed my fist to my mouth.

Outside, the camp shifted through the day—voices, movement, the crackle of renewed fire. Dusk was coming like a blade sliding closer.

I tried to breathe through it.

I tried to keep my wolf down.

I tried not to think about Kael’s mouth forming the words.

I reject you.

A soft murmur drifted through the canvas—two voices outside, close enough that I could hear without trying.

Aunt Mina and someone else.

A man.

Elder Soren.

I held my breath, not because I wanted to spy, but because my body had forgotten how to do anything else.

Elder Soren’s voice was low. “He’s agreeing.”

Aunt Mina’s voice went sharp. “Agreeing to what.”

A pause.

Then Soren said the words that turned my blood to ice.

“He said he’ll end it before dusk. He said he’ll do the rejection.”

My stomach dropped so hard I tasted bile.

Aunt Mina swore under her breath.

Elder Soren continued, quieter. “He’s meeting with the council now. Liora is with him.”

The bond pulsed once, violently, like it had heard the word rejection and tried to tear itself out of my chest.

I pressed a hand to my sternum and forced air into my lungs.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Outside, Aunt Mina’s voice turned deadly calm. “Then we prepare to survive.”

And inside the tent, I realized I didn’t have the luxury of hoping anymore.

I only had time.