2. Bruised Bonds
1215 Words
He was taught to silence instinct. She was forced to forget she had one. But pain always remembers—and the bond doesn’t wait for permission.
⸻
The bruises bloomed like secrets—purple-gray and quiet.
Elira sat on the edge of her straw-filled cot, gently peeling back the fabric of her dress where it clung to the sharp curve of her hip. A splash of color marred her otherwise pale skin, shaped by the wooden lip of the trough she’d fallen into last night.
The water had long dried. But the shame hadn’t.
She pressed her fingers lightly to the bruise and winced.
Outside, the bells from the high hall chimed three times—morning call. The entire pack would be preparing for the final ceremony of the Convergence. Wolves would braid their hair, polish their blades, scent their necks with crushed petals and pride.
Elira had been instructed to gather river herbs. A task given to those who didn’t matter.
She preferred it that way.
⸻
The air outside was crisp. Autumn-laced and brittle with frost.
As she moved quietly along the edge of the forest trail, she clutched her basket close, boots crunching over pine needles. The world felt too loud today.
She walked faster.
Past the old grave tree. Past the split-stone altar. Toward the edge of the western ridge where the wild herbs grew in shade and silence.
She found the first cluster of riverweed near the water’s bend. Kneeling beside the moss-covered rocks, she reached for it—but paused.
A deer stood across the stream, still as carved bone. Its eyes locked on hers, unmoving.
For a moment, neither of them breathed.
Then, without warning, it bolted—vanishing into mist.
Elira’s breath caught.
Her crescent birthmark pulsed beneath her shawl.
Again.
She didn’t understand why it always did that near the woods.
Didn’t want to understand.
She plucked the herbs quickly and left before the sky could darken more.
⸻
Kade’s fist slammed into the sparring post so hard the bark cracked.
The warriors around him exchanged glances, but no one spoke. Garron, his second-in-command, approached cautiously.
“You’re breaking form,” Garron said. “And your knuckles.”
Kade said nothing.
His chest rose and fell in jagged rhythms. His wolf was prowling beneath his skin—restless. Irritated. Hungry for something he couldn’t name.
“She’s still here, isn’t she?” Kade muttered, not meeting Garron’s gaze.
“Who?”
“The girl.”
Garron blinked. “Elira?”
Kade’s teeth ground together at the name. He didn’t respond.
Garron folded his arms. “She hasn’t left the border. Why would she? No one’s offered her a reason.”
No one except me, Kade thought bitterly.
He turned back toward the post but didn’t strike again. The scent of frost and herbs clung to the wind—and underneath it, faint but unmistakable, was her.
Elira.
A pull behind his ribs.
A spark across his spine.
He crushed it like a fist closing around flame.
“She’s nothing,” he said aloud.
But his voice trembled.
⸻
Back in the central courtyard, the girls gathered in crimson cloaks and shimmering gowns. Cerys Vane stood in the center of the attention, her smile wide, her hair woven with silver beads.
“She’ll be selected,” someone whispered.
“Elira’s not even attending.”
“Of course not. She’s not even—”
The words stopped as Elira approached with a broom in hand, moving to sweep the stone walkway along the hall’s edge. Gramma Mae had sent her there to make sure no fallen petals marred the ceremonial grounds.
Cerys spotted her. And smiled.
Too sweet.
“Oops,” she said, tilting her goblet.
A full splash of red wine spilled across the path.
It soaked into the stone like blood.
“Elira,” she said, voice sugary, “you missed a spot.”
The others laughed.
Elira knelt wordlessly and began to clean.
She didn’t expect kindness. Didn’t need it. But she’d never get used to the way they all stared—like she was a blotch on parchment.
As she scrubbed, a sudden kick knocked the bucket.
It clattered sideways, splashing water across her skirt—and catching the edge of her wrist.
She hissed.
Blood trickled from a small cut along her palm.
She cradled the wound against her chest.
⸻
Across the grounds, Kade staggered mid-strike.
The warrior facing him blinked, surprised. Kade never faltered. Never missed.
But his eyes had gone unfocused. His hands trembled.
A scent—so faint, so sharp—had pierced the air.
Blood.
Her blood.
It shouldn’t have mattered.
But it did.
His wolf snarled inside him, raking claws down his spine, demanding he move.
He bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted iron.
“I’m done,” he growled.
And walked away.
⸻
Elira sat with her palm cradled in Gramma Mae’s lap as the old healer cleaned the cut with moonroot and wrapped it in soft cloth.
Mae didn’t speak for a long time.
Then, quietly:
“Blood answers blood, girl. And yours is louder than they know.”
Elira stared at the flame in the hearth. “It was just a cut.”
“No such thing, not for you.”
Elira hesitated. “Why do I… ache? When he’s near. Why do I feel like something inside me is… drowning and clawing for air all at once?”
Mae said nothing at first. Then she reached into her pouch and pressed a rune-wrapped salve into Elira’s hand.
“Put this under your pillow,” she said. “It’ll show you something. Maybe not what you want. But something true.”
⸻
That night, Elira didn’t sleep right away.
She lay still, watching the shadow of branches move across her ceiling like reaching hands. Her thoughts refused to quiet.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his.
Not cruel.
Not cold.
Just lost.
Like he was standing at the edge of something and too afraid to fall.
She pressed the rune pouch beneath her pillow.
Closed her eyes.
Waited.
⸻
Across the dens, in the high chamber of the Alpha Hall, Kade sat in silence.
The ceremonial blade rested in his lap.
The stone that should have borne his father’s name—cracked, uncarved—glimmered in moonlight.
He hadn’t carved it.
Couldn’t.
Tonight, his thoughts wouldn’t still.
He saw the way she cradled her hand.
He heard the way she didn’t cry.
He remembered the scent of her skin from years ago—sage and snow and sorrow.
His wolf pressed hard against his chest.
And for the first time since he took the Alpha seat, Kade whispered aloud:
“She is not my mate.”
The words tasted like ash.
And somewhere in his mind, his wolf howled back:
“Then why do you bleed when she does?”
⸻
In her dreams, Elira stood on a cliff of broken stone, barefoot and weightless. The moon hung red and low above her, pulsing like a heartbeat.
A voice behind her whispered:
“He’s already chosen. He just doesn’t know what he’s given up yet.”
She turned.
No one stood there.
Only fog.
Only silence.
Only the ache.
- Writer
