Chapter Five: The Power That Was Never His
840 Words
Gabriel noticed before Faye did.
It was in the way the bond no longer snapped her attention instantly to his. In the way her presence felt… different. Still tethered, still his—but no longer folded entirely into him.
He felt it during council.
A pressure at the edge of his awareness, subtle but wrong, like a challenge left unspoken.
Faye stood beside him, hands clasped, expression calm. Too calm. When the elders argued over territory lines, she said nothing—but Gabriel felt her thoughts brushing the bond, restrained, deliberate.
Contained.
When the meeting ended, he dismissed the others with a flick of his fingers.
“Stay,” he told her.
She did.
That, more than anything, unsettled him.
“You’ve been quiet,” he said once they were alone.
Faye met his gaze evenly. “You prefer that.”
“I prefer honesty,” he replied.
Her wolf stirred, alert.
Careful, it warned. This is where he tightens the leash.
Faye chose her words slowly. “I’ve been learning.”
His eyes narrowed. “Learning what?”
“How to be still,” she said.
It wasn’t a lie.
Gabriel studied her like a puzzle he didn’t remember giving her permission to solve. He reached for her chin, thumb pressing lightly beneath it—testing.
The bond responded sluggishly.
His jaw tightened.
“You’re holding something back,” he said quietly.
Her heart thudded. Say nothing, her wolf urged. Silence is power.
“I’m tired,” Faye said instead.
He released her abruptly.
“Go rest,” he ordered. “We’ll talk later.”
She inclined her head and left the room, pulse roaring in her ears.
In the quiet of her chambers, Faye sank onto the edge of the bed, hands shaking.
He knows, she whispered.
He feels the imbalance, her wolf replied. Alphas always do.
Faye frowned. What do you mean—Alphas?
There was a pause, long and thoughtful.
Your power does not bend the way a Luna’s does, her wolf said carefully. It never has.
A chill slid down Faye’s spine.
Lunas reflect, the wolf continued. They amplify. They support.
And me? Faye asked.
The warmth in her chest pulsed again—stronger this time.
You press back.
Faye’s breath caught.
Memories flickered—moments she’d dismissed as imagination. How the pack had gone quiet when she spoke, even before Gabriel corrected her. How her presence soothed unrest, but also sharpened attention. How her wolf had always been… large.
She’d thought it pride.
Or foolishness.
What am I? she whispered.
Her wolf’s voice softened, fierce with certainty.
You are not meant to kneel.
Gabriel began tightening control that night.
Not with rules.
With affection.
He praised her more openly, touched her more often—hands possessive, gaze watchful. He began insisting she sit closer, stand nearer, sleep pressed against him as if proximity could smother whatever was stirring inside her.
The pack noticed the change.
“How devoted he is,” they murmured.
Faye smiled on cue.
Inside, she built walls.
He’s afraid, her wolf observed one evening as Gabriel spoke at length about pack unity, his hand heavy on Faye’s shoulder.
He should be, Faye replied silently.
The thought startled her.
Then steadied her.
The first true c***k came under the full moon.
The pack gathered for a ritual hunt—symbolic, controlled. Gabriel led, as always, his power flaring just enough to command obedience.
Faye stood at his side as the moon rose.
When he lifted his head and howled, the pack answered in unison.
So did she.
Her howl tore from her chest without permission—deep, resonant, carrying farther than she intended.
The clearing fell silent.
Gabriel turned sharply, eyes blazing.
The pack stared.
Faye froze, heart hammering.
Her wolf surged forward, unafraid.
Do not apologize, it growled. You did nothing wrong.
Gabriel stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Control yourself.”
Something in Faye snapped—not violently, not loudly.
Cleanly.
“I was honoring the moon,” she said.
The words rang in the sudden stillness.
Gabriel’s power pressed down instinctively.
Faye’s rose to meet it.
The air between them crackled.
No one breathed.
For one terrifying moment, the bond strained—stretched thin as wire.
Then Gabriel forced a laugh, clapping a hand on her shoulder hard enough to bruise.
“Enthusiasm,” he said to the watching pack. “A good sign.”
The tension eased. The ritual resumed.
But nothing settled.
That night, alone in the dark, Faye pressed both palms to her chest.
I felt it, she whispered. I pushed back.
Her wolf’s presence wrapped around her like a shield.
Yes, it said. And he felt it too.
Fear and exhilaration tangled inside her.
What happens now?
The wolf’s voice was calm. Certain.
Now he will try to break you.
Faye closed her eyes, breathing through the steady thrum of power awakening in her blood.
And if he can’t? she asked.
There was a pause—then a low, satisfied rumble.
Then we run.
- Writer
