The Beginning Of His Breaking
960 Words
Kyrian’s pov
I couldn’t sleep.
Every time I closed my eyes, the pain in my chest burned hotter, suffocating me. The bond pulsed like a wound that refused to close. My body felt wrong, too warm, too weak, too aware of someone who did not want me.
I let my tears fall freely, over and over again until I couldn’t cry anymore. I knew he felt my sadness and hurt through the mate bond, but he had built up a wall around himself to shut out my emotions he would not, let it reach him.
“My chest hurts, it hurts so bad.” I whispered, curling into myself on the narrow bed. My arms wrapped around me, the old mattress as flat as a blanket from continuous use over the years this bed had held me, the springs pressed into my back through the flat worn out fabric. I could feel every dent.
I looked at my best friend Dylan sleeping across the room, unaware of my torment. I wasn’t ready to tell him anything yet. I didn’t want to see the pity in his eyes, the sympathy that always made me feel smaller.
I watched him breathe quietly. The rise and fall of his chest steadily, unbothered.
My eyes drifted to the small window, the moon shining silver through the glass. I had never asked the moon for anything. Never prayed for fate to notice me. I was used to being invisible.
I sighed, I’m really not going to get any sleep tonight.
Damon Belloti.
My mate.
His rejection.
By morning, my strength was gone. I tried to stand, dizziness hit me like a punch. Every part of my body ached. My hands clenched the wall for support, breathing coming in shallow and bursts. The bond reacted violently to my fear, tightening around my chest like a vice painfully.
“Omegas,” I whispered to myself . “We endure.”
That was what I had been taught. Survival meant quiet. It meant being useful. It meant staying unseen.
I forced myself out of bed, dragging my aching body across the worn floorboards. For the first time I almost looked forward to my daily chores. I needed a distraction with the hope of forgetting for a few hours.
Kyrian’s parents had been low ranking omegas. His father died protecting a pack that never remembered his name. His mother fell sick and died from the shock of losing father her mate.
“No one will protect you,” she used to whisper softly. Pressing a hand to my forehead when I was sick.
“So don’t give them a reason to hurt you.”
I had listened.
I had learned to keep my head down, to never complain, never ask for more than survival.
So why had the moon chosen him?
My hands trembled as I wiped the long table in the pack house hall. Warriors passed by, laughing loudly, their voices booming and filled with strength I would never have. The brush in my hands scraped against the Mable table, my knuckles turning red from how hard I scrubbed. The scent of soap almost choked me as my shoulders burned from bending for so long. The bucket beside me sloshed every time I dipped the rag, the water already gray from dirt.
The day went by painfully slowly. I did everything I could to distract myself from dwelling on the fact that my mate had not even bothered to come seek me out.
Not once.
Not even to see or acknowledge my existence. And I knew, deep down, he never would.
I was heading to the storeroom when the sunlight caught the window. My reflection stared back at me.
I looked really pale, slim and slightly underweight, as if my body had learned to take up as little space as possible. Narrow shoulders curved inward as if I were trying to make myself smaller. Scars faint but present from years of labor. Dark curls falling messily over a face tired before its time. Deep blue eyes swollen and red from the night’s tears, holding too much fear, pain, sadness, kindness, hope.
Kyrian had a gentleness to him, something fragile and easily overlooked, yet when the light caught him just right, it was clear he carried a quiet beauty, the kind that did not demand attention but lingered long after.
I sighed, tearing my gaze away from my reflection heading inside to get the equipment I needed.
Dylan had been watching me strangely all day. Silent but curious. I knew he suspected something was wrong and off about me. I appreciated his restraint. He knows to give me space for now and that I’ll come talk to him when I’m ready.
The sun was slowly sinking behind the forest as I walked toward the trees, a small basket resting against my hips. Golden light spilled through the tall trees, turning the leaves into shades of amber and deep green. Long shadows stretched across the ground, soft and quiet, as if the forest itself was preparing to sleep. The air was cool and smelled of earth and pine, calming in a way the pack house never was. Sunlight caught on the edges of the branches, glowing like fire for a brief moment before fading into gentle dusk. gently stepping beneath the trees to gather moonroot, the last light of day brushed my face, peaceful and beautiful, unaware of the storm coming for me.
And then…
A scream tore through the forest.
the basket dropped from my hands as the ground shook beneath my feet. Fire exploded near the forest edge. Wolves howled. Metal clashed. The serene evening turned into chaos in one heartbeat.
“Attack!” someone yelled.
I froze.
- Writer
