Bond Awakening
1340 Words
Those words broke something in me.
I covered my face with my hands, and then I shattered.
Not the pretty crying.
Not the small, polite tears I let myself release once a year in the shower.
This was the kind of crying that didn’t ask permission.
The kind that hurt.
The kind that made your ribs ache and your throat raw.
I folded forward, and Drake caught me instantly—guiding my forehead to his shoulder like instinct, like he already knew how I fit.
“No one should carry pain like this alone,” he murmured.
And I cried harder.
I cried for the seven years I gave Marcus.
For every moment I was good, patient, loyal, hopeful.
For every Christmas we planned together.
For every promise he broke but smiled through.
For the girl I was an hour ago—the girl who believed love meant giving until you were empty.
Drake didn’t say “shh.”
He didn’t tell me “it’s okay.”
He didn’t try to fix it.
He just stayed.
Warm. Still. Protective.
His arms wrapped around me like he was shielding me from the world, from the memory of Marcus, from the version of myself that thought I wasn’t enough.
At some point, I realized his hands were trembling—not from discomfort, but from holding himself back.
From touching me too softly.
Like he was terrified that if he touched any harder, I’d break.
And if he touched any lighter, I would fall apart again.
“Why does it hurt so much?” I whispered into his shoulder.
His breath hitched—like my pain went straight into him.
“Because you loved him with a pure heart,” he said, voice low and vibrating. “That kind of love doesn’t die quietly.”
I swallowed, new tears forming.
“And you deserved so much better than the way he treated you.”
My throat closed.
He said it with such certainty, it didn’t feel like comfort.
It felt like truth.
There was a pause—long, quiet, heavy enough to feel.
Then suddenly—
My chest warmed.
Not like a blush. Not embarrassment.
This was heat.
Radiating.
Blooming from where his palm rested on my arm.
“What… what’s happening?” I pulled back a little, wiping my face. “I—I feel something weird.”
Drake froze.
For the first time since I met him, his expression cracked.
Not anger.
Not fear.
Recognition.
His storm-gray eyes darkened like thunder rolling in slow motion.
“Do you feel it everywhere,” he asked softly, “or only where I’m touching you?”
My breath hitched.
Only there.
The warmth wasn’t just warmth now. It pulsed, slow and deep—like a heartbeat inside my skin.
“Is this some kind of panic attack?” I whispered, suddenly dizzy. “Or—oh God—is this shock? Am I dying? Drake, what’s—”
“You’re not dying.” His hands cupped my face, steadying me, grounding me. “You’re… awakening.”
Awakening?
My brows furrowed. My body said panic, but something in his voice told me I wasn’t in danger.
Except—I was.
Just… not from him.
But from how he was looking at me.
Like I was something sacred.
Like he’d been searching for me.
Like he finally found me.
Drake swallowed hard. His jaw flexed once, twice. Like he was wrestling something inside him.
“Sydney,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “I need you to breathe for me.”
“Drake—what is happening?”
He closed his eyes.
And then—
I saw it.
A faint, glowing shimmer under the collar of his shirt.
Right above his heart.
Like light trapped beneath skin.
I blinked.
And in the seconds it took me to breathe again—
It flared.
It didn’t shine like normal light.
It rippled—iridescent, ancient, alive.
And his breath punched out of him like something invisible struck him from within.
His hand shot to his chest.
Not in pain.
In recognition.
Oh God.
Oh God.
“What is that!?” I gasped, leaning back instinctively.
Drake opened his eyes.
They weren’t storm-gray anymore.
They were molten silver.
“I wasn’t supposed to feel this again,” he whispered, voice breaking in the middle. “Not in this lifetime. Not after everything.”
My heartbeat slammed into my ribs.
“Feel what again?”
He exhaled, trembling—actually trembling—as the shimmering mark beneath his shirt pulsed once more.
“The bond,” he said quietly.
“The mate mark.”
I froze.
Breath caught mid-air.
Mind shutting down completely.
“Mate… what?”
He stepped back just enough to give me space—but his hand still hovered, like he couldn’t bear to break the connection fully.
“It’s not something you’re ready to hear,” he whispered, voice thick. “Not tonight. Not like this.” His throat worked. “You’re hurting. And the last thing I want is to confuse your pain with destiny.”
Destiny?
Mate?
What in the universe—
“Drake,” I said shakily, “you’re making no sense.”
He blinked once—slow, tortured.
Then he knelt in front of me again.
Kneeling.
In front of me.
Like my pain demanded reverence.
“I felt the bond awaken when I touched you,” he admitted softly. “But I will never use that against you. I won’t force anything. I won’t claim anything.” His eyes softened, darkened, deepened. “I just need you to know… you’re not imagining this connection.”
My heart thudded hard enough to hurt.
“Connection?” I whispered.
He reached up—hesitant, slow—and brushed the last tear at the corner of my eye.
My skin lit up under his touch.
Warm, grounding, electric.
“You feel safe with me,” he murmured. “Even though you shouldn’t. Even though you barely know me.” His thumb lingered on my cheekbone for a stolen second. “That’s not coincidence.”
I swallowed. Hard.
“Drake… are you telling me you think we’re—”
“Mates,” he finished quietly.
Silence.
Thick.
Frozen.
Impossible.
My breath fractured.
“I… I can’t,” I whispered. “Not tonight. I just lost—”
And then his face changed—something sharp flickering across his expression.
“Exactly,” he said softly. “That’s why I’m not asking you for anything.” He stood slowly, giving me a respectful distance. “Tonight, you’re not my destined anything.”
My chest tightened.
“Tonight,” he continued, voice gentler than anything I’d ever heard, “you’re just a woman who was hurt. And I’m a man who refuses to let her break alone.”
He walked to the kitchen, grabbed a glass of water, and returned.
No pressure.
No closeness.
Just presence.
Quiet.
Respecting.
Warm.
Steady.
And that—more than his arms, more than the warmth, more than the impossible bond pulsing through my skin—made my chest ache.
He set the glass beside me.
“Drink if you can,” he said softly. “And when you’re ready… you can ask me anything.”
My voice trembled.
“And if I never ask?”
He looked at me—properly, deeply.
“Then I will protect you from afar,” Drake whispered. “Even if you never know I’m there.”
My breath left me in a shaky exhale.
Because for the first time tonight…
Something inside me didn’t hurt.
Something inside me felt seen.
And that terrified me even more.
“But you need to know one thing, Sydney.”
I look up, breath trembling.
“What?”
His voice is barely above a whisper.
“You’re not imagining any of it.”
The door outside thunders open.
Marcus.
Drake straightens instantly—eyes darkening, presence exploding into something primal and territorial.
His wolf surges.
And the mark burns brighter.
- Writer
