The Bond That shouldn't exist
1236 Words
Lyra did not sleep.
She lay awake long after Kael left her chamber, staring at the faint silver glow of the moonmark on her collarbone. It pulsed gently, like a second heartbeat—his heartbeat. Every time his emotions stirred somewhere in the fortress, the mark warmed. When he grew still, it cooled.
She hated it.
She feared it.
But gods help her… part of her longed for the warmth.
She rose from the bed when the moon was high and paced to the window. The courtyard below was quiet. Shadowfang wolves patrolled in disciplined lines, their movements sharp, predictable—nothing like the rogues she’d known in the borderlands. These wolves belonged to Kael. If he told them to tear her apart, they would do it without asking why.
Her fingers brushed the window glass. “Why me?”
There was no answer. Only the cold night and her own reflection—silver eyes, haunted expression, and a girl who had never wanted to be chosen by anything as cruel as fate.
A soft knock broke the silence.
Lyra stiffened. “Who is it?”
The door creaked open. A young woman stepped inside, her hair braided tight, the Shadowfang crest stitched into her tunic. She bowed slightly.
“My name is Mira. The Alpha assigned me to assist you.”
Lyra blinked. “Assist me?”
“Clothing. Meals. Anything you require.” Mira’s voice trembled, just barely. “You… are not to leave your chambers without escort.”
Ah. Not assistance. Containment.
Lyra forced a polite smile. “Thank you.”
Mira nodded quickly, then placed a folded bundle on the bed. “Fresh clothes, my lady.”
Lyra almost laughed. “I’m not a lady.”
“You are the Alpha’s…” Mira hesitated, swallowing. “You bear his mark.”
Lyra’s breath caught. Even here, even this stranger could see what she and Kael had tried not to say out loud.
“Good night,” Mira whispered, retreating as if Lyra might burn her with a touch.
When the door clicked shut, the chamber felt smaller than before—like walls closing in.
Lyra changed into the soft grey tunic Mira had brought her, but she couldn’t stay still. Something tugged at her chest. A faint pull. A whisper through her veins.
Kael.
She felt him moving somewhere deep in the stronghold, restless and storming through his own thoughts. She couldn’t hear his mind, not exactly—but she sensed the edges of his emotions: tension, worry… and something darker, something aimed straight at her.
Lyra pressed a hand to her chest. “Stop calling to me…”
But the bond didn’t care what she wanted.
Her feet moved before her mind did. She opened the door, stepped into the dim hallway, and let the thread between them guide her down the corridor.
---
Kael’s POV
The war room was silent except for the crackle of torches and the sound of Kael’s boots pacing the stone floor.
Rowan leaned against the table, arms crossed. “This is dangerous, Kael.”
“I’m aware,” Kael muttered.
“You need to break the bond.”
Kael stopped pacing. “If I could break it, don’t you think I would’ve done it the moment it burned itself onto my skin?”
Rowan didn’t flinch. “She’s cursed. If the prophecy is true, she will kill you.”
Kael’s jaw clenched. “I don’t believe in prophecies.”
“You don’t want to,” Rowan corrected. “There’s a difference.”
Kael turned away. He didn’t want Rowan to see the truth written in his face: the moment he’d touched her, he had felt something he’d spent his whole life starving.
Connection.
Belonging.
A warmth that cut straight through the cold armor he’d built around himself.
He hated it.
And he wanted more of it.
“Keep this between us,” Kael said finally. “No one is to know what she is. Not yet. The council will demand her death.”
Rowan’s eyes narrowed. “And you would deny them?”
“She’s my responsibility.”
“She’s your mate.”
Kael didn’t respond. Because the word settled too heavily in the air, pressing against the parts of him he kept locked away.
Before he could say anything more, he felt it—a soft tug beneath his ribs.
She was close.
Kael’s head snapped toward the doorway just moments before it opened.
---
Lyra’s POV
Lyra stepped inside the war room, breath unsteady. Kael stood near the far table, the torchlight casting shadows across his face. His eyes flickered silver when he saw her.
Rowan straightened, startled. “How did you get past the guards?”
Lyra ignored him. Her gaze stayed locked on Kael. “I felt you.”
The words fell from her lips like a confession.
Kael froze. Whatever he’d been about to say disappeared. He took a single step toward her, then stopped himself—as if nearing her would tip something over the edge.
“You shouldn’t be wandering alone,” he said.
“I can’t stay still,” Lyra whispered. “The bond won’t let me.”
Rowan’s eyebrows shot up. “She can feel you already? That fast?”
Kael shot him a look that silenced him instantly.
Lyra took a slow breath. “You’re hiding something from me.”
Kael didn’t deny it.
Lyra stepped closer. The air changed—charged, humming. Shadows curled along the edges of the room as if the moonmark itself drew the darkness toward her.
Kael’s voice dropped. “You’re not safe without me near.”
She stopped inches from him. “And are you safe with me near?”
His breath hitched. Barely, but she felt it.
He stepped back—instinct, fear, something he couldn’t name—but the bond tethered him right back toward her. It was a cruel dance: forward, backward, resisting something neither of them could sever.
Kael exhaled slowly. “The mark is changing us.”
Lyra nodded. “I know.”
The torches dimmed. The shadows thickened. Her mark glowed beneath her tunic—soft silver beneath fragile fabric.
Kael reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. The touch was gentle, hesitant… wrong for a man known as the Dark Alpha.
“We should fight this,” he murmured.
Lyra shivered. “Then why don’t you pull away?”
His fingers lingered against her jaw for one unbearable heartbeat.
“I can’t,” he whispered.
Neither could she.
---
A sudden crash echoed from the courtyard.
Kael stiffened, stepping instinctively in front of Lyra. Rowan bristled.
“Alpha,” Rowan said sharply, listening—“that came from the gate tower.”
Kael’s expression hardened. “Stay here,” he told Lyra.
Before she could protest, he and Rowan shifted into wolf form—fur ripping through skin, bones snapping—and sprinted into the night.
The mark on Lyra’s collarbone flared hot with panic. Kael’s panic.
Something was attacking the stronghold.
And whatever it was… it wasn’t rogue wolves.
It was something older. Something that recognized her.
Lyra’s breath caught in her throat.
Because beneath the tower’s crashing stone, beneath Kael’s distant growl, she heard it—
A voice.
Calling her name.
Not with sound.
With power.
With prophecy.
With fate.
The curse had found her.
Again.
- Writer
