To Break a Wolf

Chapter 15: Awakening

Mira surfaced slowly as if dragging herself out of a black ocean she had accidentally fallen into. Her limbs felt wrong, distant, and leaden, as if they belonged to someone else. Every sound in the room hit too sharply: the wood creaking, the whisper of air through an open window, each one scraping against her nerves.

The ache behind her eyes pulsed in time with her heartbeat. The scents hit her next: sage and another, earthy, deep, and rich. Wherever she was, it wasn’t her cabin. It wasn’t outside, and it sure as hell wasn’t safe.

Her breath caught. A flicker of memories flared and burned.

The Gathering, Selene’s voice cracking, the sharp sound of rejection flung into the night, Bastian’s steady gaze, not on Selene but on her, and then light. Not the gentle glow of firelight or moonbeams, but something that erupted from deep inside her and tore through the world as if it had every right to.

Selene’s face. The council’s gasps. The pack’s fear. Then nothing.

Her stomach clenched. A cold ripple unfurled under her ribs, the panic coming in quiet, deadly waves.

She sat up too quickly. The blanket tangled around her legs, and the room swam. Her whole body trembled from the effort, too soft and too raw, but she couldn’t stay still. Not when the truth flooded her mind.

A sound shifted beside her. She turned, heart lodged in her throat, and froze.

Bastian.

He slumped in a chair, arms crossed, head tilted back, a few strands of dark hair falling across his brow. He looked as if an artist had carved him from stone, albeit exhausted stone. His chest rose and fell with slow, deliberate breaths, as though even in sleep, control was hard-fought for.

Her pulse spiked. What had happened?

Her fingers drifted to her neck before she could stop them. The skin there was tender, flushed, and held heat as if branded. Her heart kicked into overdrive. Her fingers trembled as they slid lower, to the curve of her shoulder, where heat still lingered beneath the skin.

She knew what she’d find, and when she did, the air left her lungs as though someone had punched her hard in the stomach.

“No,” she whispered, but it sounded nothing short of a lie.

Again, softer. “No, no, no—”

But the mark was there. The bond was real. She could feel it, pressing at the edges of her thoughts, humming, a live current under her skin. He was in her. Not just beside her. In her, and she hated how familiar it felt, as if she was finally home.

Bastian stirred, a low groan caught in his throat as he blinked in the dim light. For a second, he looked nothing short of a man returning from somewhere far away. Then his gaze found hers, and the air in the room snapped tight.

He sat up straight, the lines of sleep gone in an instant.

Her voice cracked. “What is this?”

He winced as he rubbed at his temple. “The bond,” he said roughly.

She flinched. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“It’s done.”

The words were flat. Unapologetic.

Her hands flew to her neck again, to where his teeth had pierced the skin. She wanted to claw the mark away, to undo what he’d taken, what she’d lost.

“This wasn’t supposed to be real.”

“You think I wanted this?” His voice cracked, and it wasn’t anger beneath it; it was everything else it held: Regret. Guilt. That quiet desperation of someone who’d been handed something sacred and had no idea how to carry it.

She pushed off the bed, legs barely strong enough to hold her upright. The world tilted, her body weak, but she needed distance and space. Anything that wasn’t the pull of him, but she didn’t get far.

Her knees buckled, and he was there before the floor could claim her.

Strong arms caught her. Her skin brushed his, and the bond flared as a raging wildfire would.

“Let go,” she hissed.

“You can’t even stand.”

“I don’t care.”

But he didn’t move.

She shoved at his chest, her voice trembling. “This isn’t real.”

His eyes found hers, gold and raw, and the truth in them nearly leveled her.

“It is now.”

The doorway creaked behind them.

“Well,” came a smooth, amused voice, “that escalated quickly.”

Mira jerked toward the sound.

A man leaned in the doorway, tall and golden and far too comfortable. Tousled hair. Faded jeans. The kind of smile that could talk its way out of anything. He looked like trouble, the kind that came with charm and consequences.

She narrowed her eyes. “Who the hell are you?”

“Liam,” he said, as if it explained everything. “You’re Mira. And from the look of things, you’ve just changed the game.”

Before she could snap, the air shifted again. Another figure stepped into the room.

A woman, tall, calm, draped in white moonlight. She didn’t need to speak. One could sense the power in her. Ancient. Quiet. Heavy.

“This is Ellie,” Liam offered, and for the first time, there was something reverent in his voice.

Ellie inclined her head. “We’ve been watching you longer than you know.”

“How are we feeling, Alpha?” Liam added, glancing toward Bastian.

Bastian’s jaw tightened. “You knew.”

Liam shrugged. “I had my suspicions.”

“Knew what?” Mira asked sharply.

“That the bond wouldn’t just affect you,” Liam said, sobering. “Your power… his blood… the mark… It’s all mixed now. You’re not just mated. He’s your anchor.”

Bastian went still.

“What does that mean?” Mira breathed.

Liam stepped closer. “It means your power doesn’t come without a counterweight. The Moon Goddess built in a failsafe, a grounding force. Someone who could tether you when the magic tries to burn through your bones.”

He looked at Bastian.

“You don’t just hold her. You hold her power.”

Then, as if he were a puppet with its strings cut, Bastian’s body folded.

He dropped to his knees, the strength in him buckling, a fault line cracked open.

Mira caught what weight she could, arms sliding under his as he hit the ground. Her heart slammed against her ribs. His body was too heavy, too still.

“Bastian—” her cry broke.

He didn’t answer.

She held him anyway, her arms wrapped around the man who had just become someone she hadn’t asked for but couldn’t let go of. Not now. Not ever.

The silence that followed stretched for far too long.

Then Mira looked up, eyes glassy. “I don’t understand. I’m just human. My parents were human. This—this doesn’t make sense.”

Ellie’s expression softened. “Your father was human, yes. But your mother… she wasn’t.”

The words split something open.

“What are you talking about?” Mira asked.

“She received the invitation,” Ellie said gently. “They came to Monashee. But by the time they arrived—by the time she met Bastian’s father—it was already too late.”

“The minute they met,” Liam said, voice low now, “her bloodline awakened. She hadn’t even known what she bore, but the bond triggered it. And he…” Liam’s gaze darkened. “He already carried the curse. Already bonded to another.”

Mira’s breath caught. “To Bastian’s mother.”

Ellie nodded. “The curse drove him mad. And your mother’s power—when it awakened—was too much for a human body to carry without an anchor.”

Liam stepped closer. “Your father died trying to love a woman whose blood needed someone of this world to balance it .”

Mira’s world tilted. Her vision blurred. She turned her face away from them, blinking hard, refusing to let the sting behind her eyes spill over into something they could see. She didn’t want sympathy, or the careful hush of voices laced with understanding, or the gentle tilt of a head that said Poor girl, look what she’s been through. She didn’t want comfort. She wanted air.

Space.

A single breath that didn’t feel wrong, but the moment her body even considered standing, her mind betrayed her. A memory surfaced, vivid, whole, uninvited. The kind that didn’t just tug. It tore.

She was young again—six, maybe seven. Curled against her aunt on the back porch, knees scraped, tucked under one of those heavy knit blankets that always smelled of vanilla and dust. The sun had been bleeding across the sky in smears of amber, the wooden slats beneath her legs still warm from the day’s sun. She’d been crying over a bit of blood, barely more than a scratch, but the sobs were big and dramatic, the kind of sobs only kids know how to give.

Her aunt hadn’t hushed her and hadn’t told her to toughen up. She’d just pulled her in close, rested her chin in Mira’s hair, and started humming that quiet, wordless tune that Mira still sometimes heard in her dreams.

“When will it stop hurting?” Mira had whispered, though she hadn’t meant the sting in her knee. It had been the emptiness. The mother-shaped hole inside her chest that never quite closed.

Her aunt’s voice had been soft, lips pressed against her temple. “Some aches never really stop, but you learn to carry them. And on the days you can’t, I’ll carry them for you.”

At the time, it had been enough, but where was she now? Gone. All she had left was Luca, but she couldn’t reach him even if she tried. She was alone, in a place full of strangers.

And this? This ache wasn’t just a tiny scrape that a kiss would fix. It wasn’t the kind of ache you could hand off to someone else. This pain had a name now. A legacy. A history written in blood and silence, a bond she hadn’t willingly agreed to.

And the worst part? She wasn’t even alone anymore. Not really. She never would be again.

Not with this mate bond simmering under her skin, whispering of a connection she hadn’t asked for to a man who hadn’t chosen her, not in the way that mattered. To a man who didn’t give her the chance to choose him, either.

How the hell was she supposed to forgive that?