Becoming
1002 Words
BRISEIS
I expected to wake to pain again.
But instead… it was warmth.
A thick blanket pulled tight around me. The distant hiss of the fire in the hearth. The muted rustle of someone moving, soft, steady, careful.
And the scent.
Not of blood. Not of fear. But of pine, leather, and smoke.
Of him.
I blinked slowly, vision still adjusting to the low light. Shadows danced across the stone walls, the flicker of firelight gentle compared to the harshness of the healer’s wing.
But I wasn’t there.
I was in his chambers.
In his bed.
Not the guest rooms. Not the recovery wing.
His.
And just beside me, seated with one elbow braced on the edge of the mattress, head lowered in restless sleep, was Orion.
Still dressed. Still guarded.
But… here.
Like he’d never left.
My gaze drifted over him.
His face was tense, even in rest. The furrow in his brow hadn’t smoothed. His jaw still locked like he was bracing for a blow. His hand, larger than mine, scarred, calloused, rested inches from my arm, as though it had once held me and simply slipped free when he’d dozed off.
He hadn't left me.
Not once.
My throat tightened.
I shifted just enough to feel the tug of fresh bandages at my side. The wound still ached, a deep, stretching soreness that pulled when I moved too quickly. But I was healing.
Faster than I should have.
Healers said it was the bond.
Said his nearness made the recovery almost unnaturally swift.
They had no idea what his nearness was doing to my heart. He stirred awake with a start, head snapping up, eyes immediately on me.
“Briseis,” he rasped. He leaned in, voice soft but thick with emotion. “How do you feel?”
“Better,” I whispered. “Still… sore.”
He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for days.
“Are you hungry? Do you need anything, blankets, water, pain draught?”
“I think I just need you to breathe.”
That made him pause.
Then he huffed a quiet, broken laugh.
“Right. Breathing.”
He brushed the hair from my cheek. “You scared the hell out of me.”
“I scared myself,” I murmured. “But… you were there.”
His expression softened. “I’ll always be there.”
And he meant it.
Not in the way others had promised and failed.
He didn’t just protect.
He stayed.
---
By the third day, I was strong enough to sit in bed without needing help.
That’s when Lyra burst in.
She didn’t knock.
She just launched herself through the door like a hurricane of gold curls and loud, clumsy joy.
“BRI!”
Orion stiffened, half-rising from his chair in reflex, until he saw it was her.
“Careful,” he warned.
But she was already in my lap, arms thrown around my waist, head buried against my chest.
“I missed you!” she wailed. “Papa said you needed rest but I knew that’s code for boring stuff and I brought you muffins and a flower and a list of names for your wolf!”
I blinked. “Names?”
“For your wolf! You never told me if she has one.”
I stared at her, stunned.
No one had ever asked me that.
Not once.
“She doesn’t,” I said slowly. “At least… not yet.”
“Then we’re naming her together.” She held up a crumpled scroll. “I narrowed it down.”
I took the paper and stared at the list.
Lyra had written out names like Stormflower, Howie, Midnight Fangs, and—my personal favourite—Queen Clawface.
I burst out laughing.
She looked proud. “Papa said Queen Clawface was too intense but I think it sounds powerful.”
“I think it’s perfect.”
She beamed, then curled up beside me, burrowing into my side like she belonged there.
And truthfully?
She did.
....
Every day after that, she visited.
Sometimes with drawings. Sometimes with food she smuggled from the kitchens. Sometimes with stories she insisted I had to hear.
She made me laugh when my ribs still ached. She wrapped herself around me during naps. She insisted I read her old fairy tales even when I could barely keep my eyes open.
And I let her.
I let her into spaces I’d kept boarded shut for years.
She didn’t see the scar on my body or the brokenness in my soul.
She just saw me.
And in her eyes—I wasn’t tainted.
I wasn’t the cursed omega from a haunted pack.
I was Briseis.
Her person.
Her wolf-mama.
Her home.
---
Orion was just as constant, though quieter.
He brought my meals himself. Made sure the guards outside my chamber rotated with wolves he personally approved. Sat beside me every evening, sometimes in silence, sometimes tracing the backs of my fingers like he was memorizing me.
He never pushed.
Never pressed for more than I was willing to give.
But his presence… it grounded me.
There were moments I’d wake in the night, still half-caught in the memory of blood and blades, and he’d already be leaning over me, one hand brushing my hair, whispering, "You're safe. I'm here."
And in those moments, I believed him.
---
It was late on the fifth night when I finally stood on my own.
I walked slowly to the mirror.
Unwrapped the bandage.
The scar was angry red. Fresh. Jagged.
But it was mine.
My proof.
Not just of survival.
But of choice.
And when I looked into the mirror—
She looked back.
My wolf.
No longer distant or hidden.
But clear.
Strong.
Waiting.
And for the first time, I whispered to her,
“I’m not afraid anymore.”
She stepped forward, a reflection layered over mine.
Tall. Wild. Silver-eyed.
Not cursed.
Not a burden.
Just me.
Made whole.
I'm going to be better.
- Writer
