The Morning After
1424 Words
Talia lay wide awake, glaring at the ceiling like it owed her money.
This house—this creaky, memory-soaked, emotionally exhausting house—was not helping. Her childhood bedroom, once filled with laughter, hand-me-down novels, and arguments about who ate the last brownie, now felt like a mausoleum of heartbreak. The walls had heard too many tears. The floor had soaked up too much grief. And the ceiling? Well, the ceiling was currently enduring the full weight of her disappointment.
This was the home her mother had wasted away in, slowly taken by a rare cancer that only wolf shifters managed to attract like a curse. The same house where the news of her father’s body washing up on the riverbank had arrived, as cold and cruel as the rocks he’d been found on. The home where Thomas—Alpha Thomas, she reminded herself bitterly—had once whispered promises of forever under this very roof, where he’d claimed her as his chosen mate, as his future Luna.
Yeah. It was time to leave this place. Maybe burn it down first. Symbolically, of course.
She reached out in her mind for Kaela, her wolf, only to be met with... nothing. Silence. Not even a tail flick. It was like Kaela had packed up and taken an emotional vacation, leaving no forwarding address.
I need you, girl, Talia thought, desperation creeping in like the early morning chill. Don’t take too long, okay? Still nothing. Kaela had apparently joined the "Let's Abandon Talia" club.
She sighed and rolled over, the pale moonlight spilling across her comforter. It looked soft and serene, which was ironic considering the war currently being waged in her chest. The memory of Thomas’s voice echoed through her mind, smug and cold.
“Talia is no longer my mate.”
Short. Brutal. A rejection wrapped in formality and tied with a bow of betrayal. If heartbreak were a sport, Thomas would be wearing a medal.
She groaned, swung her legs over the side of the bed, and sat up with the enthusiasm of a wolf being rejected by her mate in front of the entire pack—while his new girlfriend watched from the front row.
Oh yeah, she thought bitterly, that’s me. She raised her hand half-heartedly to the empty room and let out another groan. Sleep clearly wasn’t happening, and wallowing only counted as cardio if you cried while pacing.
After a quick, scalding shower—because, apparently, emotional trauma loves hot showers — she pulled on her training gear. The familiar weight of it grounded her. Leather. Worn in. Reliable. Unlike a sure Alpha who shall not be named. Before heading out, she poked her head into Alina’s room. Her sister was still asleep, curled into a tangle of blankets like the world hadn’t imploded last night. Talia left a short note on the nightstand: Be back in a few hours. Stay close to the house today.
She didn’t write because your life may now be political collateral, but it was heavily implied.
After that, she knocked back a mug of black coffee—bitter, no cream, just like her mood—and made her way to the training grounds.
Outside, the Wyoming morning greeted her with a slap of crisp air to the face. Pine, damp earth, and frost-bitten dignity filled her lungs. She inhaled deeply. Exhaled. Repeated the process until her heartbeat stopped sounding like war drums.
Talia checked her phone for distractions. Emails, maybe. Anything to occupy her brain for five seconds. She scrolled—and froze. Her thumb hovered over the sender’s name.
Thomas. Ugh, she wanted to vomit.
Commander Talia,
Be advised of the official written notice of reassignment: You now serve as the personal bodyguard to the future Luna, Mira. You will guard her life as if it were your own or your sister’s.
Failure to comply will result in consequences.
Furthermore, your sister Alina will be turning 18 in two months. She will be wedded to Beta Leon. He is willing to take her under his care, whether she has shifted or not. She will be moved into the Pack house until the wedding.
This is decreed and will be announced at the Pack House dinner this Friday.
There will be no further discussion.
– Alpha Thomas
Talia read the email twice. Three times. Just to be sure she hadn’t missed the part where he ended with, “P.S. I’m a flaming garbage fire of a human.”
Nope. All present and accounted for.
She could practically hear his smug tone in every syllable. The veiled threat. The casual mention of her sister’s wedding-s***h-kidnapping to a Beta with the emotional range of a doorstop. This wasn’t just control. It was a chess game, and Alina was now a pawn.
Talia clenched her fists, the rage rising like fire in her veins.
“Damn him,” she hissed, shoving the phone into her pocket like it had personally betrayed her.
The training grounds came into view. She needed to move. Required to hit something. Or someone. Preferably someone whose name rhymed with "vomit."
“Talia!” one of her teammates called out. “You’re here early!”
“Yeah,” she said, flashing a smile that could barely pass a sobriety test. “Thought I’d get in some early reps. What’s on the agenda?”
“Drills, sparring, bruised egos,” he replied with a grin. “You are sure you’re up for it?”
“Absolutely.” I need to act normally. Like I didn’t just get emotionally blackmailed before breakfast.
She threw herself into training as if it were a lifeline. Every jab, every dodge, every spin-kick felt like a scream she wasn’t allowed to voice. Her body moved with precision; her mind, however, was a war zone. Thomas. Mira. Beta Leon. Alina. Rejection. Duty. Escape. Repeat.
“Talia!” her trainer barked. “Focus!”
She blinked, breathing heavily. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, just don’t get your jaw broken.”
Good advice.
By the time she stepped aside to catch her breath, her muscles burned, and sweat clung to her like regret. She leaned against a tree and wiped her brow, only to hear a familiar voice cutting through the morning air.
“Talia,” came the deep, gravelly voice of Roland—older wolf. Quiet wisdom. Once one of her dad’s closest friends, and the closest thing she had to a living uncle these days.
“You pushed hard today,” Roland said, stepping up beside her. Then sarcastically, “Trying to work something out?”
“Yeah,” she muttered, grabbing a towel and wiping sweat from her face. “Mostly rage. Some heartbreak. And the overwhelming urge to throat-punch Thomas until his wolf files for separation.”
Roland blinked, then casually glanced around. A few younger trainees were still nearby, within earshot.
“Talia,” he said quietly, giving her a look. “Maybe keep that part in your head.”
She sighed and lowered her voice. “Right. Sorry. Just... had to say it out loud at least once before I exploded.”
“Understandable,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Just pick a more private moment next time. Preferably, one without witnesses or future alibi complications. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”
“Maybe not.” Her voice cracked just slightly. “But it feels like I do. Like I’m one step from losing my mind, and the only thing holding me together is pretending I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine,” he said bluntly, then added with a slight smirk, “and you’re also not fooling anyone.”
That almost made her laugh. Almost.
“I can’t let them see me weak,” she said. “Not now.”
Roland’s hand rested briefly on her shoulder. “You’re not weak, Talia. You’re a Graves. You’ve got your mother’s fire and her red hair, and your father’s stubbornness—which, frankly, was a nightmare combo.”
She chuckled then, the sound surprising her. “Yeah, well, guess I inherited the family trauma, too.”
Roland raised a brow. “Didn’t we all?”
The quiet between them was companionable, not oppressive. For the first time in hours, she didn’t feel like she was standing on the edge of something ready to collapse.
“Come on,” she said, rolling her shoulders back. “Let’s get back to it.”
“That’s the spirit,” Roland said.
- Writer
