RESENTMENT
780 Words
Lysander
The pack common hall feels almost normal tonight.
Almost.
There’s laughter near the long tables, the low thrum of conversation echoing off stone walls, the familiar scent of pine and firewood. Old classmates linger in loose groups—wolves he grew up sparring with, studying beside, trusting without question.
Lyra spots him first.
She’s leaning against Phoenix, her mate’s arm draped easily around her shoulders. They’ve always been like that—unapologetic, solid, the kind of bond no one ever questioned.
“Well,” Lyra says with a grin as he approaches, eyes bright, “about time.”.
Phoenix chuckles. “Congratulations, Alpha. Shaking things up already.”
Lysander exhales something like relief. “That obvious?”
Lyra’s smile softens. “This pack’s needed a mirror held up to it for a while.”
Phoenix nods. “And for what it’s worth? I think it’s a good thing.”
The tension in Lysander’s shoulders eases—just a fraction.
Then Lucas speaks.
“You really think so?”
Lucas steps forward from the edge of the group, arms crossed, expression carefully concerned. He’s someone Lysander’s known forever.
Sparring partner. Drinking buddy. Someone who used to sit at his family’s table during festivals.
That makes it worse.
“She’s not worth it,” Lucas continues casually. “We’re only saying this because we care.”
Lysander’s jaw tightens. “Care usually doesn’t sound like this.”
Lucas scoffs. “Come on. She’s probably just like her family. You really want to tie yourself to that name?”
Another wolf murmurs agreement.
Lucas presses on. “Reject her. You might get a second-chance mate. Happens all the time.
Chosen mates, Lys—high-ranking women from other packs. Women without baggage.”
Lyra straightens. “Lucas—”
“And those kids,” Lucas adds, waving a dismissive hand. “That little boy looks too much like his uncle.”
Something cold settles behind Lysander’s eyes.
“And the sister?” Lucas laughs quietly. “A healer? Please. I doubt people like that are actually useful.”
Phoenix shifts. “Watch it.”
Lucas shrugs. “You sleep with women like Elora. You don’t marry them.”
The room goes silent.
Lysander doesn’t remember deciding to move.
He only knows the sound of his fist connecting with Lucas’s jaw is loud enough to echo.
Lucas hits the floor hard.
Casper is on Lysander instantly, Everest grabbing his shoulder, Kaden swearing under his breath as they pull him back.
“Enough,” Casper snaps. “Enough.”
Lysander is breathing hard, vision sharp, wolf snarling beneath his skin.
“Say her name again,” Lysander growls, voice carrying. “Say her family’s name like that again—and I won’t stop next time.”
No one meets his eyes.
The rift is there now.
Unmistakable.
And irreversible.
Elora
The first threat is carved into the fence.
The second comes folded neatly beneath the door.
By the third day, no one pretends it’s coincidence anymore.
It’s illegal to harass banished wolves.
That hasn’t stopped anyone.
I watch my father read the latest message, his jaw set too carefully, his shoulders too still. My mother doesn’t ask what it says—she already knows.
Fear doesn’t live in this house.
But worry does.
And guilt.
I swallow hard. “Lysander offered us a place to stay.”
The room stills.
“At the pack,” I continue softly. “On royal grounds. A cottage. Another house for Uncle Caspian and Odette.”
Jasper exhales slowly. “That’s… a big offer.”
“It’s also a smart one,” my mother says quietly.
Jasper rubs his face, then snorts. “Oh goodness. Caspian around authority again.”
That does it.
Fleur straightens, then suddenly throws one leg over the arm of the chair, crossing it dramatically. She leans back, deepens her voice, and drawls—
“Ironic, isn’t it? I tried to overthrow leaders years ago, and now here we are. My sweet niece—mated to a royal.”
For a heartbeat, there’s stunned silence.
Then laughter bursts from all of us.
Even my father.
Jasper shakes his head, smiling. “Wait until I tell Caspian the offer.”
I laugh with them—but my chest aches too.
Because this isn’t just about safety.
It’s about stepping back into a world that taught us we didn’t belong.
And loving a man who’s willing to burn bridges for me—even when I never asked him to.
Somewhere between the threats and the laughter, I realize the truth:
The danger isn’t coming.
It’s already here.
And choosing Lysander means choosing the storm with him.
- Writer
