Mera
Mera doesn’t sleep.
She sits on the edge of her bed, fingers twisting in the fabric of her blanket, heart still racing as if the bond might snap again—louder this time.
A beta.
She laughs under her breath, hollow.
Of course.
She presses a hand to her chest, where the bond hums faintly, steady and warm and terrifyingly real.
Her mind spirals.
They’ll think I planned this.
That I used something.
That Elora did.
She’s heard the whispers before—how banished families were different, how exile changed people. How some wolves believed power could be stolen, bonds forced.
Witchcraft.
The word alone makes her stomach knot.
She thinks of Casper’s calm voice. His patience. The way he stepped back without being asked.
What if I ruin him?
The thought hurts more than any insult ever
