Lypophrenia

Fall brought trouble. Usually, autumn was the happiest time of the year for me. As a child, I would sit under the trees and let the colorful multitude of leaves cascade down upon me when strong winds blew. How could decay be so beautiful? Just before winter came, the earth would open up and spit out clay reds and mustard yellows that entranced me. I was excited to take Alice out to see the colors the season had given us. But it wasn't safe to go outside. Jorem arrived home one evening, the tip of his nose and ears red, his blonde hair ruffled, he looked boyish almost, but his eyes held deep worry that aged him in a way. It didn't make sense to me what he was saying. He spoke low and heavy, his chest heaving. "You and Alice need to stay indoors." I stood over the stove, stirring a potato stew broil, confused and afraid, he walked closer to me. "There's tension...more than just the usual between the packs. It's starting to boil over. Once it's settled, I promise you and our daughter can go outside." One night, he pulled me close to him, the heat of his body seeping into mine as if he could ward off the cold with nothing more than his presence. His hand, warm and strong, slid into my hair, fingers threading through it as he cradled the back of my head, pressing it to his chest. The steady thump of his heartbeat reverberated against my cheek, each beat a silent promise I wasn’t sure I could believe in anymore. The gentle caress of his hand was meant to comfort, but it only made the gnawing anxiety at the pit of my stomach grow stronger. Then it happened. Samuel, the beta of our clan, was badly injured in a brawl. After that came the meetings...long, tense, and endless. For the first time all year, the Moonfall clan gathered in full. We stood beneath the same autumn leaves that once fluttered down like blessings. What used to be a place of peace and quiet contemplation was now charged with unease, echoing with grim updates and the murmurs of war. That’s where I learned the truth. The Red Ash Pack was becoming aggressive, claiming land that wasn’t theirs, forcing lone wolves into their ranks, building a militia under the guise of unity. They were preparing for war, hungry for domination. The forest was no longer safe, not even for those of us who stayed quiet, who followed rules. I looked at Jorem. He didn’t look back. He didn’t need to. He knew exactly what my silence meant. You lied. Later that night, when Alice had drifted to sleep, I cried in our bed. I let my pain spill out between us, not with rage, but with quiet, aching devastation. I thought I could trust my mate. Jorem had always promised to keep me safe. That was part of why I chose him—his strength, his size, the sheer mass of him. He stood 6’6, built like a wall, shoulders wide and back broad, the kind of man who seemed too solid to break. When we met, he felt like a fortress. Unshakable. But lately, I had been watching that fortress crumble. At the meetings. At the dinner table. In bed beside me. His posture was slumped, his voice quieter. He was retreating into himself, hesitant, unsure. Afraid. He had saved me once before. I couldn't understand why he couldn't do it again. .... The water boiled gently in the iron pot, and the air smelled of rosemary and broth. We sat outside the kitchen lodge, shelling beans into a wide wooden bowl, the sun soft against our backs. “He smelled like smoke and cedar,” Mara said, eyes dreamy. “And not the kind of smoke that clings to a burnt pot either. The good kind. Warm, rich. I knew instantly.” She grinned, brushing a strand of curly hair from her cheek. “It’s strange, isn’t it? I always thought the bond would feel like lightning or something. But it was… peaceful. Like he’d been with me all along.” Seren, older than Mara by just a few years, laughed. “You’re still in the honeymoon phase. Wait till he starts snoring.” “He doesn’t snore!” Mara swatted her arm with a grin. “He hums in his sleep, like a lullaby. Even that’s perfect.” I smiled faintly, sorting through the beans, fingers moving with practiced ease. Seren nudged me gently. “What about you, Alyssa? You and Jorem met young, didn’t you?” I kept my eyes on the bowl. “We did.” “You must have known right away,” Mara said, eyes wide. “I can’t imagine how it must feel—finding your mate so early. The fates must really favor you.” I hesitated. “It was… different for me. Not all bonds announce themselves in a rush of feeling. Sometimes it’s quieter. Sometimes it takes time to choose each other.” Mara tilted her head. “But the bond still snapped into place, right? That moment when you knew?” Before I could respond, his footsteps broke the rhythm of the moment. Jorem. He came around the lodge holding a bucket of water, his shoulders broad beneath a wool tunic, blonde hair tousled from the wind, a lazy kind of handsomeness softening his edges. His smile, sunny and sure, was the same one Alice carried when she did something clever. “There was a moment,” he said, setting the bucket down with a grunt. “She was running, barefoot, through the east woods. Got herself turned around. I found her curled up by a tree, trying to act unbothered even though she was clearly lost.” He glanced at me, the corners of his mouth lifting. “Told me she didn’t need help. I walked her home anyway.” The girls laughed, eyes twinkling. I gave a soft laugh too. “I wasn’t lost. I was just… exploring.” “You were shivering and barefoot,” Jorem added, his voice teasing. “I gave her my jacket and that was it. The bond didn’t even need to speak. I knew.” He lingered for a moment, then turned toward the house again, whistling to himself. Mara looked at me with the kind of envy I used to feel for other women too. It was one of those strangely quiet days. The kind where you could almost forget the forest was on edge, where the sun felt too golden for what we all knew was coming. Later that night, after Alice had been tucked in and the lamps dimmed low, I climbed into bed beside him. The house was quiet, save for the sighing of the wind brushing against the shutters. Jorem was already under the covers, warm and waiting, his body loose with the comfort of routine. He reached for me, an arm slinging around my waist with practiced ease, pulling me into his chest. His scent, woodsmoke and pine wrapped around me, soft and familiar. "You remember what my scent felt like the first time?” he murmured, voice low against the crown of my head. I stilled. He didn’t wait for an answer. “You were trembling, even though you didn’t want to show it. I caught your scent first before I even saw you… it hit me like a storm. I remember thinking, ‘Oh. That’s mine.’” I made a sound, something small and neutral. He pulled back just enough to look down at me, his thumb brushing my cheek. “What did it feel like for you?” he asked. I hesitated, then smiled softly, curling closer into his chest. “Warm,” I whispered. “Like a fire I could step into without getting burned.” He exhaled, pleased, and kissed the top of my head. Then he held me tighter and whispered, “I will take care of you. I promise you, baby. Nothing will hurt you. We’re gonna get through this.” His voice broke a little on the last word. We lay like that for a while, quiet. Then his hand began to move, tracing slow circles over the curve of my hip, his touch reverent. Jorem always touched me like I was something to be cherished, never rushed. He was gentle—achingly so—like he feared I might vanish if he moved too fast. There was safety in that. His lovemaking was patient, steady. It gave me time to imagine a life where everything was soft, where no danger could reach the walls of our home, where Alice would grow up untouched by fear. I let myself believe in that world, if only for the night. And afterward, when his breath had slowed, and he drifted off beside me, I lay awake, staring into the dark, wrapped in his arms and wondering why I still felt so far away.