Claimed In Ruins

Chapter 3

Theron woke before dawn with blood in his mouth.

Not much.

Enough.

He sat upright immediately, elbow braced against the side of the bed while he coughed once into his palm. Dark red against his skin.

“Excellent,” he muttered.

The room stayed dim and cold around him. The fire had burned low sometime during the night, leaving only faint orange beneath the ash.

His ribs hurt.

That part wasn’t surprising.

The strange part was the lingering sensation beneath his skin. Not pain exactly. Not even weakness.

Something felt off within him.

Like something inside him had shifted half an inch out of place and refused to settle again.

Theron wiped his hand clean on a discarded cloth and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

The bond stirred quietly at the edge of his awareness.

Alive.

Steady.

Eryndra was awake already.

He hated that he could tell.

Not because the connection existed. He’d accepted that years ago.

Because part of him still reached toward it automatically before he could stop himself.

The room tilted briefly when he stood.

Theron waited it out.

“You’re getting old,” he told himself.

A knock sounded against the door.

“Come in.”

Orin entered carrying a tray balanced on one hand.

“You look awful,” he said immediately.

“Good morning.”

“I brought food.”

“That feels threatening.”

“It’s soup.”

“That confirms my suspicion.”

Orin snorted softly and shut the door behind him. “You coughed blood again?”

Theron looked up sharply.

Orin raised an eyebrow. “Your hearing’s slower when you’re injured.”

“I wasn’t aware I made noise.”

“You didn’t. I smelled it from the hallway.”

Theron sat back down with more irritation than grace. “Wonderful.”

Orin crossed the room and set the tray down carefully. Bread. Broth. Bitter herbs crushed into steaming water.

“You’re lucky the healers haven’t chained you to the infirmary yet,” Orin said.

“They tried.”

“And?”

“I left.”

“That makes sense.”

Theron picked up the cup first instead of the soup.

Orin watched him quietly for a second. “How bad?”

“I’m not dead yet.”

“That’s not an answer either.”

Theron took a slow drink before speaking. “The side wound reopened.”

“And the rest?”

“Tired.”

“You’ve been tired for six years.”

“That’s probably accurate.”

Orin leaned against the wall near the hearth. Comfortable. Familiar.

Most people treated the alpha’s chambers like sacred ground.

Orin treated them like a room.

Theron preferred that.

“The council’s already forming some sort of an alliance against you,” Orin said.

“I assumed they would.”

“Three elders demanded a formal review this morning.”

“Only three?”

“That was my reaction too.”

Theron almost smiled at that.

Almost.

His chest tightened sharply instead.

Not physically.

Something else.

A brief twisting sensation low beneath his ribs that vanished before he could fully grasp it.

Orin straightened slightly. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“That answer sounded convincing.”

Theron rubbed one hand across his jaw slowly.

The wrongness returned again at the edges of him. Thin and difficult to describe. Like standing half a step outside his own body.

“You ever feel,” he started, then stopped.

Orin waited.

Theron exhaled once. “No. Never mind.”

“No, go ahead.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Theron.”

He hated when Orin used that tone. Patient. Calm. Impossible to deflect cleanly.

Theron stared down into the untouched soup.

“The bond magic…” He paused again. “Something feels off.”

Orin didn’t interrupt.

“I can’t explain it properly,” Theron continued. “I know what overuse feels like. This isn’t that.”

“Different how?”

Theron searched for language and found none he trusted.

“Like there’s static under my skin,” he said finally. “Everything’s slightly too sharp. Sounds. Smells.” A pause. “The bond.”

At that, Orin’s expression shifted slightly. Not alarm. Just attention.

“You think the fight strengthened it?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’ve never drawn from it directly before.”

“No.”

“And you only used enough power to end the fight.”

Theron laughed once under his breath. “You say that like it was reasonable.”

“It kept the pack alive.”

“That doesn’t make it reasonable.”

Orin crossed his arms loosely. “Do you regret it?”

Theron answered immediately.

“No.”

The honesty of it sat heavily in the room.

No regret.

Not for the forbidden magic.

Not even for the risk.

That should’ve bothered him more than it did.

Orin nodded once like he’d expected the answer already. “Then maybe stop treating yourself like you committed some unforgivable crime.”

“The laws exist for a reason.”

“Yes. And most of those reasons involved people abusing claimed bonds for control.” He shrugged lightly. “That isn’t what happened here.”

Theron looked away toward the frost gathering at the window edges.

“You know what the council will say.”

“The council says many things.”

“They’ll question my judgment.”

“They already do that whenever you refuse to become a paranoid old bastard.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

“It wasn’t meant to be.”

A quiet settled between them.

Theron forced himself to eat a few bites of the soup despite the dull nausea twisting through him.

Orin watched without comment until Theron finally said, “You can stop supervising now.”

“No.”

“You have actual responsibilities.”

“So do you. Yet here we are.”

Theron set the bowl down. “You’re irritating.”

“I’m loyal.”

“Same thing some days.”

Orin smiled slightly.

The room stayed still for a moment before he spoke again.

“How is she?”

Theron didn’t pretend confusion. “Working.”

“That wasn’t my question either.”

“She’s tired.”

“Theron.”

His jaw tightened faintly.

The bond answered before he could suppress it entirely. Warm concern threaded beneath exhaustion. Controlled so tightly it almost hurt to touch.

“She’s carrying too much,” he admitted quietly.

Orin nodded once. “She always does.”

“She hasn’t slept properly in weeks.”

“Neither have you.”

“That’s different.”

“Why?”

Theron looked at him flatly. “Because I’m not connected to myself through an ancient magical thread that refuses to shut up.”

Orin barked out a short laugh. “Fair.”

Theron leaned back carefully against the wall behind the bed.

“She looked at me yesterday like I’d already died,” he said.

Orin’s expression softened slightly. “That bother you?”

“Yes.”

“Because?”

“Because she shouldn’t have to.”

The answer came too quickly to be edited.

Orin stayed quiet.

Theron stared at the fire instead.

Most people assumed the bond felt romantic all the time. Soft. Longing. Desire.

They were wrong.

Mostly it felt like awareness sharpened into something unbearable.

He knew when Eryndra was exhausted before seeing her face.

He knew when she skipped meals.

Knew when her visions left her shaking afterward even if she told no one.

And beneath all of it sat the constant pressure of restraint. Two people holding a door closed with both hands because opening it would ruin everything they’d built separately.

“You love her,” Orin said gently.

Theron laughed once without humor. “That’s hardly new information.”

“No.”

“And it doesn’t matter.”

“You don’t believe that.”

“It can’t matter.”

Orin studied him for a long second. “Because of the vow?”

“Yes.”

“And because she chose it.”

Theron said nothing.

That silence answered enough.

Orin moved closer to the hearth, adjusting one of the logs with his boot. “You know,” he said carefully, “there’s a difference between respecting someone’s choice and punishing yourself with it.”

Theron frowned slightly. “That sounded rehearsed.”

“I’m wise now.”

“You’re thirty-four.”

“Ancient by wolf standards.”

“That explains the dramatic tone.”

Orin grinned faintly before sobering again.

“She cares about you,” he said. “You know that too.”

Theron looked down at his hands.

Split knuckles. Healing cuts.

Blood still dried faintly beneath one nail.

“Knowing doesn’t help much.”

“No,” Orin admitted. “Usually not.”

Another silence.

Not uncomfortable.

Just heavy.

Orin had always been easy to sit beside without performing strength.

Theron couldn’t remember when exactly that trust started. Years ago. During the border raids maybe. Before leadership swallowed the rest of his life whole.

“You should rest today,” Orin said eventually.

“I have council hearings.”

“You could postpone them.”

“They’d interpret that as weakness.”

“You coughed blood into your hand ten minutes ago.”

“I’m still sitting upright.”

“That is an aggressively low standard.”

Theron ignored him.

The strange sensation beneath his skin pulsed again briefly.

Not pain.

Wrongness.

His fingers tightened slightly against the blanket.

Orin caught the movement immediately. “Still there?”

Theron nodded once.

“Dizzy?”

“No.”

“Cold?”

“No.”

“Headaches?”

“Occasionally.”

“Vision changes?”

“No.”

Orin considered that. “Maybe your body’s still adjusting.”

“Maybe.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“I don’t like uncertainty.”

“That’s because you’re controlling.”

Theron looked unimpressed. “You say that like it’s news.”

“I say it because you keep trying to survive entirely through stubbornness.”

“So far it’s worked.”

“Debatable.”

A knock sounded at the outer chamber door before either could continue.

Theron closed his eyes briefly. “Come in.”

One of the younger guards stepped inside carefully. “Alpha. Elder Varek is asking for you.”

“Of course he is.”

The guard hesitated. “He seemed… irritated.”

Orin snorted softly. “That narrows it down to every interaction Varek has ever had.”

The guard tried not to laugh.

Theron stood slowly this time, waiting out the brief dizziness before reaching for his coat hanging near the bedpost.

Orin watched him in silence for a second before speaking.

“You don’t always have to carry things alone.”

Theron pulled the coat on carefully over his injured side. “I’m aware.”

“No. You say that. Different thing.”

The guard shifted awkwardly near the door like he regretted entering this conversation at all.

Theron glanced toward him. “Tell Varek I’ll be there shortly.”

“Yes, Alpha.”

The door shut again.

Orin crossed the room and held out the small leather flask from the tray. “Herb tonic.”

Theron stared at it.

“Drink it,” Orin said.

“It smells unfortunate.”

“It is unfortunate. That’s how you know it works.”

Theron took the flask reluctantly and swallowed once.

Immediate regret.

“That tastes cursed.”

Orin looked deeply satisfied. “Excellent.”

“You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Probably.”

Theron handed the flask back with narrowed eyes. “If I die from poisoning, I’m haunting you specifically.”

“I’ll take the risk.”

A faint smile tugged briefly at Theron’s mouth before fading again.

The room quieted.

Orin’s expression softened slightly as he looked at him.

“You’re allowed to be affected by what happened,” he said quietly.

Theron leaned one shoulder against the bedpost. “I know.”

“You don’t have to recover immediately just because everyone expects steadiness from you.”

“That’s the role.”

“That’s survival,” Orin corrected. “Not the same thing.”

Theron looked away toward the frost-clouded window again.

Outside, the pack was already awake. Rebuilding. Training. Continuing.

Depending on him to remain solid.

The strange thing was he usually could.

Usually the weight made sense.

This didn’t.

The battle replayed in fragments every time he closed his eyes. Garrick lunging forward. Magic tearing through the courtyard. The instinctive pull toward the bond before thought fully caught up.

And underneath it all, one terrible truth he still couldn’t fully examine.

Part of him had liked the power.

Not the violence.

The connection.

The feeling of reaching for Eryndra and finding her there instantly.

No distance. No restraint. No silence.

Just certainty.

Theron rubbed a hand slowly over the back of his neck.

“You’re thinking too loudly again,” Orin said.

“That’s not a real sentence.”

“It is when your face looks like that.”

Theron exhaled quietly through his nose.

Then, after a long pause, he said the thing he hadn’t intended to say at all.

“For one second during the fight… it felt easy.”

Orin didn’t speak.

“The bond,” Theron clarified roughly. “Using it.”

That earned silence for several more seconds.

Finally Orin asked, very carefully, “And that scares you?”

“Yes.”

Orin nodded once.

Not judgmental.

Not alarmed.

Just listening.

Then he stepped closer, rested a firm hand briefly against Theron’s shoulder, and said quietly, “I think surviving something impossible is allowed to feel relieving before it feels frightening.”

The words settled heavily in the room.

Theron looked at him for a long moment.

And for the first time since the battle ended, some small part of the pressure in his chest loosened enough for him to breathe around it.