Bound by Midnight blood

“Cry, and I’ll give you something real to cry about.” The belt cracks across my back before I can flinch. My jaw tightens, breath caught in my throat, but I stay silent. That’s the first rule in this house—don’t make a sound. If you do, it only gets worse. The sting settles into my skin like a bruise made of fire. I’ve stopped counting how many times he’s done this. Pain used to make me cry. Now it just reminds me I’m still alive. Barely. His shadow looms over me, reeking of stale beer, cigarettes, and that strange, rotting scent of cruelty that never quite washes off. His fingers grip my chin, forcing me to look up at him. I stare back with hollow eyes. There’s nothing left to give him. “You’re not special,” he sneers. “You think some wolf is going to save you? Mate bonds don’t mean s**t when you’re damaged goods.” I want to scream. Not because I believe him—but because part of me does. But instead, I bite the inside of my cheek and say nothing. He shoves me back, and I stumble, catching myself against the wall. I don’t fall. I never fall. He laughs, like it’s a joke only he understands, and strides out the door. A few seconds later, the engine of his truck roars to life, and he’s gone. For now. I sink to the floor, knees to my chest, forehead resting on the cool tile. My shoulder aches, my back throbs, but I don’t cry. Not even now. It’s become a point of pride. My silence is all I own. This house is my prison. And I’ve stopped pretending there’s anyone coming to save me. They say every wolf gets a mate. They say the bond is unbreakable—something sacred and eternal. But I don’t even know if my wolf exists. If she does, she’s silent. Sleeping. Or maybe too scared to come out. Sometimes I talk to her in my head. Beg her to wake up. To rip him apart. But all I ever feel is stillness. A void. Maybe she’s dead. Or maybe I am. It’s always cold here. Even in summer, the house never feels warm. Maybe it’s haunted. Maybe the ghosts are just waiting for me to join them. I curl up on the floor and stare at the cracks in the ceiling. They spread out like veins, like roots. Like escape routes I’ll never reach. My mother is dead. My sister ran away years ago and never looked back. I don’t blame her. I wish I could disappear too. But I’m still here. Six more months. Just six more until I turn eighteen. Until I can leave legally, freely, and no one—not even him—can stop me. But I know better. People like him don’t follow rules. He’ll never let me go. Still, I dream of freedom. Of finding whoever it is that’s meant to be mine. Of someone touching me without hurting. Holding me without control. Loving me without pain. I’ve seen him. In dreams. Silver eyes that pierce through the dark. A voice that sounds like thunder wrapped in velvet. He doesn’t speak, but I feel everything. The fury. The protectiveness. The pull. I don’t know who he is. Maybe a ghost. Maybe fate. Maybe my mate. But every night, he watches me from the shadows of my mind. And every morning, I wake up a little less broken. He’s out there. I know it. And when he finds me, everything will burn.