"It wasn't chains that trapped me here. It was something much worse. Something I still wanted."
The door clicked shut behind the Elders, the sound hollow and final like a slammed tomb. The ancient oak panel settled into its frame with a weight that seemed to seal my fate.
For a moment, the silence that followed wasn't silence at all — it was alive.
It pulsed between Kael and me, thick and heavy, stretching across the space like a taut, invisible thread. The bond trembled, still raw, still dangerous, still burning somewhere low in my stomach. It coiled there, a living thing with teeth and claws that neither of us had asked for, yet neither could deny.
I didn't move. My feet felt rooted to the polished stone floor, my muscles locked in a silent battle between flight and surrender.
Neither did he. His massive frame was silhouetted against the dying light streaming through the stained-glass windows, casting fragments of colored shadow across his face. Even in stillness, power emanated from him in waves that crashed against my defenses.
My chest rose and fell slowly, evenly, but inside, a storm raged. The calm exterior I'd fought to maintain throughout the Elders' interrogation was crumbling with each passing heartbeat.
He called me his mate.
Not omega, a term they'd spat at me like venom throughtout my entire life.
Not burden, whispered behind hands when they thought I couldn't hear.
Not weakness, as Kael himself had snarled that day.
Mate.
And the way he'd said it — not softly, not lovingly — but like it was a fact etched into his very bones. Like the earth turning or the moon rising. An immutable truth that had existed before either of us had drawn breath and would continue long after we were gone.
As if denying it was no longer an option for either of us.
I swallowed hard, the weight of the word sinking deeper than I wanted it to. It settled in my core, spreading warmth and dread in equal measure.
Kael finally lifted his head, his eyes locking onto mine across the chamber.
No barriers.
No walls.
Just... him.
The Alpha who now refused to let me go, even when his council demanded it.
"You should rest," he said finally, his voice low, raw at the edges. The rumble of it seemed to vibrate through the stones beneath my feet, through the very air between us.
I arched a brow, summoning what little defiance I had left. "Rest? After that charming little gathering?" My voice betrayed me, a slight tremor revealing the fear I'd fought to conceal during the council's judgment. They'd looked at me like something to be eliminated, a threat to their precious bloodlines.
The corner of his mouth twitched — not a smile, but something close enough to make my heart trip in my chest. That small, almost imperceptible movement revealed a glimpse of the man beneath the Alpha, beneath the ruler they all feared and respected.
"You'll need your strength," he said, stepping closer. His boots made no sound on the stone floor, a predator's silent approach. "Staying here won't be easy."
His meaning was clear.
Not a threat.
A warning.
The real battle hadn't even begun yet. The Elders might have retreated, but they hadn't surrendered. Their cold eyes had promised retribution, arrangements, solutions to the problem I represented.
"I don't need your protection," I said, straightening my shoulders, drawing myself up to my full height though it was still woefully inadequate beside his towering frame.
"You may not want it," he said, another step closer, the distance between us shrinking until I could smell the pine and smoke scent of him, "but you have it."
The bond flared, unbidden, tightening like a leash between us. I felt it pull, an invisible hook behind my navel drawing me toward him. My wolf, dormant since the claiming, stirred beneath my skin, recognizing her mate despite all my human objections.
I clenched my hands into fists at my sides, trying to hold onto the fragile threads of my composure. My nails bit into my palms, the sharp pain grounding me against the tide of the bond's insistence.
"You don't get to decide that anymore," I said, my voice sharp. As if I could sever our connection with words alone.
Kael's eyes darkened, storm clouds gathering in their depths. I watched his pupils dilate, the ring of amber around them flaring briefly—his wolf responding to mine.
"No," he agreed softly, almost to himself. "But neither do you."
He was too close now — just a few feet away. The heat of him seeped into the cold air, wrapping around me, pulling at the pieces I thought I had stitched back together after he'd torn me apart. His presence made the room smaller, the air thinner, every sense heightened until I could hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, slower than mine, steadier.
I turned away before he could see too much — too much anger, too much pain, too much want. The last was the most dangerous, a betrayal from within that the bond fed upon, nurtured, strengthened with every passing day.
The room he'd given me was beautiful in a way that hurt. Not the sparse quarters of a prisoner, but the chambers befitting someone of importance. Someone who belonged.
Soft velvet drapes in deep forest green hung from ceiling to floor, framing windows that overlooked the valley below, now bathed in the golden light of sunset.
Heavy wooden furniture, carved with the pack's symbols—wolves running beneath a crescent moon—anchored the space. A desk, a wardrobe, a dressing table with a silver mirror that reflected my tired, wary face.
A fire already lit in the stone hearth, as if someone had known I'd need it. The flames cast dancing shadows across the walls, warm and welcoming despite everything.
It wasn't a prison.
It was worse.
A cage made of comfort.
A trap made of safety.
Because safety with Kael was a lie. I'd seen what he could do. What he had done. The memory of that night still woke me in the night, sweat-soaked and trembling.
I crossed to the bed and ran my fingers over the heavy quilt folded neatly at the foot. Silver thread catching the firelight, woven through midnight blue fabric. A pattern of a crescent moon surrounded by stars—the night sky captured in textile.
"I'll have someone bring you food," he said behind me. His voice was carefully neutral now, the Alpha mask firmly back in place.
I didn't answer. What was there to say? Thank you for not letting them kill me? Thank you for the pretty prison? Thank you for the bond that tied me to this place against my will?
He waited. Waited for me to say something — anything. The silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken words.
When I didn't break it, he exhaled, a soft sound of frustration and something else that rippled through the bond.
Regret?
No.
Not Kael.
He didn't regret things.
He endured them.
He shouldered burdens without complaint, carried the weight of an entire pack's future on his broad shoulders.
"I'll leave you to settle," he said finally, the words clipped, precise.
His footsteps moved toward the door — but he hesitated at the threshold. I could feel his gaze on my back, heavy as a physical touch.
I didn't turn to look at him.
I couldn't.
Because if I did — if I met his eyes — I knew I'd see it.
The bond.
The unspoken thing growing between us, thick and wild and merciless.
Something that had nothing to do with choice.
And everything to do with need.
The door closed softly behind him, the latch catching with a quiet snick that somehow felt more final than if he'd slammed it.
And only then did I let myself sag onto the edge of the bed, burying my face in my hands. My fingers trembled against my skin, and I realized I'd been holding my breath.
You should hate him, my mind whispered.
You should leave.
You should run.
But instead, all I could think about was the way his voice had broken slightly when he'd said my name before the Elders. The fierce protectiveness that had radiated from him when the oldest among them had suggested severing the bond—a process I knew meant death for one or both of us.
The way his hands had trembled when he'd stood between me and the Elders, not with fear but with the effort of restraint.
The way the bond still hummed under my skin like a song I didn't know the words to — but somehow knew by heart. It pulsed in time with my heartbeat, a constant reminder of what we'd become to each other.
I sat there for a long time, letting the fire warm my frozen fingers, letting the silence wrap around me like a second skin. The light outside faded from gold to purple to deep blue, stars emerging one by one.
My world had narrowed to this room, this moment, this impossible situation. Freedom seemed like a distant memory, a dream I'd once had.
And when I finally lay down, curling beneath the heavy silver-stitched quilt, I didn't dream of the stars that had once been my only constant companions.
I dreamed of storm-gray eyes that saw too much.
Of a voice that said my name like a promise kept against all odds.
Of hands that could destroy — or save.
And somewhere in the dream, in the aching, endless dark, a whisper that might have been his voice or might have been the bond itself:
Mine.
Not a threat.
Not a claim.
A confession.