"I should want him to suffer. But the bond doesn't care what I want — only what I feel."
---
I dressed in silence, pulling on a soft cotton tunic that felt too loose against my skin, as if I'd been withering away these past few days without noticing. My fingers trembled slightly as I laced up my boots, each movement deliberate, focusing on the simple task to avoid thinking about the silver light that had pulsed beneath my skin all night. The leather was worn but comfortable, molded to my feet from years of wear—one of the few familiar things I had left.
The Elder wing was quiet, the usual morning footsteps muffled today. No doors opening and closing. No hushed conversations about Council matters. No apprentices rushing with scrolls and messages. It was as if the hall itself knew I was volatile now—sensitive to sound, to presence, to energy—and decided to give me space.
Or perhaps they were avoiding me.
I paused at my door, palm flat against the wood grain, counting heartbeats, making sure the silver light didn't leak through my fingertips. Control. I needed control before stepping into view of watchful eyes.
But as I stepped into the corridor, I stopped.
A pair of voices drifted from the far end of the hall—low, clipped, tense. The kind of voices people use when they're discussing something they don't want overheard. The kind that immediately makes you listen harder.
I recognized one immediately.
Elder Mirella. Her voice was distinctive—rich and authoritative, with the slightest accent from the Northern Territories. I'd only spoken with her twice since arriving, but her presence lingered long after she left a room.
"She's accelerating faster than we projected," she said, concern evident in every syllable. "The energy readings from her chambers last night were off the charts. Kalin says the instruments nearly shattered."
"She hasn't lost control yet," came a second voice—Elder Thorne. Cooler, more measured. The voice of a man who prided himself on logic above emotion. I'd disliked him on sight when he'd assessed me upon arrival, his eyes clinical and detached as they cataloged my "symptoms."
"That's not the same as being in control." Mirella's words cut through the air. "You've seen the readings. You've read the old texts. No Moon Healer has manifested this rapidly in recorded history."
"She's stabilizing." Thorne sounded almost bored, but I could detect the tension underneath. "The pattern shows clearer intention, less chaotic discharge."
"She's connected to a deteriorating Alpha. If his wolf snaps, she could collapse with him."
My throat tightened, the air suddenly too thick to breathe properly. I pressed myself against the wall, heart hammering against my ribs like it might break free. The stone felt cool against my back, anchoring me as the implications of their words sank in.
Collapse with him?
Was that what I felt at night? The pressure? The fire? The ache I pretended was just exhaustion? The silver light responding not just to my emotions but to his deterioration? My stomach churned at the thought.
Is that what I'd become—a ticking bomb tied to his unraveling mind?
"We should separate them further," Mirella continued, her voice growing fainter as they moved down the corridor. "There are ways to dampen the connection temporarily—"
"And risk destabilizing her completely? I don't agree with you," Thorne interrupted. "The theories suggest—"
Their voices faded as they turned a corner, leaving me alone with fragmented knowledge and growing dread.
I moved quickly, my boots light on the stone as I turned toward the library instead of the dining hall where I was expected for breakfast. I couldn't face their scrutiny now. Couldn't pretend I hadn't heard what they'd said. Couldn't feign ignorance while they watched me for signs of... what? Madness? Power? Both?
The library doors were heavy oak, carved with the symbols of the Old Language—wolves and moons and stars interwoven in patterns that told stories if you knew how to read them. I traced one spiral with my fingertip, finding comfort in the familiar ritual. My mother had taught me to do this before entering sacred spaces. "Show respect," she'd whispered. "These symbols have power older than any of us."
I pulled the door open and slipped inside, breathing in the comforting scent of leather bindings, dust, and the faint, lingering trace of the herbs used to preserve the oldest texts. Morning light filtered through tall windows, catching dust motes that danced like tiny stars in the beams.
I found peace among the shelves.
Books didn't whisper about prophecy or danger. They didn't look at me like I might explode. They just sat, silent and waiting, ready to offer answers to those patient enough to seek them.
Unlike humans. Unlike wolves. Unlike Kael.
The library was blissfully empty this early—the scholars and apprentices wouldn't arrive until after the morning meal. I moved deeper into the stacks, fingers trailing along the spines, letting intuition guide me. The section on bonds and magical theory was in the eastern corner, partially hidden behind a massive celestial globe that mapped the night sky from centuries ago.
I flipped through old scrolls about bonds, about magical rebound, about severing rituals. The parchment crackled beneath my fingers, delicate with age. Some of the texts were written in languages I couldn't read, their angular script curving like claw marks across the page. Others contained diagrams of wolves with glowing threads connecting them, diagrams of broken bonds bleeding silver and gold.
Hours passed as I searched, the light changing as the sun climbed higher, then began its descent. My eyes burned. My back ached from hunching over the texts. But I kept reading, desperate for something that might explain what was happening to me. To Kael. To us.
There was one passage that stopped me cold:
"A bond with a Moon Healer may weaken, twist, or fade, but it cannot be truly broken unless both wolves release it willingly. If one clings, the other suffers. If both do… they burn together."
The words burned into my mind, stark and terrible in their simplicity.
I slammed the book shut, my hands trembling.
He's holding on.
Kael hadn't let me go.
Despite his rejection. Despite his cruel words. Despite leaving me broken in the forest.
Some part of him—his wolf, perhaps, or his subconscious—was still clinging to our bond. Still refusing to completely sever what the Goddess had joined.
And I...
I wasn't sure I had let him go either.
The silver light rippled beneath my skin at the admission, responding to the truth I'd been avoiding. My anger was real. My hurt was justified. But somewhere beneath it all, I was still holding on too. Still feeling him through the bond. Still responding to his pain.
Still caring.
"Damn him," I whispered, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes until spots danced in the darkness. "Damn him for doing this to us."
I gathered the books and returned them to their places, careful to erase all evidence of my search. The Council didn't need to know what I'd learned—not yet. Not until I understood what it meant for me. For my future.
For our survival.
By the time I returned to my room, the sky had gone cloudy. The air was thick with static—not from weather, but from something else. Something building. My skin prickled with it, the fine hairs on my arms standing on end. Even the stone walls seemed to hum with tension, as if the entire building were holding its breath.
I closed the door behind me and leaned against it, surveying my temporary sanctuary. Everything looked as I'd left it—bed neatly made, books stacked on the desk, the revived flower still blooming impossibly bright in its vase.
But something felt different. Wrong.
The bond flared.
Hard.
One moment I was standing, and the next I was on the floor, my knees having buckled beneath me. My chest squeezed like it was being crushed from the inside out. I gasped, clutching at the floor, silver light flashing in my palms uncontrollably, spilling across the stone like liquid mercury. The pain was unlike anything I'd felt before—sharper than rejection, deeper than grief.
This was agony. Pure and primal.
And it wasn't mine.
Kael was in pain.
Real pain.
Not emotional. Physical.
Something was wrong.
Through the haze of shared suffering, I could feel his wolf—wild with panic, thrashing against constraints both physical and mental. I could taste blood in my mouth, though I hadn't bitten my tongue. I could feel fire in my veins, though my skin was ice cold.
He wasn't just suffering.
He was dying.
"No," I gasped, dragging myself to the bed, pulling my body across the floor when my legs refused to support me. "No, no, no—"
My wolf clawed at my insides, howling, desperate to break free. Her panic was even greater than mine, her instincts screaming what my mind wanted to deny.
GO TO HIM.
FIND HIM.
SAVE HIM.
She threw herself against the cage of my ribs, demanding action, demanding transformation, demanding that I acknowledge what she already knew: mate bonds don't break. They bend. They stretch. They tear. But something always remains. And what remained between Kael and me was killing him.
And if he died...what would happen to me? Would I collapse as Elder Mirella feared? Would my new powers devour me from within? Would I become something worse than dead—a living shell, magic without purpose, a Moon Healer without a tether to the world?
But why should I care?
Why should I give anything more to the man who broke me? Who looked me in the eyes and told me I wasn't enough? Who walked away while I bled silver tears into the earth?
Why should I risk what little I had left for him?
My answer came not in words—but in instinct.
My hands ignited fully, silver glowing brighter than ever before. It didn't stop at my wrists this time. It crawled up my arms, spreading across my shoulders, encasing my throat in cool, liquid light. It poured from my eyes, my mouth, my very pores. The room filled with an unearthly glow, throwing strange shadows against the walls.
And this time... they didn't fade.
The light seemed to have substance now—a weight, a direction, a purpose. It gathered around me like a second skin, responding to something deeper than conscious thought.
Through the bond, I felt Kael weaken further. His heartbeat stuttered. His breath grew shallow. His wolf keened in desperation.
What had happened to him? Had the Council found him? Had they decided he was too dangerous to let live? Or had his own pack turned on him when they sensed his instability?
I didn't know. And in that moment, it didn't matter.