"The bond was supposed to die when he rejected me. Then why does it still pulse inside me?"
⸻
The walk to the Elder's chamber was silent, but nothing about it felt calm.
I followed Elder Thorne down a narrow stone corridor lit only by flickering wall torches. The deeper we descended beneath the great hall, the colder the air became — heavy with centuries of secrets and old magic. I wrapped my cloak tighter around myself, though I wasn't sure if the chill I felt was from the air… or from within.
The walls around us seemed to press closer with each step, centuries-old stone worn smooth by countless footsteps before mine. How many others had walked this same path? How many had been summoned like me, their hearts pounding with the uncertainty I now felt? I tried to slow my breathing, to appear composed despite the storm raging inside me. The events of the Moon Ceremony replayed in my mind on an endless loop — Kael's cold eyes, the collective gasp of the pack, the shame burning through me like acid.
Every few steps, my hands would twitch, warmth pricking beneath my skin like something just under the surface was trying to escape. The silver sparks hadn't returned, but the pressure was still there.
Like a second heartbeat I couldn't silence.
I flexed my fingers, trying to dispel the strange tingling sensation. It had started the moment Kael had turned away from me, a peculiar warmth spreading from my chest to my fingertips. At first, I'd attributed it to humiliation, to the rush of blood that comes with public rejection. But this was something else entirely — something alien yet strangely familiar, as though a part of me had been sleeping all these years and was now stretching awake.
Elder Thorne said nothing as he led me. But once — just once — I caught him glancing at me sideways, his expression unreadable. His weathered face, usually stern but fair when dealing with pack matters, now held something I couldn't quite name. Was it concern? Suspicion? Or something deeper — something like recognition?
The torchlight cast long shadows across his features, deepening the lines around his eyes that spoke of centuries of wisdom and burden. As one of the oldest members of the Council, Thorne had seen generations of wolves come and go. What was I to him? Just another problem to solve, or something more significant?
We passed several branching corridors, each disappearing into darkness. I'd never been this deep beneath the pack house before. The main levels were familiar — the great hall where we gathered for ceremonies, the training grounds where alphas and betas honed their skills, the healing quarters where I had spent most of my time learning basic remedies under the tutelage of our pack healer. But this... these hidden depths were forbidden to most pack members, especially lowly omegas like me.
The air grew thicker, heavier with each step, carrying the faint scent of burning sage and something else — something ancient that made my wolf stir restlessly within me. She had been unusually quiet since the rejection, as though nursing her own wounds, but now I felt her attention sharpen, her senses heightening in response to our surroundings
We stopped at a thick wooden door carved with ancient runes. Symbols I recognized from old pack texts — protection, truth, judgment — were etched deep into the wood, pulsing with a faint blue energy that seemed to respond to Elder Thorne's presence. He raised his hand and pressed it flat against the center, whispering something I didn't understand.
The words weren't in any language I knew, older than the common tongue or even the ceremonial language used during pack rituals. They resonated in the narrow corridor, making the air vibrate around us, and for a brief moment, the runes glowed brighter, as if acknowledging his right to enter.
The door unlocked with a click and swung open on its own.
This isn't a meeting, I thought. It's an interrogation.
My heart skipped a beat, but I squared my shoulders. What more could they possibly do to me? I had already endured the worst humiliation imaginable. Being rejected by your fated mate in front of the entire pack — nothing could surpass that pain.
Or so I thought.
The chamber was circular, domed, and lined with moonstone tiles. The floor was inscribed with glowing symbols that pulsed with faint blue light. At the center sat three high-backed chairs of ashwood — the seats of the Elders.
The ceiling arched high above us, creating the illusion of being directly beneath the night sky despite being deep underground. Moonstone tiles captured and reflected light in a way that mimicked the phases of the moon, currently displaying the waning crescent that matched the actual moon outside. The effect was both beautiful and unsettling — as though the Moon Goddess herself was watching our proceedings from every angle.
I had heard rumors of this place, of course. The Chamber of Judgment, some called it. The Heart of the Pack, others whispered. A sacred space where the most important pack decisions were made, where ancient rites were performed, where truth could not be concealed. No ordinary wolf had any business being here, which only heightened my apprehension.
Elder Mirella, Elder Ren, and Elder Thorne took their places.
Mirella, the only female Elder, was striking even in her advanced years. Silver hair pulled back in a severe knot, spine straight as a blade, eyes the color of winter frost. They said she had been a formidable warrior in her youth, one of the few female alphas to lead a border patrol. Now, her power manifested differently — in the weight of her words, in the sharpness of her gaze.
Beside her, Elder Ren was a contrast in every way — darker, leaner, with eyes that seemed to see beyond what was visible. The pack historian and keeper of records, it was said he knew the bloodline of every wolf in our territory, could recite the lineage of our pack back twenty generations. His fingers were stained with ink, his shoulders slightly stooped from decades bent over ancient texts.
Elder Thorne took the final seat, completing the triangle of power. In the enhanced lighting of the chamber, I could better see the subtle marks of concern on his face. Something about this situation troubled him deeply.
I stood in the center of the circle, every inch of me exposed to their scrutiny.
The symbols beneath my feet seemed to respond to my presence, pulsing slightly brighter whenever I shifted my weight. I tried to stand perfectly still, afraid of what any movement might reveal.
"Evelyn Hart," Elder Mirella said first, her voice crisp and unyielding. "Do you know why you've been summoned?"
Her voice carried perfectly in the chamber, neither echoing nor fading. The acoustics were clearly designed for truth to be heard without distortion.
"No," I answered truthfully. My voice was quiet but steady. I didn't let it waver.
I had spent years perfecting this — the art of appearing smaller than I was, of speaking just loudly enough to be heard without drawing attention. It was how omegas survived in a pack hierarchy that valued strength above all else. Don't stand out. Don't challenge. Appear harmless.
"You were rejected during the Moon Ceremony," she continued. "Publicly. In front of the entire Crescent Fang Pack."
The bluntness of her statement reopened the wound. I could almost hear the collective intake of breath again, feel the weight of hundreds of eyes on me as Kael spoke those words: I reject this match. She is not worthy of the Alpha line.
I nodded once. The memory was still a fresh wound.
"The mate bond should have severed," she said. "But it didn't."
A cold chill traced down my spine. "What do you mean?"
The implications of her words hit me like a physical blow. The mate bond was supposed to be sacred, unbreakable once formed. But rejection before completion was possible — painful, yes, but final. The connection should have dissolved completely, allowing both wolves to eventually find another, if not a true mate, then at least a compatible partner.
But if the bond hadn't severed...
"There was a magical disturbance in the ritual space," Elder Ren spoke now, his voice sharper. "Residual energy. Unstable. The bond was initiated — and fractured — but not broken."
I stared at them. "That's not possible."
My mind raced through everything I knew about mate bonds from my limited education. We were taught the basics as pups — how the Moon Goddess blessed certain pairs, how the connection formed during the first meeting after both wolves reached maturity, how rejection was rare but possible before consummation. But never had I heard of a bond remaining after rejection.
"Not for most," Thorne said. "But you... are not most."
I opened my mouth, then closed it.
"What happened after you left the circle?" Mirella asked. "Be precise."
I hesitated.
The chamber seemed to grow silent, the air heavy with expectation. Even the pulsing symbols beneath my feet slowed, as if waiting for my answer. The three pairs of eyes fixed on me felt like physical pressure, pushing against my natural instinct to deflect, to hide, to protect myself.
I thought of lying — just saying I collapsed and slept for two days. But their eyes were too sharp, too expectant. They already knew something. They were testing me.