The next morning, I woke to a strange sensation.
Heat.
Not fever. Not magic.
Just... his anger.
It rolled through me like a summer storm, hot and electric and suffocating. My sheets were tangled around my legs, damp with sweat. My heart hammered against my ribs as if trying to break free. For a moment, I was disoriented, convinced the room was on fire—but it was only inside me, only the bond flaring to life with borrowed rage.
It pulsed through the bond like an echo, rattling against my ribs. He was shouting—not with words I could hear, but energy. Explosive, frustrated, violent. His wolf was rising inside him, scratching against the walls of his skin.
I could almost see him—pacing like a caged animal, fists clenched, eyes flashing between human gray and wolf silver. The Alpha who prided himself on discipline, on perfect control at all times, was being consumed by something primal and unstoppable.
I sat upright, gasping.
My hands flew to my throat, which felt tight, constricted. It took me a moment to realize the sensation wasn't mine—it was his. The feeling of something inside fighting to get out, of transformation blocked, of nature being denied its course.
He can't shift.
The realization landed hard.
Shifting was as natural to wolves as breathing. It was release, freedom, connection to our most primal selves. To be trapped in human form, to feel the wolf clawing to emerge but being unable to let it free—it was one of the worst punishments imaginable.
I could feel it—the pressure building inside him. His wolf was being caged. Not by chains or magic, but by imbalance. The bond had frayed, but not broken. And now it was poisoning him.
The fractured connection between us had disrupted something fundamental in his nature. The perfect synthesis between man and wolf that made Alphas so powerful was coming undone. His wolf was fighting him, turning against its human half, becoming something separate and hostile.
He was suffering.
And he didn't know why.
That was perhaps the cruelest part of it all. He had no idea that rejecting me—his true mate, —had caused this. He was experiencing the symptoms without understanding the cause. Fighting a battle against his own nature without knowing why it had turned on him.
My hands trembled.
Faint silver light flickered between my fingers, responding to my heightened emotions. The power inside me was growing stronger, more responsive, as if feeding off the turmoil in the bond. I stared at the silvery glow, watching it dance across my skin like liquid moonlight.
Could I heal him if I wanted to? Could I reach through this twisted bond and soothe the war raging inside him?
I didn't want to care.
After what he had done to me, after how he had treated me, he deserved to suffer. He deserved to know what it felt like to be rejected by your own self, to have your identity torn in two. He deserved every moment of agony, every second of confusion, every hour of lost control.
But I did.
The admission felt like surrender. A weakness I couldn't afford. But it was undeniable—behind the vindication, behind the bitter satisfaction, behind the anger, there was still something inside me that responded to his pain. Something that recognized him as mine, despite everything.
Even after everything—the humiliation, the rejection, the abandonment—my wolf still felt the echo of his. She still stirred when he did. She still felt the hurt.
She whined inside me, distressed by the suffering bleeding through the bond. True mates were sacred to wolves—it was instinct, bone-deep and ancient, to protect and care for your other half. Even when that half had thrown you away like garbage.
And I hated her for it.
I hated myself for it.
The weakness made me furious. What was wrong with me? Why couldn't I simply enjoy his suffering? Why did part of me still yearn to reach through the bond, to soothe, to heal, to make whole what had been broken?
Was I really so pathetic? So desperate for scraps of connection that I would still care for someone who had crushed me without a second thought?
I stood, shaking, and made my way to the mirror. My eyes were darker than usual. Not tired—shadowed. As if something inside me was changing the very color of my irises. My skin shimmered faintly under the lamplight, not from sweat but from energy I couldn't contain.
I looked... different. Not dramatically so, but subtly changed. There was a luminosity to my skin that hadn't been there before, a clarity to my gaze that spoke of something awakening. I was still me—still Evelyn, still the overlooked omega—but something else was emerging, something stronger, something ancient.
The Moon Healer power was growing.
And the bond was trying to pull me back toward him.
I could feel it—a tug behind my ribs, urging me toward the door, toward the forest, toward the main pack house where Kael would be struggling against his nature. The mating instinct, corrupted but still active, pushing me to go to him, to heal, to save.
No.
He doesn't deserve it.
Let him break.
I turned away from the mirror, from the stranger with silver-flecked eyes looking back at me. I wouldn't give in to this. I wouldn't run to the aid of the wolf who had deemed me unworthy. Let him suffer. Let him learn what it meant to reject what the Moon Goddess herself had chosen.
Let him fall apart while I grew stronger.
Later that day, Keeper Alira returned. She brought food—not the simple fare I was used to, but rich, nourishing dishes clearly chosen with care. A hearty stew rich with herbs known to support healing abilities. Fresh bread still warm from the oven. Berries and honey for sweetness.
She set the tray on the small table near the window, which I had finally reopened once I had my emotions under control. The forest beyond was bathed in afternoon light, the mist having burned off to reveal the beauty of Crescent Fang territory.
"How are you feeling today?" she asked, her voice gentle but direct. There was no pity in her tone, which I appreciated. Just genuine interest.
I shrugged, not trusting myself to speak. The chaos from the bond had subsided slightly, but it was still there—a dull throbbing behind my thoughts, like a storm temporarily quieted but still gathering strength.
She asked quiet questions I mostly ignored. About how I had slept. If I had noticed any changes in my abilities. If I had experienced any unusual sensations. I gave noncommittal answers, unwilling to reveal how much I could feel of Kael's suffering, how the bond between us was evolving into something neither of us had expected.
She offered books on healing, transformation, even meditation—which I shoved under my pillow without opening. I wasn't ready to embrace this new identity, this power that had awakened at the worst possible moment. I wasn't ready to consider that I might have responsibilities beyond my own pain.
She didn't push.
There was a patience to her that spoke of experience with reluctant students, with wolves struggling to accept unexpected destinies. She moved around the room with practiced ease, straightening items on the table, adjusting the curtains to let in more light, placing fresh towels near the small adjoining washroom.
But as she turned to leave, she paused in the doorway and said softly, "The Alpha is unwell."
Four simple words that sent a jolt through me. So it wasn't just what I was feeling through the bond. Others had noticed. Kael's deterioration was becoming visible to the pack.
I didn't respond.
I kept my face carefully blank, though my heart raced. Had they connected his condition to me yet? Did they suspect that the rejection was the cause? Or were they still searching for answers, unaware that the solution stood right before them?
She didn't need me to.
The knowing look in her eyes told me she understood more than she was saying. Whether the Elders had confided in her or she had pieced it together herself, Keeper Alira was fully aware of the connection between Kael's suffering and my awakening.
"We thought you should know," she added, then slipped away, leaving her words hanging like smoke in the room.
The door closed with a soft click, and I was alone again with the implications of what she had said. The pack was worried about their Alpha. His condition was serious enough that even I—the rejected mate, the omega suddenly under observation—was being informed.
Was it a plea for help? A subtle request for me to exercise my newfound abilities? Or simply information shared because they thought I had a right to know?
I picked at the food she had brought, finding little appetite despite the delicious smells. My mind was too busy, too conflicted. Part of me—the part that had endured years of being overlooked and undervalued—wanted to savor the knowledge that the mighty Alpha was falling. But another part—the healer, the mate, the wolf bound by instinct and fate—ached with the wrongness of it all.
As night fell, I curled up on the window seat, watching the moon rise above the forest. Its light bathed my skin, and I felt my power responding, stirring beneath the surface like a living thing. The moonlight seemed to sink into me, feeding whatever ancient bloodline had awakened in my veins.
In the distance, a wolf howled—a sound of such anguish it made my hair stand on end.
Kael.
I knew it was him. Knew it with a certainty that transcended logic. That was my mate's voice, twisted with pain and confusion. The bond between us vibrated with the sound, carrying his suffering straight to my core.
That night, I dreamed of him.
Not memories. Not fantasies.
Just eyes—silver and stormy, watching me through shadows. I could feel his pain like it was stitched into my skin. Hear his breath catch. See his jaw clench. He was trying to fight it—the bond, the madness, the need.
In the dream, we stood facing each other across an endless void. He reached for me, his expression a mix of fury and desperation. His lips formed words I couldn't hear. His wolf prowled behind him, separated from him somehow, no longer an integrated part of his being but a distinct entity, snarling and thrashing against invisible chains.
I remained just out of reach, my own hands glowing with silver light that could heal him, could restore what had been broken. But I kept that light contained, held it close to my chest like a shield.
You rejected me, I said in the dream, my voice echoing across the void. You don't get to have me now.
His eyes—so beautiful, so tormented—held mine. I didn't know, he seemed to say, though no sound came from his lips.
I woke with tears on my face, the bond between us throbbing like an open wound. The moon had set, but its light seemed to linger on my skin, in my veins, charging me with a power I still didn't fully comprehend.
But it was eating him alive.
I could feel it—the deterioration accelerating. Whatever was happening to Kael was getting worse, not better. The rejected bond was like poison in his system, corrupting the very essence of what made him Alpha.
And despite everything—despite the hurt, despite the anger, despite the newfound strength coursing through me—I found myself wondering how long I could watch him suffer before my healer's nature, my mate's instinct, would override my desire for justice.
He rejected me.
But he couldn't run from it.
Neither of us could.
The bond—twisted, fractured, poisoned—still bound us together. And sooner or later, we would have to face what that meant.
I closed my eyes and let silver light dance across my fingertips, illuminating the darkness.
Let him come to me, I thought. Let him see what he rejected. Let him beg.
Then, maybe, I would decide if he was worth saving.