At first Eve thought it was simply exhaustion. The days inside the lodge stretched long, shadowed by suspicion, and nights brought little rest. Her body ached, her nerves trembled, and her thoughts tangled until she could barely separate dream from reality. But as the sensations grew sharper, more invasive, she realized fatigue alone could not explain them. Something deeper was happening to her, something that had nothing to do with sleeplessness and everything to do with the tether that now bound her to the Alpha of Blackridge.
It began with flickers—whispers of emotions that arrived without warning. She would be walking the corridors, the scent of resin and smoke heavy in the air, when a sudden rush of fury would slam into her chest, hot and searing, so intense that her hands curled into fists before she even understood why. Then, just as quickly, it would vanish, leaving her disoriented and shaken, heart pounding in her ears. She would sit alone at the edge of her bed, staring at her trembling fingers, whispering to herself, It isn't mine. It isn't mine.
But denial grew harder each day. The emotions returned in greater force—loneliness so raw it hollowed her out, grief that pressed against her ribs until she could scarcely breathe, the edge of violence like the taste of iron on her tongue. They came at odd hours: in the quiet of dawn, in the middle of meals, even while Rowan tried to distract her with easy conversation. Sometimes they lingered long enough that she couldn't tell where her feelings ended and Kaelen's began. The bond was sinking claws into her soul, and no matter how she resisted, she could not pry them free.
The first time it terrified her, she was in the great hall, Rowan by her side. He was pointing out banners that hung from the rafters—long strips of faded cloth, each marked with the crest of a family line. His voice carried warmth, but halfway through his explanation, her vision blurred. A wave of pain, sharp and jagged, tore through her chest. She gasped, clutching the table to steady herself. The hurt was not physical, not in the way a wound would be, but deeper, something woven into the marrow of her bones. She doubled over, breath ragged, feeling as though claws were raking her insides.
Rowan caught her shoulder at once. "Eve? What is it? What's wrong?"
She couldn't speak. The pain ebbed, then crashed again, fierce and unrelenting. It was his. Kaelen's. She knew it with certainty as unshakable as the rising moon. Somewhere in the lodge, the Alpha was suffering, and the bond had carried that torment straight into her. When it finally passed, leaving only a hollow echo, she sat trembling, sweat cold against her skin.
"I'm fine," she whispered, though her voice cracked. She forced herself upright under Rowan's worried stare, masking her fear behind a brittle smile. "It was nothing."
But it was not nothing. She lay awake that night, staring at the ceiling beams arching like ribs overhead, replaying the pain until her body shivered with memory. What had happened to Kaelen in that moment? What wound had he carried that struck so hard she had felt it herself? The questions gnawed at her, and though she told herself she didn't care, that he was nothing to her but chains and shadow, her heart whispered otherwise.
The days grew worse. The bond began to share more than pain. A throb in her muscles after long patrols she hadn't walked. Sudden exhaustion when Kaelen returned late from nights in the forest. Flashes of anger in council chambers when disputes grew heated. She caught fragments of him everywhere, until she felt like a vessel for emotions that didn't belong to her. And worst of all were the moments when she sensed his loneliness—a weight so vast it nearly broke her. It was not the absence of people, but something deeper, older. A void carved by years of carrying burdens alone, a silence so complete it echoed inside her chest until she wept without knowing why.
One evening she found herself outside the training yard, though she hadn't planned to go there. She had wandered the halls, restless, drawn by a tug she could not name until she reached the fence. Below, Kaelen moved among his pack. The wolves sparred in fur and flesh alike, snarls sharp against the dusk, but her eyes fixed only on him. His commands cracked like thunder, his movements precise, his presence filling the space with iron weight.
Through the bond, she felt the storm churning inside him—frustration coiled tight, the sharp edge of violence, the hunger for release. When his gaze swept across the yard and landed on her, the thread between them snapped taut. Lightning flared through her veins. For an instant she drowned in the truth of him: his desire, his anger, his loneliness, all colliding in her body until she staggered back, gasping. Kaelen froze, his eyes narrowing. But he didn't come to her. He turned away, barking another order, leaving her to stumble from the yard with her hands shaking and her breath broken.
That night she sat by the narrow window of her chamber, staring at the forest below. The moon hung low, silver bleeding through the trees, and still she felt him. His emotions shifted like tides beneath her skin. She pressed her palms to her chest as though she could push them out, but they clung, whispering truths she didn't want to hear. She wanted to hate him for this—for invading her, for dragging her into a world she had never asked for. But when the bond pulsed again, carrying his pain like an open wound, hatred was nowhere to be found. Only fear, compassion, and something dangerously close to longing.
Rowan noticed the changes in her, though she tried to hide them. One afternoon he found her sitting on the steps outside the lodge, her gaze fixed on the horizon. She hadn't realized tears stained her cheeks until he crouched beside her, wiping one away with his thumb.
"You've been different," he said softly. "As if you're carrying something you won't tell me."
She shook her head, forcing a thin smile. "I'm fine."
"You're lying," he said, not unkindly. "But I won't push. Just… remember you're not alone here, even if it feels like it."
The words nearly broke her. Because she was alone, even with Rowan's kindness. She carried Kaelen's storms in her chest, and no one could share that weight. She couldn't tell Rowan without confirming what the whispers in the corridors already suspected—that she was bound to the Alpha in ways none of them could undo.
The bond grew heavier with each sunrise. She began to notice scents and sounds she shouldn't—burning pine from fires banked in rooms she hadn't entered, the rustle of leather from Kaelen's gloves before he even crossed the hall. Her body responded to him before her mind did, awareness igniting whenever he neared. Once, passing him in the corridor, her knees nearly gave out from the sheer pull of the tether, her pulse pounding as though she'd run miles. He brushed by without a word, but the bond seared her, whispering of the fury and desire locked inside him.
Eve hated how much she felt. Hated that she knew his loneliness, his grief, his hunger. Hated that some secret part of her wanted to soothe it, to close the distance he carved between them. She pressed her hands to her ears at night, whispering to herself, Not mine. Not mine. But the bond never listened. It pressed heavier, sinking teeth into her soul, reminding her with every breath that she belonged to him, whether she wished it or not.
And Kaelen—silent, untouchable Kaelen—gave her nothing in return. No explanation, no comfort, not even acknowledgment. He left her to drown in his storms while he wore his mask of stone, unyielding before the pack. Yet she knew. She knew his pain, his rage, his loneliness. She knew him better than anyone else ever could, and the knowledge tore her apart.
By the twelfth night she understood the truth. The bond was no longer just a thread binding her to Kaelen. It was a weight, pressing heavier each day, fusing her heart with his until she could not untangle where one ended and the other began. She had tried to resist, to deny, to build walls. But the Moon had chosen, and there was no escape. She was caught in him, and he in her, chained together by fate's cruel hand, and every heartbeat drew them tighter still.