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Consent Is a Weapon
Last Updated:
2025-12-28 00:18:10
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Bound to the Alpha Who Killed Me The Name Beneath the Curse
LYRAThe Hollow does not ask.That’s how I know this isn’t the Devourer.There’s no pressure in the bond. No probing curiosity. No calculated patience waiting for permission to be granted or refused.The ground simply remembers.It happens while I’m awake.Standing.Breathing.Cain’s hand still warm around mine.The world tilts, not violently, not disorienting, but inward, as if the land beneath my feet has decided depth matters more than surface.My vision doesn’t blur.It layers.The forest remains, but beneath it, another image presses forward, insistent and sharp.Stone.Ash.A child kneeling.I gasp.Cain turns instantly. “Lyra?”I don’t answer.Because the child looks up—And he has Cain’s eyes.CAINI feel it the moment Lyra leaves me.Not physically.Internally.The bond doesn’t stretch or strain—it empties, like a held breath released somewhere I can’t follow.“Lyra,” I say again, sharper now.Her grip tightens reflexively, knuckles white, but her gaze isn’t on me anymore. It
Bound to the Alpha Who Killed Me The Memory It Can’t Touch
LYRAIt goes for the space between us next.Not my memories.Not Cain’s.Ours.The Devourer presses gently at first, testing the seam where our histories overlap. The moments shaped by proximity. By repetition. By choice.The first time Cain laughed with me.The night we almost didn’t survive.The quiet understanding that formed before either of us named it.The pressure is subtle, invasive in the way only intimacy can be. It doesn’t try to pull the memories free. It tries to inhabit them. To stand inside them like a room and see how they were built.I stiffen.This is worse than before.Because these aren’t just recollections.They’re agreements.I feel Cain register it the same instant I do. The bond hums, alert but not panicked.“This is different,” I whisper.“Yes,” he says softly. “It’s not asking.”The Devourer speaks, measured and careful.Shared history stabilizes bonds.Understanding it would improve efficiency.My hands curl into fists.“You don’t get to audit our past,” I s
Bound to the Alpha Who Killed Me Consent Is a Weapon
LYRAThe Devourer learns quickly what refusal feels like.Not denial—refusal.Denial is passive. A door left closed.Refusal is active. A hand on the frame. A voice saying no with intent behind it.The first time it tests memory, it’s almost polite.A pressure brushes the back of my thoughts, not pulling, not forcing. Just… requesting. An offer shaped like curiosity.A moment surfaces unbidden: my mother’s voice, low and steady, humming while she worked. A memory so old it still smells like smoke and warm earth.My breath catches.Cain feels it instantly. His grip tightens, not panicked. Alert.“Lyra,” he murmurs. “That’s not yours right now.”“I know,” I whisper.The Devourer speaks softly, as if adjusting its tone to match the intimacy of the offering.You are defined by what formed you.Understanding requires access.I feel the temptation, not to give it, but to let it look. To share without surrender.That’s the trick.“No,” I say clearly.The word lands like a blade.The memory
Bound to the Alpha Who Killed Me The Shape of a Line
LYRAThe line doesn’t vanish when the threat does.That’s the lie I catch myself almost believing, that because the construct is gone, because Cain’s breathing evens and the forest stops holding itself taut, we can return to what we were before.But lines don’t dissolve.They persist.They shape how everything after must move.I feel it in the bond first, not as pain, not even as distance, but as resistance. Where emotion once flowed smoothly between us, there’s now a slight drag. Like running a hand over wood and catching on a grain that wasn’t there before.Cain feels it too. I don’t need to ask.He’s too careful now.“Are you—” he starts, then stops himself. Rephrases. “Do you feel… intact?”The question costs him something.I answer honestly. “I feel… defined.”That seems to hurt him more.The heart between us beats steady, neutral. Watching.Learning.I close my eyes, not to rest, not to dream, but to check the inside of myself the way one checks a wound after the bleeding stops.
Bound to the Alpha Who Killed Me When Mercy Breaks
CAINI don’t move first.That matters.If this were fear, the bond would flare.If it were rage, the Devourer would lean in, tasting it.But this is choice.Cold. Anchored. Final.The creature shifts its weight—efficient, balanced, already predicting trajectories. It has learned how long hesitation lasts in us. It knows the window where mercy lives.It intends to pass through it.“No,” I say quietly.Not to the construct.To myself.I step forward.The bond snaps tight, not feeding, not punishing.Straining.Lyra inhales sharply. I feel it ripple through me, not panic, not protest.Grief braced behind resolve.The creature lunges.LYRAThe moment Cain commits, something inside the bond cracks.Not breaks.Fractures.A hairline split where intention and consequence no longer align cleanly.I feel it like pressure behind my eyes, like holding a truth that can’t be softened.Cain moves with ruthless precision. No flourish. No hesitation. He doesn’t fight like a man facing a monster.He f
Bound to the Alpha Who Killed Me The Ethics of Monsters
LYRAThe forest doesn’t go back to normal.That’s the first lie my mind tries to tell me—that because the thing dissolved, because the air settled and the clicking stopped, we’re safe again.But absence leaves residue.I feel it like a pressure behind my thoughts, a subtle tension in the bond where something could be shaped again.Cain feels it too. I don’t need to look at him to know—his posture is too still, his attention too sharp.“That wasn’t restraint,” I say quietly. “That was rehearsal.”He nods once. “For us. Or for it.”The heart between us gives a slow, heavy beat.Neither answer comforts me.“What we did back there,” I continue, choosing each word with care, “we didn’t just prevent violence. We modeled behavior.”Cain exhales through his nose. “You think that makes us responsible for what comes next.”“I think,” I say, throat tight, “that if it learns ethics through us… then our failures become design flaws.”The Devourer listens.It always does.CAINMercy feels different
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