Chapter 21 – Splinters of Guilt

(Cole’s POV)

Like ash, the taste of whiskey clung unto my tongue. With my face pressed against the edge of the mattress, I rose up with my head pounding so hard that it felt like a drumbeat inside my skull. With every breathe I took, my stomach rolled. For just a moment, I couldn’t move, I refused to take another breathe. I didn’t dare to remember.

But memory has a cruel way of forcing itself through cracks.

Her name. Her voice. A whisper through the wood of her door.

“Cole?”

I squeezed my eyes shut, a groan tearing out of me. I hadn’t gone inside. I hadn’t touched her. But I had wanted to. God, I really wanted to. Last night, the bond has burned so hot, it urge me to cross that line again. It was only with the faintest shred of willpower and the burn of liquor in my gut that had been the only thing to keep him away.

I stared at the ceiling beams while I rolled onto my back. The cabin smelled faintly of smoke and stale drink. My knuckles ached raw from pounding them against the doorframe outside her room before I’d staggered back here. I’d nearly given in. Nearly undone what little control I still clung to.

I tried convincing myself that it was due to the whiskey. That was so much easier to stomach than the truth, the truth being that sober or not, the bond had me on my knees.

Dragging a hand over my face, I forced myself to sit upright. My reflection in the cracked mirror above the dresser looked pitiful. Beneath my eyes, dark circles bruised the skin, my hair was stuck in uneven tufts, and the look staring back at me wasn’t the look of the confident son of an alpha. It was of a man who had begun to unravel.

I hated feeling this way.

I dressed quickly, pulling on a clean shirt though my body protested with every movement. The pounding in my skull wouldn’t fade away, but the only cure I knew was exertion. Sweat, bruises, sparring—it was the only way I could silence the noise in my head.

By the time I stepped onto the training grounds, the pack was already deep in drills. Wolves lunged at each other, bodies colliding with snarls, dust rising under the morning sun. My presence should have been able to command focus, but today the only thing it drew were sidelong glances.

I barked orders anyway. “Tighter formation! If a rogue breaks through your line, you’re already dead!”

The words came out sounding too sharp, too harsh, and a young wolf flinched at the sound of my command. Normally I would have softened the correction, but today I wanted my words to sting. I Wanted to see my own bitterness reflected in the eyes of another person.

I pushed them harder, faster, until the air reeked fully of sweat and exhaustion. But that still didn’t help. The pounding in my head only grew worse, the ache in my chest become more sharper.

And then I saw her.

Ella.

She crossed to the far side of the grounds, her hair catching onto the light, sweater sleeves pulled past her hands. Normally she would carry herself small, like she wanted to slip unseen between shadows. But today—today she walked straighter, her shoulders were straightened up, her chin lifted up just enough that I knew she’d already heard about the whispers around her and she had chosen not to bend.

The sight twisted something deep inside me.

She wasn’t supposed to look this strong. She wasn’t supposed to walk like she actually belonged.

She was supposed to break. That was what Sasha had told me, that under the pack scorn, Ella would fold, that she would be overwhelmed by the bond that she had no understanding of. I’d clung to that image, convinced that it would make rejecting her more easier.

But she didn’t look broken. She looked… like one enduring.

Her gaze flicked across the field and landed on me. For a split second, in my veins the bond surged like fire. My breath were caught, sharp and unsteady. She didn’t smile at me. She didn’t look away in shame either. She just met my stare with something more steady, something that felt like defiance, then she turned back before continuing on her way.

Long after she disappeared into the trees, I would still feel the weight of that look.

“Cole.”

Her voice—no, not it wasn’t hers.

It belonged to Sasha.

She slid in close, her perfume sweet, cloying, wrapping around me like smoke. Her nails brushed lightly over my arm as she tilted her head, lips curved in the smile that once had the power to undo me.

“You look like you have been through hell,” she murmured. “You seem to have had a Rough night?”

I pulled my arm free, sharper than I intended doing. “Don’t.”

Her eyes narrowed before softening again, the shift too practiced. “I’m just worried about you. You don’t have to keep punishing yourself, Cole. This—” her hand swept vaguely toward where Ella had gone “—doesn’t have to last. You know we’re the ones who are supposed to be together.”

The same old script. The one I’d also repeated to myself so often i had nearly been able to convince myself that it’s the truth. But hearing those words out now just rang hollow.

I truly wanted to believe her. Wished for it to be that simple. But all I could think about was Ella’s eyes, despite the weight being pressed down on her, her eyes were still steady.

I muttered something about drills and stalked away, leaving Sasha scowling behind me.

By the time I reached my father’s office, I was already raw. And he didn’t help matters.

He looked up from the desk, gaze sharp, taking in my disheveled state. His disappointment was palpable as a blade.

“You’re beginning to get sloppy,” he said without preamble. “The pack can see it. They hear about the whispers, through the drills, they watch you stumble. Do you really think they’ll follow an alpha who can’t even hold his ground in his own marriage?”

My jaw clenched. “It’s not a marriage I chose.”

Victor slammed a fist on the desk, rattling the ink jar. “No one chooses the bond, Cole. It chooses you. And whenever you dishonor it you let your weakness show.”

Weakness. That word burned.

“I’m not weak,” I growled.

His gaze pinned me. “Then prove it. Prove it to the pack. To your mate. Stop wallowing like a child and start to act like the alpha you will one day become.”

Before he could say any more, I left his presence. My chest were tight, my hands shaking. His words echoed in my head anyway, every syllable felt like a weight I couldn’t shrug off.

By evening, I found myself back in my cabin, staring into the cracked mirror again. The face staring back was still mine, but it was fractured, shadowed.

I wanted to hate Ella, I needed to be able to convince myself to be able to. But every time I thought of her, What I saw wasn’t weakness but strength I couldn’t match up with. And that terrified me more than anything.

Slamming my fist against the dresser, I snarled at the reflection. “I don’t want her.”

The words rang hollow.

But my chest ached anyway.