Chapter 31 – Shackled by the Bond

Cole’s POV

When Cole opened his eyes, the headache was already there. He felt a dull, merciless throb at the base of his skull. He groaned and pressed the heel of his hand against his temple. The bitter taste of last night’s whiskey still clung to his mouth, and his stomach rolled with the familiar nausea of regret.

He had drunk too much again. He had drank to silence the pull of the bond, to numb the gnawing ache that refused to let him be. But even now, even through the fog of his hangover, he felt it, he felt an insistent hum threading through his chest.

Cole cursed and sat up, shoving the sheets off his body as though they were chains. He tried shutting her out, to wall up the part of him that pulsed with her emotions, but the bond was merciless. He felt her exhaustion as if it were his own, her steady, quiet determination like a pulse against his rage. It made his teeth grind. She should be broken, crushed under the weight of this sham union. Instead, she stood taller with each passing day.

And somehow, that made him feel unsettled than her tears ever had.

He dragged himself out of bed, splashed cold water across his face, and dressed. His father’s voice echoed in his skull—“An Alpha’s mate reflects his strength. If she falters, so do you.” Cole shoved the thought away, but it lingered, bitter as bile.

By the time he strode into the training yard, the late morning sun was already high. Warriors gathered in circle, sparring, their laughter carrying across the packed earth. Cole rolled his shoulders, grabbed a practice blade, and joined without a word.

The clash of steel should have cleared his head, but the thing it did was to feed the storm brewing inside him. He fought too aggressively, every strike fueled by the resentment that simmered beneath his skin. When his opponent, a younger wolf barely past his first shift, parried and nearly disarmed him, a ripple of murmurs went through the crowd. Cole snarled and pressed harder, until his blade finally knocked the boy sprawling.

The onlookers clapped politely, but the whispers still remained. He could feel them, hear them: The Alpha’s son is slipping. The bond is beginning to eat him alive.

Cole stalked away, chest heaving, fury mounting.

He hadn’t made it far before Sasha found him.

“Cole,” she purred, stepping from the shade of the armory. Her auburn hair gleamed in the sunlight, her smile sharp as a knife. “You’re wound too tight. Let me ease you of your stress.”

He stiffened. The sight of her stirred something old and familiar in him—desire, longing, and the ghost of comfort. She reached out, fingers grazing his forearm, and for a heartbeat he almost gave in to the feelings. With her, he would be able to forget. Forget about Ella, forget about the bond, even forget about the expectations that seems to suffocate him.

But the bond flared hot in his chest, Ella’s steadiness pulsing against his skin. He jerked back as if her touch burned him.

“Don’t,” he snapped, his voice rough.

Sasha’s smile faltered, then twisted into something harder. “You’re shackling yourself to her, Cole. To that weak little shadow of a girl. Everyone sees it. They’re laughing at you.”

Her words hit where they always did. The words were sharp and merciless. Cole wanted to deny it, but he remembered the whispers in the training yard. He remembered his father’s stern eyes.

Still, he shook his head, shoving past her. “Leave it alone, Sasha.”

She called after him, her voice like poisoned honey. “One day you’ll realize she’s nothing, Cole. And when you do, I’ll be here waiting for you to beg me to take you back.”

He didn’t look back. He couldn’t.

By the time evening fell, he was raw with frustration. The meal hall buzzed around him with chatter, but Cole hardly tasted his food. His father’s voice carried across the long table, calm but cutting.

“Today, you were sloppy,” Victor said without preamble, his eyes fixed on Cole. The hum of conversation around them dimmed. “An Alpha cannot afford to be weak. Nor can he afford a mate bond that falters. If Ella is not strong, you have to make her strong. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Heat prickled at the back of Cole’s neck. “I understand,” he muttered, jaw tight.

Victor’s gaze was steady, unyielding. “See that you do. A divided Alpha is no Alpha at all.”

The words were a lash across his pride. Cole clenched his fists under the table, resisting the urge to storm out. He stayed, because walking away would only prove that his father is right.

Later, alone in his quarters, like a weight, the silence pressed down. Cole sat at the edge of his bed, this time he didn’t drink even though he had the bottle in hand. From the dark glass, his reflection stared back at him. His eyes looked haunted, his jaw set with bitterness.

The bond thrummed again. Through it, he could feel Ella weariness, but beneath that, a thread of quiet resolve. She was standing tall somewhere in the pack, facing whispers that should have crushed her. He could almost see her, see the way her chin lifted, shoulders squared, refusing to bow.

It infuriated him.

And yet, buried deep beneath the fury, something else stirred. Admiration. Unease. Fear.

He set the bottle down and pressed his palms to his eyes. He hated her for making him feel the way he felt, he hated the bond for chaining him to her. But more than that, he hated himself more. He hated himself for not knowing whether he wanted to see her break, or to see her win and cheer for her.

When he finally lay down, the bond pulsed with every beat of his heart. Shackles he could not escape from, tightening with each passing night. And for the first time, Cole wondered if the bond was not his prison, but his undoing.