Blood and Bonds

I recoiled at his words, the possessiveness in his tone striking a nerve I didn't know I had.

"I am not an object you can own, Liam," I snapped, my voice trembling with a mix of anger and fear.

"You know that isn't what I meant," he said softly, stepping closer until his shadow fell over me. "You are mine, Luna, because I belong to you. Wholly. Irrevocably. For a werewolf, a mate isn't just a partner. It’s a biological imperative. It’s once in a lifetime."

His words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. My stomach churned—not with nausea this time, but with a swarm of nervous butterflies that I couldn't suppress.

"That is why I begged them," he confessed, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. "At the orphanage. When I saw you... I knew. I asked Mum and Dad to bring you home."

I stared at him, horror warring with confusion. "You... you orchestrated my entire life?"

"I know it sounds twisted. I know you look at me and see a brother," he said, his eyes searching mine desperately. "But I have never seen a sister when I look at you, Luna. Never."

He reached out, his hand hovering for a second before cupping my cheek.

I braced myself to pull away, but the moment his skin touched mine, a jolt of static electricity snapped through me. It wasn't painful; it was narcotic. A warm, humming vibration that started at the point of contact and rushed straight to my core. My breath hitched.

I looked up at him, really looked at him, and for the first time, the image of 'brother' began to blur. The connection was undeniable, physical, and terrifyingly real.

Whoa, I thought, my knees feeling weak. Is it really that simple?

I sat down on the edge of the bed before my legs gave out.

"I have never begged for anything in my life," Liam said, sinking to his knees in front of me. He placed his large hands on my knees, the heat of his palms seeping through my jeans. That pleasant, addictive electricity sparked again. "I know this is a nightmare for you right now. I handled yesterday badly. I handled everything badly. But please, Luna... give me a chance."

The raw vulnerability in his voice squeezed my heart. This was Liam—the arrogant, confident Liam—kneeling at my feet.

"I don't know," I whispered honestly. "It’s too fast. Yesterday I was a normal teenager. Today I’m adopted, wolves are real, and my brother is... this."

"So let’s start over," he suggested, gently taking my left hand in his. He looked down at our joined fingers, fascinated.

"You feel it too?" I asked, noticing the way his thumb brushed over my knuckles.

Liam let out a breathy chuckle. "I feel everything. It’s stronger now because of the mark."

I stiffened, pulling my hand back slightly. "The mark."

"You remember," he said, his voice cautious. "When I bit you."

I squeezed my eyes shut, the phantom pain of teeth sinking into my shoulder flashing through my mind.

"I would never hurt you intentionally," he swore, squeezing my hand to bring me back. "The mark is a claim. It’s a warning to every other male werewolf that you are spoken for. That night... my wolf was out of control. He needed to ensure everyone knew you were his."

"Are there... others?" I asked, my voice barely audible. "Other wolves?"

"A few. Mostly my friends. You know the circle."

I frowned. "Paul? Henry? Seraphina?"

He nodded.

"Jack?" I asked, the name slipping out. Jack had been my friend since kindergarten. The boy who put gum in my hair and watched horror movies with me.

"Jack is a wolf," Liam confirmed gently. "He's my Beta."

My world tilted a little further on its axis. Everyone I knew... everyone I trusted... they were all part of this secret world I had been blind to.

"I need to sleep," I blurted out. My brain felt full, like a sponge that couldn't absorb another drop of water.

"Okay." Liam stood up, towering over me again. He looked like he wanted to say more, to touch me again, but he held back. He offered me a tentative smile—the one that usually melted my annoyance, but now just made my chest ache. "Rest."

I waited until the door clicked shut before collapsing back onto my pillows.

Werewolf, I thought, staring at the ceiling. Mate. Mark. Jack.

Liam.

The exhaustion was a physical weight, dragging me down. I closed my eyes, hoping that when I woke up, the world would make sense again.

I didn't wake up naturally. I was dragged out of sleep by fire.

A searing, throbbing heat radiated from the base of my neck, pulsing in time with my heartbeat. I gasped, my hand flying up to touch the source of the pain.

"Ow... ah!" I hissed. The skin felt raw, feverish.

Outside, the sun was dipping below the horizon, casting long, orange shadows across my room. I forced myself up, stumbling out of the room and down the stairs, my vision swimming.

"Mum?" My voice was a croak.

Mum appeared from the living room instantly, her face etched with worry. "Luna? What is it? You’re pale."

"My neck," I groaned, clutching the banister. "It burns."

Mum reached me in two steps, pulling my hand away. She hissed a breath through her teeth when she saw the angry, red bruise. She leaned in, blowing cool air onto the inflamed skin.

"Thomas!" she shouted, her voice sharp.

Dad appeared from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel.

"Call Liam," she ordered, her tone brooking no argument. "She needs him. Now."

"What's happening?" Dad asked, looking at me with concern.

"Just call him!"

Dad scrambled for the landline. If I hadn't been in agony, I might have laughed at seeing my father so rattled.

"I swear to God, that boy has no self-control," Mum muttered furiously, guiding me to the sofa. "He should have waited. Marking you this early... he’s acting like a feral dog."

I curled up on the sofa, tucking my knees to my chest. The burning sensation was spreading, crawling down my spine and up into my skull. It felt like my blood was boiling.

Mum returned with a glass of ice water. "Drink, sweetheart."

I took a sip, but it did nothing to cool the fire in my veins. "It hurts... God, it hurts."

Dad knelt beside me, stroking my hair. His touch was comforting, familiar, but it didn't stop the pain. Minutes stretched into hours. I squeezed my eyes shut, focusing on breathing, on not screaming.

BAM.

The front door didn't just open; it slammed against the wall with enough force to shake the pictures in the hallway.

I didn't need to look.

Heavy, rapid footsteps thundered toward the living room. Liam appeared, his chest heaving, his eyes wild with panic. He took in the scene—me curled in a ball of misery, Mum angry, Dad helpless—in a single glance.

"How long?" he demanded, dropping to his knees beside the sofa. Dad quickly moved out of the way.

"Too long," Mum snapped.

Liam didn't respond. He reached out, his large hands scooping me up. He pulled me into his lap, burying his face in the crook of my neck, right over the burning mark.

The relief was instantaneous.

It was like being doused in cool water. The fire in my veins vanished, replaced by that soothing, humming warmth. My muscles unlocked, and I slumped against him, inhaling the scent of pine and rain that clung to his skin.

"I'm sorry," he murmured against my skin, his arms tightening around me like iron bands. "I should have stayed. I shouldn't have left you alone."

"What is wrong with me?" I whispered, my voice weak.

"It’s the separation," he explained, rocking me slightly. "The mark creates a bond. Until your body adjusts to it, being away from me causes physical pain. The mark craves its maker."

I closed my eyes, letting the pain fade into memory, focusing only on the solid, undeniable reality of him holding me.

When I finally opened my eyes, the room was silent. Mum and Dad were watching us. Mum looked resigned, Dad looked uncomfortable. Mum caught my eye, cleared her throat, and nudged Dad toward the kitchen.

"Come on, Thomas. Let's give them a minute."

They left us alone in the darkening living room.

"So," I rasped, my cheek pressed against Liam’s chest. "I'm stuck with you for a while, huh?"

"You're stuck with me forever, actually," he corrected, his voice rumbling through his chest and into mine. I could hear his heart hammering against his ribs—a frantic rhythm that matched my own.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes searching my face for signs of pain. "Have you eaten?"

I shook my head. "Not since yesterday."

"I'll cook," he said, but he didn't move to let me go.