Breaking His Hold

Killian’s lips curved into a cold smile.

"That's not happening. Not now or ever," he said smoothly.

My heart sank. The person he loved was his childhood sweetheart Vivian. So why was he refusing when I wanted to set him free?

“Well, it will. You just have to accept it..."

I frowned, taking up the sheets and getting off the bed to avoid his scent.

Thump. 

Killian's foot padded against the floor, each step heavier than the last, tailing after me.

"Wh... what are you doing?" My throat dipped as I inched back.

My fist clenched beside me.

In my past life, it took Killian ten years to get rid of me. Now I might not even live to see those ten years.

My back grazed the wall, as the sheets slipped through my fingers leaving me bare before him again.

The cold sipped through my skin,feeling my nipples grow hard.

Every instinct screamed at me to run, yet my body froze, trapped between fear and fury.

Killian’s hazel eyes brimmed with darkness as he placed his hands a few inches from my face.

I held my breath when he lowered himself.

Trying to look anywhere but his face, my gaze slid down to his carefully sculpted muscles.

Every ridge and valley was perfectly defined, the kind of body that made women weak and men envious. Inviting, even. If I was being honest.

But none of that beauty mattered.

Because Killian Greymark was heartless. A monster wrapped in devastatingly beautiful skin.

"Freya..." His voice dipped low.

I didn’t answer.

His hand suddenly wrapped around the back of my neck, long fingers threading through my hair as his thumb found that maddeningly sensitive spot just below my ear. He stroked it deliberately, sending unwanted jolts of electricity down my spine.

“Stop it!” I hissed.

“Are you sober now?” he said tightly. “Or have you actually lost your mind?”

Suffocating to death in that cold rotten coffin would definitely drive anyone insane.

"Neither!"

"Then why are you asking for a divorce? You were promised to me by your father, which makes you...mine."

His eyes flashed with a feral glint, sharp and unreadable.

With this twisted mentality, no wonder he claimed me, even in death. 

For Alpha Killian, it was all about control. About possession.

"You want the reason? Fine." My heart banged against my ears as I forced a smile.

"I'm a wolfless omega. I won't be able to bear the child of an Alpha. Surely you must have seen how everyone thinks less of me in your pack?"

Killian's lips pressed together in a tight frown. "Who dares? Give me names and I'll bring their heads."

What?

My eyes shot up to Killian, and his were hard and unflinching.

"Are you going to kill your entire pack for me?" I scoffed.

He ignored my sarcasm, running a hand through his hair. "We have only been married for three months. What's the rush? Getting my pup takes time."

Bitterness washed through me.

Moon Goddess… why bring me back here of all times?

He didn’t know that even after ten years, I’d still be barren. Still despised. 

Killian stepped closer, his scent curling around me. Dark, dangerous, Alpha potent.

“You’re already my mate,” he whispered. “Be my Luna. I’ll be good to you, Freya.”

Good to me?

If you didn't betray our bond by having an affair or wanting me buried alive with you, maybe I would have believed it.

But I had tasted death once. I'd died knowing I meant so little to you that you'd drag me into the grave rather than let me be free.

I wouldn't be fooled again. Not ever again.

Killian's lips traced along the curve of my neck, his breath hot against my pulse point. An unwanted shiver raced down my spine, my body responding even as my heart screamed in betrayal.

I summoned all my strength, latching my teeth against the crook of his neck until I tasted the metallic tang of his blood.

Killian pulled back, his hand shot up to his neck, eyes widened as he frowned.

Yet something else played in his eyes when his lips parted.

"You... you bit me?" His voice was eerily calm, almost wondering, as blood seeped between his fingers.

For a split second, I saw something flicker in those hazel depths.

"If you want to run away from me, it will take more than a bite." He took the blood on his thumb and sucked on it.

"You're insane!" I spat.

Killian didn't respond with words. He just stood there, staring at me with those predatory amber eyes, my blood still staining his lips like war paint.

Then he leaned in close, so close I could feel the heat radiating off his skin in waves, could see the flecks of gold in his irises, could count each individual eyelash.

My heart racing so fast I thought it might burst—

The door suddenly flew open with a resounding bang.

"Alpha!" A panicked voice shattered the suffocating tension like glass.

It was Marcus, one of the younger warriors from the southern patrol. He looked absolutely frantic, his face flushed, chest heaving like he'd run the entire way here.

His wild eyes darted between Killian and me before quickly, wisely dropping to the floor in automatic submission.

"What?" Killian's voice transformed instantly to pure, cutting ice.

"There's been an attack at the eastern border. A large group of rogues breached our patrol line. Multiple casualties. Beta Hansel sent me directly. He says the situation is critical and—"

Marcus swallowed hard. "One of our warriors is severely injured, Alpha. They're asking for you specifically. It's... it's someone from your inner circle."

My blood turned to ice.

Someone from his inner circle.

The way Marcus said it, the careful phrasing, the meaningful pause…

My mind immediately conjured her face. Vivian. His precious Vivian.

No, it couldn't be. She wasn't supposed to be back yet. In my past life, she'd been away on a mission. 

But then again, I'd changed things by asking for a divorce. What if I'd already altered the timeline? What if she'd returned early?

What if she was hurt or dying?

I looked at Killian, and watched his expression shift.

"I'll be there," he said curtly, already moving toward the door with long, purposeful strides.

"Killian, wait—" The words escaped before I could stop them.

Something was wrong. 

The room suddenly tilted violently. The edges of my vision blurred and darkened like ink bleeding through paper.

My knees buckled.

I couldn't breathe. The air felt too thick, too heavy, pressing down on my chest like a physical weight.

The coffin. The silver. The darkness closing in.

"I can't—" I gasped, clutching at my throat. "I can't breathe—"

It was happening again. I was dying again. Buried alive again. The walls were closing in and the air was gone.

My legs gave out completely. I crumpled to the floor, my vision swimming with black spots.

Through the haze, I saw Killian pause at the door. Turn back. His brows furrowed as he looked at me.

"Freya?" His voice sounded distant, muffled, like I was underwater. "What are you—"

"Alpha, please!" Marcus's urgent voice cut through. "Beta Hansel said every second counts!"

I watched the conflict flicker across Killian's face. Saw the exact moment he made his choice.

"You're fine," he said, "You're just upset about the argument. We'll talk when I get back."

He thought I was faking.

"Killian, please, just call a healer for me…" I tried to speak, but no sound came out. My lungs wouldn't work. My body wouldn't obey.

The panic attack—or PTSD episode, or whatever hell this was—had me completely in its grip, dragging me back into that coffin, into that suffocating darkness.

"I have to go," Killian said, his voice firm, final. "People are dying, Freya. I don't have time for games right now."

The door slammed shut behind him with a thunderous finality that echoed in my bones.

Marcus disappeared with him, leaving me utterly, completely alone.

I lay there on the cold floor, trembling, unable to move, unable to breathe properly, unable to do anything but shake as the phantom sensations of my death washed over me in relentless waves.

Even as I prayed, even as I fought to drag air into my burning lungs, the image seared itself permanently into my mind:

Killian walking away without hesitation. Choosing to go to the border, to Vivian, while dismissing my suffering.

The same way he always had.

The same way he always would.

How had I been so pathetically blind in my past life?

The signs had always been there. The way he shut me out. The way I was never truly his priority, never his choice, never his anything except a duty. An obligation. A wife in name only, tolerated but never truly wanted.

I had ignored it all. Made excuses. Clung desperately to scraps of affection like a starving dog. Convinced myself that patience and devotion and endless, selfless love would eventually be enough.

That I would eventually be enough.

But I never was. And I never would be.

I finally realized, with painful clarity, that I cannot rely on anyone in this world; I am utterly alone.

Slowly, painfully, I pressed my palms flat against the cold floor. My arms shook with effort as I forced myself to sit up, to breathe, to survive this moment.

"Moon Goddess," I whispered through chattering teeth, curling into myself on the floor. "Please... please give me strength."

The room remained silent. Empty. Cold.

Just like always.

I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to stop the shaking, trying to hold together the shattered pieces of who I'd been—

'No.'

I froze.

The voice was deep. Warm. Powerful. And it came from inside my head.

'You are not alone.'