The Bond We Buried

The afternoon sun hangs low and heavy, casting long shadows across the courtyard stones. The light is gold, too warm for the way my skin itches. I tug at the stiff fabric of my dress, itching to be out of it, to run, to fight—to do anything other than sit still and look presentable.Maids dart around me like anxious bees. They pin, adjust, and tug until I’m certain the next person who touches me is getting elbowed in the jaw.My mother stands behind me, her presence calm, but I know her too well. She’s worried. Her fingers tremble slightly as she fastens the final clasp at my back.“You’re beautiful,” she says, but her voice is strained. “You look just like the moon when it rises full.”I glance at the window, where daylight blurs the sky into amber and rose. The moon won’t rise for hours. I wonder if she means I look distant. Cold. Trapped by the sky.“I’d rather wear my training clothes,” I mutter.“And I’d rather you didn’t meet the Alpha of Crimson Moon looking like a bruiser.”I h

 The garden is quiet except for the sound of water trickling in the marble fountain and the soft whisper of leaves shifting in the wind. I pace between the rose bushes, trying to breathe evenly, trying to stop the storm in my head from spiraling out of control. Of course Ethan had to be charming. Of course he had to be good-looking in that smug, infuriating way. The worst part is—I felt something. A pull. I’m still trying to shove that thought out of my head when I sense him behind me. I don’t turn around. “If you’re here to tell me how lucky I am to be your future mate, save your breath.” His voice

I wake to the whisper of wind against my window, a steady hush-hush like the world is trying to lull me into peace. It fails. I slept, technically. But not well.All night, my thoughts churned: Ethan’s avoidance, his cold deflections, the strange warmth I felt when he brushed my hand at dinner—and the damn ring still clinging to my finger like it belongs there.If we’re mates, I think, curling my fingers into a fist, shouldn’t I feel more? Shouldn’t he? Maybe there's something wrong with me. Or maybe… I'm just not meant to know yet.I dress in black slacks and a slate-blue blouse that Adrienne laid out for me before dawn. Something tasteful and calm. For today’s meeting, appearance matters. Not just to show strength—but to hide weakness.The council room is located in one of the estate’s oldest wings. Tall windows line the stone walls, flooding the chamber with cold light. A long oak table sits in the center, polished to a mirror shine. On one end, Alpha Theron and my father, Beta Ro

The library is too quiet. Not the peaceful kind of quiet, but the thick, suffocating kind that wraps around your shoulders like a weighted cloak.Ethan leans forward, elbows on the polished table between us, scanning over a hand-drawn map of the territory borders. We’ve been at this for over an hour—circling names, crossing out bad ideas, debating potential alternatives. None of them feel right. Every one feels like a dead end.I exhale sharply, pushing my chair back and standing. “I just—gods, I wish Alpha Theron had a daughter to pawn off. Then I wouldn’t be the one stuck in this mess.”Ethan glances up, his gaze unreadable. “Everyone knows why he doesn’t.”I regret the words instantly. But I don’t take them back.The room falls quiet again, the weight of unspoken truths hanging in the air like fog.It’s common knowledge—at least in whispers and rumors. Alpha Theron’s firstborn, a daughter, died in a tragic accident years ago, and the secondborn, a son… survived, but not whole. Cripp