Chained to something we're pretending not to feel

The rain poured.

Hard.

It beat down on the rooftop with a fury, rattling the windows and sending a chill through the house, but Tara heard none of it.

She sat curled on the edge of her bed, knees to her chest, a book turned upside down in her hands. Her eyes weren’t moving across the page. She hadn’t even realized she was staring at the same spot for the last hour

It had been three days since they returned home.

Three long, silent days.

Tara hadn’t left her room once.

Not even for sunlight. Not even for food.

And definitely not for peace of mind.

Vera had tried. On the second day, she had managed to pull Taylor out for a walk. The two of them had gotten ice cream at the park, just to feel something. But Tara had refused. She hadn’t even looked up when they asked. She’d only buried herself deeper under her blanket, into the coldness that wrapped her heart.

Now, she sat by the window, staring out at the dark clouds while raindrops slid down the glass like teardrops.

Her voice broke softly into the silence.

“What did we do wrong?” she whispered, her breath fogging the glass.

“What are you all running from?”

She clenched the book tighter.

They hadn’t even exchanged numbers.

Nothing.

Taylor had searched the internet earlier, desperate for some sign—some clue. Only Salem and Orson had traceable profiles, though barely active. The Frost brothers? Nothing. No social handles. Just mentions of their pack business and titles. Cold, Distant, and Private.

Just like their goodbye.

If it even was a goodbye.

Tara swallowed hard, her fingers trembling.

The knock on her door barely registered.

She didn’t move, but the door opened anyway.

Stone strolled in, holding a cupcake in one hand, his face unreadable.

“We’re downstairs eating Vera’s special batch,” he said softly. “You should come down.”

“I’m reading,” she replied, still facing the window.

Stone walked to her bed and gently plucked the book from her hands, flipping it over.

“You’re not even holding it right.”

She tried to turn away but he cupped her chin, making her look at him.

Tara blinked back tears.

“I feel… like it was a dream,” she whispered.

Stone’s face softened.

“But it wasn’t,” she added, pressing a palm to her chest. “Because I still feel it. Right here. The bond. Them. Like a flame that refuses to go out.”

Stone sat beside her and took her hand. “I know, love. But hiding in this room won’t make it go away. It won’t fix what happened. And it won’t take away the ache.”

“It just hurts,” she said, eyes glossy. “More than I thought it would.”

He squeezed her hand. “Then hurt out loud. Cry, scream, throw something. But don’t stay locked away. Not when the world still spins and there are people who love you.”

Tara hesitated, but when Stone stood and gently tugged her to her feet, she let him.

“I don’t want cupcakes,” she whispered.

“You’ll eat two,” he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder as he walked her out of the room. “And smile while doing it.”

*A WEEK LATER*

Time didn’t heal. It only numbed.

And even that was starting to wear off.

It had been seven days. Seven long, painful days with no word.

Curtis had sent over ten messages to both packs. Emails. Letters. Calls to landlines that were never picked. Stone did the same. Nothing.

Silence was louder than rejection.

Taylor and Tara had grown quiet.

Not the kind of quiet that asked for space—but the kind that begged not to be noticed.

Their wolves were tired. Slow and fading.

Curtis feared it was taking a toll he couldn’t undo. Even Vera had started to worry.

The worst part?

There was still no reason. No message.

No explanation.

No closure.

Only a deep, confusing ache in the girls’ hearts that no one could heal.

*The Gray Moon Pack House.*

It rained there too, like mirroring the pain. The rain tapped softly against the wide windowpane.

A steady rhythm. Calm on the surface. But inside the room, everything was the opposite of calm.

Orson stood by the window, his arms folded tight across his chest. His shoulders were tense. His jaw clenched. He hadn’t moved in minutes.

Outside, the world was a blur of gray skies and falling drops.

Inside, it felt heavier.

“I wonder what they’re doing right now,” Orson said quietly, eyes fixed far away. “What they’re feeling…”

He exhaled a slow breath, his voice trembling. “Only the goddess knows what they might be going through.”

Salem sat behind his desk, his fingers interlocked on the wood surface. His eyes hadn’t left the same spot on the floor since sunrise.

It had been ten days since they walked away from their mates.

And seven days since the messages began.

One by one, they came. Some from Curtis. Others from Stone. Even Vera wrote once.

None of them had been opened.

But each sealed envelope carried the same weight. Regret.

“They had the Frost brothers,” Salem finally muttered, his voice cold but tired. “I thought at least… they’d be cared for. That someone would stay.”

Orson turned slowly from the window. His brows furrowed as he faced his mate

“And now even they are gone,” he said, disbelief lining his voice. “Just like us.”

Salem’s gaze lifted to meet his. “I never promised anything. I told them from the beginning. I was not ready to be part of any prophecy.”

Orson’s stare hardened. “You still walked away.”

“I did.”

“And you still feel it.”

Salem didn’t respond.

Orson stepped closer. “We both do. Don’t lie to yourself, you think this silence is peace? You think distance has erased them from you?”

His voice cracked just slightly.

“They’re in your blood, Salem. Whether you speak it out loud or not.”

The silence that followed dragged for long seconds. The kind of silence that carries weight. That fills a room so full it becomes hard to breathe.

Salem’s fingers tightened against the desk.

“When Curtis’ first message came…” Orson began, voice low, “I thought, maybe—maybe they were fine. That at least they had the Frosts. That maybe this bond could still work without us.”

He paused.

“But now, I don’t know. They’re hurting. You know it. And so do I.”

Salem leaned back in his chair, head tilted up toward the ceiling. He closed his eyes. Just for a moment.

But that was enough.

Because in that moment… he saw her.

Tara’s face. Her eyes.

The tremble in her voice when she’d whispered his name for the first time.

He opened his eyes again, and the storm outside looked a little more like the one inside him.

“I didn’t want this,” Salem muttered. “Not the prophecy. Not the bond. Not the longing. I wanted to be free.”

“And yet here we are.” Orson’s voice was calmer now. “Still chained to something we’re pretending not to feel.”

Salem stood up slowly, walking around the desk. The rain beat harder against the glass as if matching his racing thoughts.

He stopped at the door. Then turned toward it.

“Steven!” Salem called.

There was no hesitation in his voice this time.

A few seconds later, his cousin rushed in, pen and notepad in hand. “Yes, Alpha?”

Salem’s eyes didn’t flinch.

“Send word to the Frost Pack,” he said. “I want an audience with Alpha Amarok. Now.”

Steven blinked. His eyes widened, but he nodded fast. “Right away, Alpha.”

He turned and exited.

Orson stared, lips parted slightly in surprise.

Salem sat back on the edge of his desk, crossing his arms. He looked at the floor again—but this time, he wasn’t running from anything.

“You’ve made the right choice,” Orson said quietly.

“I’m not doing this for any prophecy,” Salem replied without looking up. “I’m doing it for them.”

But the lie tasted bitter in his mouth.

Because deep down, in places he refused to look for too long, he already knew:

This was never just about the girls.

It was never just about a prophecy. It was about something deeper. Something bigger.

And no matter how far they tried to run… fate had already caught up with them.