Familial Bond Countdown の短編小説 & 小説

My foster sister, Sylvia Blackwood, was so terrified of being bonded to the cold, merciless Alpha King that she rigged the lot the moment it was my turn to draw. I pulled out the Alpha King. The whole hall erupted. I looked toward my fated mate, Raymond Hale—but he wasn't looking at me. His eyes were locked on Sylvia, and only her. My brother, Carl Blackwood, didn't call out the switch either. He just let them whisper and laugh. I stood there frozen, eyes burning red. Everyone treated it like a joke. They never thought I'd actually go through with bonding with a wolf that dangerous. But staring at the same faces who once swore they'd love me forever—I finally knew. I was done. I was leaving.

Just before the wedding starts, Mom suddenly clutches her chest and collapses. I drop everything and rush her to the hospital. The moment we pull up to the emergency room, my phone buzzes with a text in the family group chat. "Davian's at the hospital. I lured him away. You guys can start the wedding now." A second later, Dad replies, "Good. Kayden's already up on the main stage." Then my sister, Elaine Burke, chimes in, "Kayden's waited ten years for this. Now he can finally marry Leah out in the open." Within seconds, all three messages are deleted from the chat. Then my best friend, Simon Cohen, accidentally drops a video clip of the ceremony right into the group. In the video, my younger brother, Kayden Burke, is wearing the tuxedo I had handpicked for myself. My fiancee, Leah Hunter, stands at the end of the aisle, slipping the ring meant for me onto his finger. The same friends and relatives who cheered for me yesterday are now chanting in unison, "Kiss her! Kiss her!" Mom lunges from the hospital bed and snatches the phone out of my hands. The agony on her face is gone, replaced by pure panic at being caught. "Davian, Kayden's waited so long for Leah. He just wants a wedding of his own. You've had Leah for seven years. Just let him have this one time, okay?" I look at the ECG patches still stuck to her chest and let out a cold laugh. Everyone else gets to play the hero in their little drama, and I'm the only fool left in the dark, performing for their amusement.

When I was eight years old, Kieran Blackwood, Alpha of the Ironwood Pack, saved me from a rogue wolf den. He adopted me and said he would protect me for life. When I was twelve, I met Beta Ryan Cross. He treated me as her own sister and also promised to protect me for life. But later, these two men who swore to guard me forever pushed me into the flames with their own hands. All to please their childhood sweetheart. But when I ran away from Ironwood Pack, the Alpha and Beta both went crazy.

The summer after the college entrance exams, my parents promise to take me on a beach vacation. I start packing my suitcase one month in advance, including a pair of swim trunks, sunscreen, my camera, and a detailed travel itinerary that I stay up late every night preparing. The night before we leave, my younger brother, Oscar McCreery, suddenly announces that he wants to invite my childhood best friend, Celia Ruginis. Dad glances at the airline tickets and frowns. "We don't have enough rooms." My chest tightens. The next second, Mom snatches my passport out of my hand. "You can sit this one out, Nate. Your brother and Celia just made up. They need this." My older sister, Michelle McCreery, picks up my suitcase and sets it down beside Oscar. "Nate's already packed everything. You can just take this," she says to him. I turn to Celia. She once told me that we'd go to see the ocean together after my college entrance exams. But now, she just reaches for the suitcase. "Ozzy has always been terrified you'd steal everyone away. Just let him have his peace of mind this time." Oscar's eyes redden as his voice chokes with emotion. "Nathan, I just really want one family trip." A family trip. What a joke. Apparently, they're only a family without me around. Departure alerts flood my phone screen. There are only three hours left until boarding. I stand in the entryway, watching my suitcase disappear into the distance. That's when it hits me. For the past few years, I've been like excess baggage to them. They bring me along when I'm useful and leave me behind when I become inconvenient. The ocean breeze never even reaches me, but somehow, I have no desire to see the sea anymore.

Seven years ago, the Vitale family and the Alberti family forged an alliance through marriage. But on the day of the wedding, my older sister ran away with a cobbler. To keep the two families from turning on each other then and there, my father disowned her on the spot. Then he shoved me, still dressed in my bridesmaid gown, into the dressing room. Half an hour later, I walked out in my sister’s wedding dress and married Jonathan Alberti, the Alberti family heir, a man notorious throughout Sicily for his ruthlessness from a young age. And yet, in the seven years that followed, he never treated me badly. Whenever I got myself into trouble, he cleaned up the mess. Once, someone mocked me at a party for being the bride who had taken my sister’s place. The next day, that man’s body was found floating in the Mediterranean. I thought seven years was long enough for a man to forget the woman he had once intended to marry. Little by little, I fell for him too. Until the day my sister appeared at the gates of the estate, disheveled and desperate, with a six-year-old boy beside her. “My husband is dead. I…” She never even had to finish asking. All the resentment Jonathan had carried over her running away vanished with a few tears. That very night, my sister and her son moved into the estate. Jonathan stood outside her door, watching her. And from the turn of the staircase, I stood watching him. I gave a bitter smile and made a phone call. Now that my sister was back, it was time for the stand-in bride to step aside.

I have been able to smell people's emotions since I was a child. Love is sweet, and sadness is bitter. After being with Dante for ten years, the scent on him had always been sweet. Until last month, when my sister Sofia agreed to the arranged marriage with the Colombo family. In that very moment, the scent on him abruptly turned bitter. That night, I heard their suppressed voices: "Sofia, you clearly love me too, so why are you marrying that useless man?" My sister cried back at him: "You are Gia's fiancé, and she is my sister. We cannot continue this mistake." Only then did I realize the truth. My fiancé had been in love with my sister all along. I canceled the engagement party and booked a flight to Sicily in three days. But why was it that only after I left did they both go mad with regret?

In my third year after joining the werewolf guard, I single-handedly cut off the rogues' supply line during a raid. For my actions, the chairman of the werewolf council awarded me a Silver Moon Insignia and granted me the right to live in a four-bedroom penthouse apartment at Moonshadow Estate. Mom once told me that if we ever moved into a bigger home, she would give me a bedroom that belonged to me alone. On the night all the furniture was moved in, I searched every one of the four bedrooms, but there wasn't the slightest trace of me in any of them. The master bedroom belonged to my parents. My older sister, Kalista, had taken the sunniest south-facing suite. My younger brother, Keane, had a room filled with newly purchased combat manuals and an entire wall of cabinets for his hunting boots. The remaining bedroom had been turned into Kalista's walk-in closet, and all my luggage had been piled outside the bathroom. I asked Mom, "Where am I supposed to sleep?" She froze for a moment before pointing at the brand-new sofa in the living room. "You're usually out on night patrol and hardly ever come home. If you occasionally stay the night, isn't the sofa good enough?" Dad frowned as well. "Family members should be considerate of one another. Although the pack rewarded you with this apartment, it belongs to the whole family too. Be generous. Don't start fighting over rooms the moment we move in." I lowered my head and looked at the insignia in my hand. Suddenly, I laughed. So the large home I had risked my life to earn had room for Kalista's clothes, Keane's equipment, and my parents' pride. But somehow, there was no room for me. That night, I received an encrypted message from the captain of the guard. [Outpost 3 on the northern frontier urgently needs a werewolf guard willing to serve there long-term. The assignment involves three years of closed rotation under harsh conditions, but each guard will be provided with private quarters.] I looked up at the four closed doors and quietly typed two words in reply. [I'm going.] If there was no place for me here, then I would go somewhere that had reserved a place for me.

The ninety-ninth thing my adopted sister Isabella took from me was a grave in the sun. I had already paid the deposit, but the cemetery didn’t dare sell the plot to me. Because the Moretti family’s principessa wanted that plot for her dead dog. But I loved that spot. So I called my mother, the Donna of the Moretti family. Her voice cooled the moment I mentioned the grave： “Adriana, are you still pretending you have gastric cancer?” “Isabella just lost her dog. She’s suffered enough. Stop trying to take something else from her.” My father rejected my call. My brother, Luca, answered while helping Isabella choose the dog’s headstone. “Stop buying graves to frighten us. Why are you always so petty? Can't you stand to see your sister have anything good?” I looked at the oncologist’s report in my hand. Seven days. Maybe less. So even when I was truly dying, no one believed me. I chose the only plot left at the edge of the cemetery, where sunlight never reached, and signed the contract. Then I blocked my family one by one. They were right. I needed to stop begging them to care and remove myself from their lives for good. Seven days later, I died alone. That was when the Morettis finally believed me. And lost their minds with regret.

Since I was little, I've had the ability to see the Grim Reaper. After seeing the Reaper trailing behind my grandfather, my father, and my mother right before each of them passed away, my three older brothers concluded that I was a jinx. I was the one who brought disaster upon the family. From then on, I became the invisible one in the house. My oldest brother, Kieran, the Alpha, was too busy managing the pack to ever pay attention to me. My second brother, Rhys, was a gentle healer. But when I told him my stomach hurt, he just gave me a cold smile. "What does that have to do with me? As long as you don't bring us bad luck, I don't care." My third brother, Declan, was the pack's fiercest Gamma warrior. Whenever I got close, he’d clench his fists and warn me to stay the hell away from him. As for my younger sister, Chloe, they held her in the palms of their hands, treating her like a precious treasure. They called her their lucky star, because ever since she was born, everything in the family had gone perfectly.But didn't Mom die while giving birth to her? I was ignored for over a decade. Until the day of my eighteenth birthday, when the Grim Reaper stood by my bed. He told me he would come to take me away in three days. I wasn't sad. I just thought, this time, they’ll finally be happy, right? But on the day I actually died, the three of them cried.

Three days before my mating ceremony, my brothers called my adopted sister and me into the Moon Hall to draw lots for our future mates. The silver token meant Noah Hale, my childhood sweetheart. The black token meant Alpha Kieran Blackwood, a dying man from a northern pack. As the younger sister, Ivy drew first. She got Noah. My brothers looked relieved. “You’re the daughter of a former Alpha and Luna,” Adrian said. “Blackridge will respect your bloodline. If Kieran dies, they’ll send you home safely.” Then he looked at Ivy, the orphaned daughter of the man who had once saved our parents. “Ivy has no family left. Blackridge might look down on her. We can’t send her there alone.” Even Noah agreed. “When you come back, Ivy and I will take care of you.” I nodded without arguing. They didn’t know I already knew the draw had never been fair. Neither did they know the healer had given me three days to live. Kieran was dying, and so was I. Under Blackridge tradition, bonded partners who died within the same moon cycle were laid to rest side by side. Neither Kieran nor I would be alone by the end of the week. Three days later, my brothers waited at the Silvercrest gates for me to come home. The snow reached their knees, but no car ever appeared. By then, Blackridge had already crossed the northern border with two coffins.

Three days before our bonding ceremony, my mate—Adrian Carson, the Alpha of the Nightfall Pack—placed two velvet boxes on the table. The first box was deep blue. Inside was a set of moonstone jewelry he'd paid a fortune for at an auction. The other contained nothing more than a black leather bracelet that had come free with his auction purchase. It didn't match my dress at all. For the first time, I pointed to the jewelry before anyone else could. "Can I choose first this time?" Adrian gently stroked my cheek. His voice was cool as he spoke beside my ear, "Your sister has always had to be first in everything. If she's not the first choice, she doesn't want it. And you don't care about these things anyway. You'll be fine with whatever's left." I looked at Adrian's matter-of-fact expression and said nothing. I simply felt something inside me disappear. Ever since I was little, I'd always been the shadow behind my sister, Nora Rose—quiet, unnoticed, never fighting for anything. I even had to wait for Nora to blow out the candles on the birthday cake first. Even our bonding ceremony three days from now had been postponed several times for Nora's sake. I pushed the leather bracelet back across the table. "Give both of them to Nora." For the first time, I didn't want to be the one who was left with the leftovers.

When the family posted the assessment results and started handing out placements, everyone crowded around my twin sister. My brother, Alessandro, tapped the Manhattan headquarters on the list. "This one. Obviously. You stick with me, learn how the family works. " "Once I take over the Vittore family, you'll be the most spoiled little princess in New York." Matteo slid the Brooklyn branch file in front of her. "Don't listen to him. Come to Brooklyn. I'll train you myself. We'll run things together someday." My parents smiled and nodded along. "Staying in New York is perfect. With your brother and Matteo looking out for you, we won't have to worry." It took them a long time to remember that I had taken the assessment too. "Stella, your score's too low. Just pick any branch in New York and sit there for a while." My brother didn't even look up as he said it. "Yeah. We'll all be in New York anyway. Easy to keep an eye on you." Matteo nudged me along out of habit. "Confirmation closes in half an hour. Don't space out again. Nobody wants to clean up after you." Slowly, I tightened my grip on my score sheet. When we were little and played pretend, my sister was always the princess everyone fought to save. My brother was the loyal knight. Matteo was the prince who fought his way through the thorns. And me? I was always the wicked witch nobody liked. Turns out growing up didn't change a thing. If no one wanted me around, then I would put in for a transfer overseas, somewhere as far from them as I could get. Let there be oceans between us. I would not look back.

After joining the nation's top research lab as a sophomore, everyone assumes I've taken shortcuts to get there. Mom throws away the handmade gift I had spent days crafting and says with disdain, "I don't have a daughter who's this shameless." Andreas Fitzgerald, my fiance, doesn't hold back, either. He warns coldly, "Remember your place as Mrs. Fitzgerald." Later, when my younger sister, Elaine Wilde, destroys my left hand, they all pressure me to drop the matter. I wake up in the hospital, pain crawling up my arm, and I know exactly what I have to do. Without hesitation, I dial my mentor, George Landon's, number. "I'm ready to join the classified national rocket program."

I used to be the beloved little princess of the Colobo family. Then, on my eighteenth birthday, my father brought home Sophia. She was the daughter of the old friend who had once saved his life. Out of guilt, he gave her a place in our home. Then he gave her my place too. My brother began protecting her and hating me. My childhood friend, Luca Rizzo, fell for her and left me behind. Even my father said Sophia deserved the Colobo name more than I did, though I was his biological daughter. On the day I graduated from college, they broke their promise to me for the ninety-ninth time because of her. I finally lost control. “Am I not your own daughter?” My father pulled Sophia behind him as if I were the danger, then slapped me across the face. “You jealous little thing. I should have given everything to her instead.” My brother looked at me like I was something dirty. “You don’t deserve a place in the Colobo family. Get out.” So I left. They thought I was only throwing another tantrum. They took Sophia to Switzerland to see the snow-covered mountains, certain that silence would teach me to behave. They thought I would calm down, come home, and beg for my place again. But this time, I called the research institute in Australia whose offer I had once turned down for them. “I accept,” I said. By the time the Colobo family realized I was truly gone, my phone number no longer existed. And so did Isabella Colobo.

My Alpha Mate, Damon Ashford, missed our son Finn's sixth birthday—because he was too busy tending to his adopted sister's pup. That night, while packing up Finn's room, I found a recording in his mechanical wolf toy. A tiny, childish whisper. "Little wolf, my daddy's not here. Will you stay and grow up with me instead?" The next day at the pack school, the instructor casually asked why Finn's father hadn't shown up for the ceremony. Finn gripped his crayon and answered softly: "Daddy's busy. He's the pack's Alpha." "His time belongs to his work. It belongs to Aunt Serena, because she needs his care. But it doesn't belong to me." The parents nearby shifted, at a loss for words. But I felt nothing. Just the quiet, final snap of disappointment. A month later, Damon finally remembered. He wanted to make up for the missed birthday. He walked into the pups' room and saw Finn sorting through identity cards. Finn slipped the card with Damon's face into the "Pack Members" slot. Then left the "Family" column completely empty. Damon reached for it, but Finn looked up, eyes distant and cold. "Alpha Ashford. Please don't put the card in the wrong place." "Dad belongs in the family. You only belong to the pack." The color drained from Damon's face. Instantly.

A witch prophesied that the stronger I became, the closer my twin sister, Elara, would come to death. To save her, my parents suppressed my wolf spirit for eighteen years. They forced me to hide my gifts and apologize for every success. The werewolf academy selection trial at eighteen was my only chance to escape this family. But on the day of the trial, they confiscated my token and locked me inside the winter store behind a silver door. “You know Elara could die because of you, and you still want to take the trial?” The silver walls suppressed my wolf spirit, leaving me helpless as the room grew steadily colder. I pounded on the door and begged for help. Mother replied coldly, “Stop pretending. The cooling system isn’t even on.” At that moment, I finally understood. As they left with Elara, the truth became clear. No matter how many times I gave in, they would always demand one more sacrifice. Blood ran from my forehead and slowly froze against my training uniform. I curled up in the darkness and stopped pounding on the door. They thought destroying my future would save Elara. When they returned, Elara was still alive. I was already dead.

Ever since my husband, the mafia capo Rocco Marchetti, poured all his attention and the family's resources into his brother's widow, the woman whose husband took a bullet for him. I found our daughter Tessy's diary, where she had started writing, "My Papa is gone." A nun from her private Catholic school called, asking about his passing. I paused for a moment. "Yes," I replied. "He passed away a long time ago." On Father's Day, the school organized a trip to the church to light prayer candles. While other children wrote cards praying for their fathers' safety, Tessy neatly wrote just two words on hers: "To Heaven." During the parent-teacher open house, the nuns displayed the children's decorated diaries on their desks. The theme for their entries was My Father. My Papa died in a shootout in the next neighborhood over. A lady there wouldn't stop crying, and then Papa never came home. After every entry like this, she would clutch the crucifix on her necklace, her small hand gripping it so tightly her palm grew slick with sweat. Eventually, Rocco sensed the growing chill at home. He dropped everything and rushed back to the estate with a bouquet of expensive red roses, hoping to celebrate his daughter's birthday with her. The door opened. On the coffee table lay Tessy's new diary, its title scrawled in a childish hand: If Papa Were Still Alive.

After I discovered that my Mafia husband, Don Dante Amato, still couldn't let go of his first love, Bianca, and the son she had with another man, I taught our son to call him "Don Amato." When our son came down with a fever, Bianca called my husband away in the middle of the night. I stroked his burning forehead and taught him to say, "Goodbye, Don Amato." Dante had promised to present our son to the whole Amato Family at a family dinner — to formally announce him as the future heir. Yet on the night of the dinner, Bianca called, crying that her own son had no father by his side. Dante left without a second thought. I didn't argue. I just had our son stand in front of the entire Family and explain, "Don Amato has someone more important to take care of." It wasn't until Dante finally realized how disappointed we were in him that he suggested we take a family portrait together. Outside the photo studio, Bianca called again, crying for Dante's help. "Dante, the kids at daycare are making fun of Gabe for not having a dad. Can you come pick him up and pretend to be his father?" Dante looked conflicted. He turned to our son, as if about to explain everything. But this time, our son didn't need my reminder. He waved Dante off. "It's okay, Don Amato. Go take care of the other child. Mom and I will manage the family photo just fine."

After I came of age, I entered the Gallo family's trial period. Only those who passed the family's trials within five years would earn the right to wear the family crest. Anyone who failed would be sent to the shooting range as a live target. This year's trial was to seize a weapons shipment at the port. I was the first to locate the weapons cache, but when Vera blundered into the ambush, I had to stay behind and clean up the mess to save her. After the fierce gunfight, my team's casualties ended up exactly one more than Vera's. At the crest ceremony, my mother Carmela once again pinned the family crest to Vera Gallo's chest, smiling with satisfaction. "Vera brought back the weapons with the fewest casualties. She passes the trial again this year, without question. "Not that the crest needs to be awarded twice, but Elsa, you really aren't as capable as Vera. Better luck next time." Better luck next time. I'd been hearing those exact words for four years straight. Ever since Vera was brought back four years ago, I, the adopted orphan, had become the most unwelcome person in the house. Because she claimed everything I had should have been hers. The moment she heard that Carmela had treated me well, she'd spiral into hysterics and threaten to kill herself. From then on, I waited four years and never once received the crest from Carmela's hands. This time, I was done waiting. I was going home. My real home.

There was a whiteboard hanging on the wall of our house. Written right across the center was a countdown to my end. [Estimated time until Freya's heart failure: 47 days.] Every morning, my mother meticulously wiped away yesterday’s number and wrote down the new one. It was like a countdown for a store clearance sale—precise, detached, and filled with quiet anticipation. My name is Freya Mason, and I’m twelve years old. I was born with a congenital heart defect. The specialists told my family that without a three-million-dollar surgery, I wouldn't survive another six months. My father, Daniel Mason, is worth over two billion dollars. Yet, he looked at my life and said, "Three million dollars just isn't worth the investment." Because in his eyes, there was already a healthy child in the house. My eight-year-old brother, Andy Mason, was bright, handsome, a talented pianist, and a master at charming adults. He was the only child in this family who was actually worth something.