Words From Bound Novels & Stories

She stares into the light for a moment, then stumbles back, clutching her chest, her face white. “What is it? What does this mean?” Elowyn inhales sharply, her chest hitching as if she’s been struck. The light collapses inward, dying down into mere silver water drops that splash to the ground. She turns to me. “They are bound,” she says. The silence that follows is absolute. “Define bound,” I reply, my voice a low growl.

It looked more like a journal or a collection of legends. I flipped through the pages, skipping over stories of old wars and pack disputes. Then, a word caught my eye. Moon-bound. My heart skipped a beat. I remembered hearing that word in whispers back at my old pack, but it was always treated like a myth. A fairy tale told to pups. I leaned closer, squinting at the faded ink. 'The Moon-bound are not born of blood alone, but of the Goddess’s direct blessing. They are the wolves who change the tide. Unlike the common wolf, a Moon-bound female wolf holds the key to the soul-bond. She does not just mate; she is the anchor.'

A humorless laugh escapes me, sharp and edged with something dangerously close to hysteria as I drag a hand through my hair, shaking my head slightly as the realization settles into something cold and absolute. “Well,” I mutter under my breath, the words slipping out before I can stop them, “that’s just perfect.” Because this— This isn’t just a bond. This is worse. Far worse. “A soul bind,” I say quietly. Dangerous. Ancient. Rare. And nearly impossible to break once it takes hold. Especially in the early stages. Especially now. My breath steadies slowly as I force myself to think past the initial shock, past the frustration, past the very real, very justified anger building in my chest as I

“It declined. In front of everyone at Neiman Marcus.” His jaw tightened slightly. “The Rhodes don’t get embarrassed that way in public.” “Well.” Miriam held his gaze. “Today we did.” The word sat in the air between them. We. She hadn’t meant to say it like that. Like they were a unit. Damien caught it too. She could tell by the way the corner of his mouth moved. “I’ll sort it,” he said. “And expect the money for the gown back in your account. My queen.”

“So. Binders.” He didn’t deflect. He sat back on his heels and met my eyes like he’d decided to say a thing he didn’t like saying. “A binder is a wolf who learned the wrong lesson about power,” he said. “Some are born with the knack. More grow it by practicing on anything that can’t say no.” “Practicing. Like tying bows?” My chest pulled tight. “Tying knots,” he said. “In living things. In moments. In fear. They twist a thread that’s already there. If they’re strong, they make it obey.”

"Yes. I have never bound myself to anyone willingly." "I kinda tricked you into it. I didn't mean to." He sat cross-legged on the worn wooden floor. "When you drank from me you only linked us. It was the second time that bound us." "What does that mean? Bound?" "You don't need me to tell you. You already know." "Wait. Are you saying that we're married?" He shrugged. "That word means nothing to me. We are bound." I stood over him, nervous because I wasn't sure whether I hated the idea … or liked it.

The thought of what could have happened make my blood congeal in my veins. “What do you mean, when my wolf is unbound?” the monotone of her voice is more chilling than her silence. I thought that might get a response from her, but honestly, I am ill prepared for any of this. I don’t even understand how Mt’s Crook bound her wolf in the first place, or what a binding actually is.

As if the attacks and defenses were only scenery, and the play we perform is only for the two of us. “Names are anchors,” he repeats slowly, and under his words the water falls silent for a heartbeat. “And what is bound can only be unbound by the one who bound it.” His voice thins as he speaks the next word, and this thinness is far more dangerous than depth: “You.”

"Excuse me." B.J. wiped the smile off his face and stabbed the blonde with his gaze, freezing all her giggling grimaces with the grim gesture. "Why "B.J."? That's not your name, is it?" "What you just did is a sin in my world, blondie. Drinking my coffee..." he interrupted her. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth three times, shaking his index finger and head.

Naomi’s POV I couldn’t see. Couldn’t move. Everything was heat and weight and the sound of my pulse pounding in my ears. My wrists were bound. Something rough scraped against my skin, the scent of wolfsbane seeping into every breath I took. My head lolled to the side, but strong arms pulled me upright again. I whimpered. The laughter from earlier echoed around me, louder now. Closer. As if they enjoyed my struggle. I tried to piece together what happened—Layla, the walk, the garden, the woods… Layla.