The Silent Morning
The Citadel woke to an uneasy stillness.No one spoke of the previous night, yet every guard, servant, and courtier felt the shift — the air heavier, the shadows sharper.
The King's aura had changed.
Ryan had not left his chambers since the decree. When the guards brought food, it returned untouched. His wolf prowled behind his eyes, and his temper had become a living thing — ready to strike at any moment.
Isabella felt it through the bond long before she saw him.The pull in her chest had grown painful, a sharp ache that flared with his moods. When he paced, her heart raced. When he clenched his fists, her hands trembled without reason.
By noon, her reflection in the glass showed faint shadows beneath her eyes — the bond was draining her, and she didn't understand why.
The Elders' Conviction
In the great hall, the Council of Elders gathered again, robes whispering against the marble as they debated in hushed tones.
Elder Maeron stood at the center. "The balance has begun to shift," he declared. "It is as the Eclipse Pact foretold — resistance breeds discord. The Alpha must accept his Queen, or the bond will consume them both."
Another Elder frowned. "And if he refuses?"
"Then the bond will correct itself by force," Maeron said calmly. "It is not our place to question the will of the prophecy. We must ensure they remain close until the joining completes."
A murmur rippled through the chamber. None dared argue. In Lycanthra, prophecy was law — and law was not meant to be softened by mercy.
The Breaking Point
That evening, Isabella stood near the fire, trying to read but unable to focus. The book trembled in her hands, the words blurring as another wave of pain rolled through her chest — his pain.
She pressed a hand to her heart, gasping softly. "Ryan…"
Across the room, he stood by the balcony doors, head bowed, every line of his body coiled tight.
"Stop," he growled under his breath. "Stop feeling what isn't yours."
She looked up, startled. "I can't help it. The bond—"
"The bond is a curse," he snapped, turning toward her. His eyes flashed gold, sharp and dangerous. "They can keep their prophecy. I won't be bound to you."
She flinched at his tone, but didn't step back. "Then you'll destroy yourself trying."
For a heartbeat, silence stretched between them — heavy, tense, charged.Ryan's wolf stirred within him, restless and fierce. "She's right. You can't keep fighting both of us."
"Shut up," he hissed aloud.
Isabella's eyes softened, her voice quiet but firm. "You think I want this? That I wanted to be forced into your world?"
He met her gaze, and for the first time in days, something flickered there — not hatred, but exhaustion.
"I don't care what you want," he said finally, voice rough. "I just need… distance."
But distance was no longer possible.
The Moon's Pressure
The night fell heavy and silver. Outside, the moon rose full, a pale echo of the blood-red one that had begun their fate.
Ryan could feel it — the pulse of its light through his veins, the bond stretching thinner and thinner, as if the heavens themselves demanded surrender.
His wolf growled louder, pacing in the back of his mind. "You're killing her by resisting. Can't you feel it?"
He could. Every tremor in her breath, every flicker of pain in her pulse burned through his chest like fire. He turned away, gripping the stone wall until it cracked under his hands.
"She'll survive," he ground out.
"And if she doesn't?"
His chest tightened. He didn't answer.
The Bond's Recoil
The first scream wasn't hers. It was his.
Pain shot through his body, a wave so sudden he dropped to his knees. The bond flared white-hot — then dark. The wolf howled inside him, thrashing against the cage of his control.
"She's fading—your denial's killing her!"
He staggered to his feet, vision blurring. Across the chamber, Isabella had fallen too, clutching her chest, eyes wide with confusion and fear.
"Ryan!"
He was beside her in an instant, hands trembling as he caught her shoulders. The moment their skin touched, the pain dulled — the bond stabilizing, but only barely.
Her breath came ragged. "Why does it hurt like this?"
"Because," he whispered hoarsely, "the bond doesn't like being defied."
The wolf growled approval. "You can't fight forever."
He clenched his jaw, forcing it back. "Watch me."
The Dawn of Fracture
By morning, the Citadel was quiet again, but the damage was done.
The healers whispered of the strange energy that had shaken the palace overnight. The Elders called it a sign of progress. Ryan called it madness.
Isabella moved through the halls pale and silent, her strength barely holding. Every step echoed with the echo of his turmoil — she could no longer separate her heart from his.
Ryan stayed locked away, his eyes darker than shadow, his aura flickering between man and beast.
The moon had begun to wane, but the fracture in the bond remained — raw and alive.
And deep within him, his wolf whispered a single warning:"When the moon rises again, you won't be able to stop it."
Ryan didn't answer. He already knew.
The next moon would break them both.