"He rejected me. Now he stands still, waiting like I'm the one who left something behind."
The last time I stood this close to Kael Blackthorn, the bond between us had just ignited — and he'd torn it apart with a sentence.
Now I stood at the base of his estate, cloaked in mist and guarded silence, and he looked at me like I was the one who held the knife.
The early morning fog clung to the grounds of Crescent Hall, wrapping around ancient oaks and stone pillars like ghostly fingers. I could taste the dampness in the air, feel it settling on my skin, mingling with the nervous sweat I refused to acknowledge. Behind me, the Keepers' boots crunched on gravel, a sound that seemed to echo in the weighted silence between Kael and me.
He didn't move.
Not when the Keepers behind me retreated, their silver-tipped staffs gleaming dully in the pale light. Not when the car door shut with a hollow thud that reverberated through my chest. Not when I pulled back my hood and let him see my face fully, no longer hiding behind the shadows I'd embraced since he cast me aside.
His eyes flicked once — a subtle, downward glance — taking in the silver-threaded cloak that marked my new status, the calm rise of my chest that belied the storm within, the way I didn't fidget, didn't flinch. I stood rooted, the way the ancient trees around us stood: unmoved by temporary winds.
I'm not the omega you rejected, Kael.
The thought pulsed between us. Unspoken but deafening.
He felt it. I knew he did. The flicker of something unreadable crossed his face, rippling beneath the surface of his stoic mask, but it vanished too quickly to catch. His control was still iron-forged, tempered by years of Alpha training that taught him to swallow emotion before it showed.
But his wolf?
That was another story.
I felt it the second I stepped closer — not through scent, or sight, but through the bond. Faint. Fragile. Flickering like a half-buried wire sparking beneath our skin. It was a connection that should have died the night he turned away from me in front of his entire pack, his words a public execution of what should have been sacred.
"I do not accept this bond. I reject what the Moon has offered."
The memory sliced through me, quick and sharp. But the pain that should have followed was dulled now, scarred over with something harder.
That damaged bond throbbed between us. Weak, but alive. Like a plant that should have withered but stubbornly sent up new shoots through cracked earth.
Kael's jaw flexed. The muscle there tightened, released, tightened again. His hands remained behind his back, gloved in black leather that creaked softly when his fingers curled. He still wore the Alpha's cloak — raven-dark and trimmed in iron gray — but he looked... wrong inside it.
Paler than before. A shadow beneath his own title. The vibrant power that used to radiate from him, that used to make omegas bow their heads and alphas straighten their spines, was dimmed. Not gone, but flickering like a candle running out of wax.
The scars along his temple—three parallel lines that disappeared into his hairline—seemed more pronounced against his ashen skin. Scars from the challenge that had nearly cost him his life and title three months ago. The challenge that came just weeks after he rejected our bond.
"Evelyn," he said at last.
My name on his lips wasn't soft.
It was a statement.
Not quite a greeting.
Not quite cold.
Just my name, suspended between us like something he wasn't sure he had the right to touch anymore.
I stopped halfway up the steps and raised a brow. The grey stone was slick with morning dew beneath my boots. "Alpha Blackthorn."
His gaze darkened. The storm-cloud color of his eyes deepened to near black, pupils expanding slightly before contracting again under that legendary control.
Good.
Let it sting.
Let him feel what it was like to be distantly addressed by someone who once whispered his name like a prayer.
We stood like that for a long moment — the silence tense and heavy between us. My heart beating steadily despite the pressure building in my chest. His breathing measured and controlled, though I could sense the effort it took to maintain that rhythm. The only sound was the wind brushing through the trees behind the hall, pine needles rustling secrets back and forth.
Finally, he turned.
"Follow me."
No apology.
No explanation.
He simply walked inside, the heavy oak doors swinging open at his approach—responding to the Alpha blood that flowed in his veins, even if that power was waning now.
And I — after one breath, one grounding moment to remember who I was, who I had become in his absence — followed.
Not because he commanded it. Not even because I was curious about why he'd summoned me after three months of silence. But because I needed him to see what had grown from the ashes of his rejection. What the Moon had gifted me when he'd thrown away her most sacred bond.