Atticus
The pull was pleasant, Atticus thought, as he allowed it to tow him out of the pack house and into the ornate gardens fringing the wide veranda. He had his suspicions about what it may be, but he didn’t focus on them. Instead, he let his eyelids droop, keeping them half closed as he navigated his way down the stairs.
The uppermost floor of the pack house was home to the Alpha, Luna, and their family. It would belong solely to him once he found his Luna, but his parents would be welcome to stay under his reign. Most wolves, once their heirs had taken their place, chose to live away from the pack house, and moved into something smaller and more private.
Atticus had awoken early, intent on replying to a letter sent to him by the Alpha of the Lone Wind pack. Their allies to the south had heard rumours of a new pack forming, one built on ambition and treachery rather than tradition and loyalty. Atticus, tough as he was, would never dare go against tradition.
He’d made the decision quickly – the only way to retain Blood Moon’s position as the strongest pack was to fight and destroy any threats that came their way. But before his pen could touch the fresh sheet of paper, something nudged at his heart, encouraging him to step away for a while, to go and see what was waiting for him outside.
He didn’t dare let himself hope that it might be her waiting for him. He didn’t dare picture her brown eyes, sparkling and warm, staring deeply into his own. He didn’t dare imagine her scowling mouth relax, plump red lips tugging up into a smile at the sight of him.
He followed his heart out into the garden, marvelling at the dusty rose-tinted clouds dotting the pale dawn sky. He’d never really been one to appreciate such things, but the swelling in his chest made the colours more vivid, more beautiful, than they’d ever been before. He paused at the edge of the veranda, leaning against a wide cement pillar and staring out across the garden.
As though he was seeing the familiar scene for the first time, Atticus gaped at the flowers, at the rising birds, and at the way the morning light played across all of them. But the pull could not be ignored, and he made his way along the winding path until the pull released him, allowing him to sit.
He closed his eyes, leaning his head back and feeling the sun kiss his face. Behind his eyelids images of her danced: images of her flicking her long hair out of her face, her eyebrows crinkling in annoyance; images of her sucking the end of her pen into her mouth, sinful and delightful; images of her relaxing – these ones fabricated, formed from old memories and fantasy – her shoulders sagging against the back of her chair.
There was a footstep, and then the person – he didn’t allow himself to hope – stilled at the edge of the clearing. He kept his eyes closed, the pull telling him that this was it, this was what – who – he’d been waiting for.
They took a step towards him. His heart pounded in his chest, the feeling too much, overwhelming his senses. He placed a hand atop it, willing it to quieten. This was it – this had to be it, though nobody had ever detailed the specifics of the process. And, if this was indeed it, then he needed to focus.
He swallowed hard, willing his thrilling nerves to calm. He wanted to look – just to peep, just quickly. His eyelids flickered. No – not yet. He ran a hand through his hair, needing something to occupy his mind. The pull surged deep within him, a crescendo of the most beautiful music, violin and harp and piano swelling together, their song made for this moment, and this moment only.
His hair slipped forwards, tickling his temples and cheeks. He grinned, giddy with the joy of the pull, and shook it away. This was it. He’d waited and waited for this, and he’d told himself that he didn’t mind, that he didn’t need a Luna; but as the pull soared, he knew he’d been peddling himself lies. Necessary lies to keep him from tearing apart the world in his search, but lies nonetheless.
For a moment, everything within him stilled. The music ebbed away, the silence an equally beautiful part of the symphony. Sunlight shone through his eyelids, gleaming into his mind, into his soul. He’d found his mate at last.
“Mate,” he murmured. He closed his hand into a fist, overwhelmed. “You’re my mate.”
Unable to resist any longer, he opened his eyes, though he did it as slowly as he could. He wanted to savour this moment, this feeling; this electric light pulsating through his veins, making him see stars and making his heart soar.
And there she was. He hadn’t dared to hope, and yet there she was. She was everything he’d dreamed of and more: olive skin glowing golden in the dawn light, plump red lips parted, and her eyes… her eyes glittered, brown and glossy, tears welling – only she didn’t look sad. A blush crept up her neck and bloomed in her cheeks, rose petals unfurling across her skin.
His heart thudded. Mate, mate, mate, it chanted, urging him to embrace her, to kiss her. He wanted to – more than anything.
He forced away the effects of the pull, yanking the clarity of his normal thoughts back to him. This was Lily – a wolf who couldn’t stand to fight. Beautiful as she was, they were at odds with one another. No matter how she was looking at him, and no matter how her longing gaze made him ache for her, they wouldn’t work.
His spine prickled, a thousand thorns piercing his tender skin at the realisation. “Lily,” he said, his throat straining around the words, “you – you’re my mate?”
His heart sung, but his mind fought against it. Mate mate mate – no. No, he thought – she can’t be. He was the Alpha of the Blood Moon pack. He needed a Luna to stand beside him in battle, not a cowering girl terrified of her own power.
“Is that what this is?” She whispered. He hardly heard her over the roaring in his ears. “I don’t know why I came here.”
He wanted to growl at her, to swear, to tell her to leave and to stay far away from him. She didn’t deserve him – she didn’t deserve to be his mate, his Luna. She gave nothing. But still his heart pulled him to her, and he couldn’t help but wonder at the light in her eyes – such light, shimmering on the surface of a clear pond – after years of shadows and darkness.
“Neither do I,” he said. He didn’t dare say anything more, terrified of what he might let slip.
“It feels… nice.” She too looked scared, as if her own body was deceiving her. Perhaps it was; perhaps they both were.
“It does.” He swallowed again, his throat grating, his mouth dry. Something was growing at the other end of the pull, something full of writhing emotion and so much pure, white light that he had to blink it away. With a start he realised that the light was her, and he took a mental step backwards, shying away from their bond. He couldn’t accept her as his mate. He just… couldn’t.
“Lily, I–“
Her eyes widened, and his wanted to cry out at the pain it caused him. “Don’t,” she said, shaking her head. He wanted to hold her, to soothe away the fear in those bright, beautiful eyes. He longed to stroke his fingertips across her brow, smoothing away the worry lines that had inked themselves into her forehead.
But his traitorous mind was forming words without his heart’s consent. “I can’t be with you.” His voice caught in his throat, and tears brimmed in his eyes. “You can’t be my mate.”
“Don’t.” Her hand reached for him, and curled around nothing. All he wanted was to catch that hand, to press kisses to each individual finger, each individual knuckle. He held his back stiffly, unwilling to give in to his desire. “Don’t do this.”
He couldn’t bear it. He couldn’t bear the way she looked at him, as though he was becoming a monster. Her hand hung limp between them, a promise of love and of light slowly fading. He shoved away his longing, forcing it down into the deepest, darkest cavern within his chest.
He wiped his face clean of any and all emotion. He’d made his choice; now they had to live with it. There was no use in stringing her along, not when they would never work. The mating bond had got it wrong, and they would both suffer the consequences.
A glimmer of agony broke free of his chains, and he swallowed, eyeing her uneasily. He forced it back in, and regained his composure. All would be well once he was free of this bond.
He was freeing her, too. They couldn’t be together, but he would not keep her heart shackled to his, unable to move on. Somewhere deep – deeper even than the mate bond went – he knew he was doing the right thing.
He ignored the ripping of his heart as he spoke, shoving it down, forcing it away. It was better than the alternative, he promised himself. He ignored the tears sliding down her cheeks, all traces of the blush long gone. His face, too, felt cold.
“I reject you as my mate,” he said, pushing the words out of his too-tight throat. His mouth almost refused to co-operate, but he ground them out, his entire body pulsing with the effort.
They hovered in the air between them, and then Atticus felt his heart tear in two. It ripped, cleaving his ribs and lungs with it. He fell to his knees, vomit rising in his throat and gagging him. He blinked through white-hot tears, desperate to have one last look at her before she turned away from him forever.
He had done something despicable. He had – oh, what had he done?
He fell to his knees, unable to think or feel beyond the agony of the severing bond. It shuddered through him, flaying the flesh from his bones. Writhing on the wet grass, his chest flung open and burning with slow, torturous fire, he tried to see her one last time.
But Lily had gone.