Page 49 of Primal

The last few days have been a blur of silence and shadows.And rage. At myself, at my choice, at the people who used this hallowed connection as a bargaining chip against me.

My office has borne the brunt of my fury. Not a single piece of furniture or decoration is left untouched. My laptop is a pile of twisted metal and shattered glass in the corner. Feathers from the pillows on the sofa float across the oak floors in silent whispers of wind.

Yrsa came by. Oswin knocked, more than once. I ignored them both. I couldn’t bring myself to open the door, couldn’t handle the looks they’d give me. No doubt the grieving mother would praise my sacrifice while the latter would condemn it just as fiercely as Canaan had.

Canaan.

His absence proves how far I’ve fallen this time.

The one who’s been my anchor since the day I took over as Alpha, the man who never hesitates to knock sense into me before standing at my side, has been noticeably absent. Normally, he’d be the one at my door, checking in, refusing to let me wallow.

I haven’t seen him since the clearing, when he looked at me like I was a stranger before he walked away. That same expression had been etched across Rhosyn’s face, too. They didn’t say it aloud, but I felt their decision settle like stone in the air between us.

They chose her.

They chose to go with Noa.

The text came through that night, hours after I’d arrived back home and had just finished taking my wrath out on my desk and brown leather sofa.

Canaan:We’re still with her.

That was it.

That was all he said. But I didn’t need more. I understood. His unspoken message was loud and clear.

They were only supposed to stay for a couple of hours, show support, and help Noa’s people help her. That’s what I told myself. What I’d convinced myself would happen.

But it’s been days. And they’re still not back. They’re still with her.

And it’s killing me that I haven’t received a single update and it’s even worse knowing I have no business wanting one.

So, I’ve let myself rot in this office.

Three full days of silence, darkness, and this sick, festering pit in my gut that won’t let up. I keep telling myself I did the right thing. That this pain, hers and mine, is the price of protecting my people. That aligning with Cathal, as twisted and manipulative as the bastard is, was the only real option. I want to believe it. Ineedto. Because if I don’t, if I let myself question that for even a second, then I’m just a monster who broke his fated mate for nothing.

But even as I cling to that justification, I hate myself for it. And I hate Cathal more. For knowing exactly where to strike. For seeing my fear and using it to back me into this corner. For dangling my omegas’ lives over my head. He forced my hand, and I played right into it because I’d rather bleed than let another one of my own get taken, abused, eviscerated, and then dumped in the snow. But if this is what doing the right thing feels like, I don’t know how much more I’ve got left in me.

As it stands now, I feel like I’ve lost everything but the pounding heart in my chest, and if I’m being honest, I don’t know if I want to keep that. Not when it was meant to beat in sync with hers.

My second’s trust, my mate’s bond, and my wolf.

All broken or missing.

It takes everything I have to look inward,reallylook, and face the wreckage I’ve caused.

I go searching for him, for my wolf, who has remained gone since I shattered every inch of trust shared between us by committing the unforgivable. Since I stretched our connection to the point of breaking. Desperate for even the faintest flicker of his presence, I need to know that I’m not really alone in this. When I reach into the place where he’s always lived, I find…something. Not him. Not fully. He’s there, but distant, simmering with a fury that keeps him just out of reach. I can sense the rage vibrating in the void between us. His detachment isn’t a result of the mate bond fracturing, no, this is a choice the sentient being has made on his own. This is his way of punishing me and despite the strange loneliness that comes with his aloofness, I can’t blame him for it.

I’m so focused on the quiet rise of my wolf’s presence, relieved he hasn’t completely abandoned me, that at first, I miss what he’s guarding. He’s crouched low in the center of my chest, teeth bared, hackles raised, every inch of him coiled over something small. Something fragile. I almost dismiss it as nothing, just more wreckage from the last few days, until I look closer.

That’s when I see it. No,feelit.

A thread.

It’s barely there at all. Brittle and nearly translucent. I blink. I almost can’t breathe for fear that acknowledging it will make it vanish. It doesn’t, but sensing my attention, my wolf growls, low and warning, protective in a way that tells me this isn’t an illusion or a cruel leftover dream. It’s real.

And it’s her.

My spine stiffens. Every muscle locks up as I stare inward, frozen by the weight of it. I was certain that space in my chest would be empty now. But it’s not. That piece of her is still there, buried under my guilt and rage and fear—and my wolf has been protecting it. Shielding it. From me.

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