# Chapter 4: The Bond's Poison
Pain was an old companion, but this was different—this was her soul trying to crawl out of her body to chase something that no longer wanted her.
Lyra regained consciousness to the sound of whispered prayers and the acrid smell of fear-sweat. The holding pen's stone floor pressed cold against her cheek, but she couldn't feel it. All sensation had been replaced by a howling emptiness where something vital used to be.
"Shh, child. Breathe. Just breathe." Mira's calloused hand stroked Lyra's matted hair, the older Omega's voice cracking with each word. "It'll pass. The pain always passes."
But Mira was lying. They both knew it.
Lyra's body convulsed again, phantom claws raking through her chest cavity, searching for the bond that had been ripped away. Her wolf—that pitiful, broken thing she'd barely felt since childhood—was howling. Not in mourning, but in rage.
"Moon Goddess, have mercy," another Omega whimpered from the corner, her face pressed against the bars. "She's dying. We're watching her die."
"She's not dying," a new voice said—ancient, steady, carrying weight that silenced the pen. "She's transforming."
Through her blurred vision, Lyra saw a figure enter the shadows. An old woman, her eyes milky white with blindness, but her movements precise and certain. The other Omegas shrank back instinctively as the stranger knelt beside Lyra.
Elder Elara placed weathered hands on Lyra's burning forehead, and the touch was cool water on scorched earth. "The pain you feel, child, is not an ending. It is a breaking. A seal that was never meant to hold forever."
Lyra tried to speak, but her throat was raw from screaming. All that emerged was a broken whimper.
"Rest now," Elara whispered. "When you wake, the world will kneel."
Above ground, the Great Conclave continued as though the realm itself hadn't just fractured.
Kael sat rigid on his throne, jaw clenched hard enough to crack teeth, while Alpha after Alpha approached to offer congratulations on his "decisive leadership."
"A weaker king might have been swayed by the bond, Your Majesty," Alpha Thorne of the Eastern Ridge said, his smile wide and false. "But you've proven that the Red Moon Pack values strength above all else."
"Strength is Absolute," Kael responded by rote, the pack motto tasting like ash in his mouth.
Lady Seraphina materialized at his elbow, a ceremonial cup of wine balanced on her elegant fingers. She'd changed into crimson silk that matched the pack colors, every inch the future Queen. "A toast," she announced, her voice carrying across the throne room. "To King Kael, who chose power over sentiment. To the Red Moon Pack, who will never bow to weakness."
The assembled Alphas roared approval. Cups raised. Wine splashed.
Kael took the cup she offered and drank deeply, forcing the liquid past the wrongness building in his throat. The wine was excellent—aged, complex, worth more than most Omegas' lives.
It tasted like blood.
"You're trembling," Seraphina murmured, too low for others to hear. Her hand settled possessively on his forearm. "Are you certain you're well?"
"I'm fine." The words came out harder than intended, edged with Alpha dominance that made Seraphina's eyes flash.
But she smiled, gracious in public. "Of course. The rejection was taxing, I'm sure. But now we can move forward. The bonding ceremony can be scheduled for the next full moon—"
"Marcus." Kael's voice cut through her planning like a blade. "A word. Now."
He rose from the throne, ignoring Seraphina's tight smile and the curious looks from the Alphas. The moment he stepped into the shadowed alcove behind the dais, his careful control cracked.
Marcus caught him as Kael's knees buckled.
"Your Majesty—" Marcus's usual formality shattered into panic. "Goddess, you're burning up."
"It's nothing." But Kael's hand pressed against his sternum, where an emptiness gnawed. Not pain, exactly. Worse. A void where something had been ripped away. "The bond... it was stronger than I anticipated. My body is adjusting."
"Adjusting?" Marcus's voice rose, desperate. "Kael, rejection sickness has killed Alphas before. The bond is divine law. You can't just—"
"Watch me." Kael forced himself upright, shoving away Marcus's supporting hands. "The pain will fade. It has to."
"And if it doesn't?" Marcus grabbed Kael's shoulder, forcing eye contact. "If this kills you? Was your pride worth your life?"
For a heartbeat, something flickered in Kael's eyes. Something that might have been doubt.
Then General Vorlag's massive form filled the alcove entrance. "Your Majesty. We need to discuss the Dreg."
Kael straightened, rebuilding his walls with visible effort. "What about her?"
"She must be executed." Vorlag's tone was flat, absolute. "Tonight. Before word of the rejection spreads beyond the Conclave."
"Explain." Kael's voice was cold, controlled—the Alpha King, not the man who'd been on his knees moments ago.
"You rejected her publicly. Good. That shows strength." Vorlag's scarred hands clenched. "But allowing her to live makes you look weak. Merciful. She's a symbol now—proof that even a packless Dreg can trigger a bond with the King of Alphas. Every weak Omega in the realm will whisper about her. Every dissenter will use her existence as evidence that the Goddess favors the rejected."
Marcus inhaled sharply. "You want to kill a fated mate? Even a rejected one? That's sacrilege, Vorlag. The Silver Crescent packs will—"
"The Silver Crescent remnants are cowards hiding in the mountains," Vorlag snarled. "They won't act. But if we let this Omega live, they'll have a martyr."
The headache pounding behind Kael's eyes intensified. The void in his chest pulsed. "No."
Both men stared at him.
"No?" Vorlag's disbelief was palpable. "Your Majesty, with respect—"
"She's beneath notice." Kael forced the words out, each one a stone in his mouth. "Executing her gives her importance. Makes her a martyr, as you said. Let her rot in the dungeons instead. Forgotten. Proof that even the bond itself means nothing against true strength."
Marcus looked like he wanted to argue, but his jaw snapped shut at the expression on Kael's face.
Vorlag's eyes narrowed. "And when the bond sickness worsens? When the other Alphas see their King weakened by rejecting his mate?"
"It won't worsen." The Alpha Voice bled into Kael's words—an order, not a statement. But his voice cracked at the end, the power stuttering.
Vorlag noticed. They all noticed.
Lady Seraphina appeared in the alcove entrance, her expression carefully neutral. "Gentlemen. The Conclave guests are wondering if the King will return for the evening feast."
"Tell them I'll be there momentarily." Kael didn't look at her.
She didn't move. "I agree with General Vorlag. The Omega should be eliminated. Keeping her alive is... sentimental."
"Since when do I answer to you?" The words were soft. Deadly.
Seraphina's smile never wavered. "You don't, my King. I merely offer counsel, as your future Queen."
The void in Kael's chest twisted, and for a moment—just a moment—he wanted to scream that she wasn't his Queen. That the title belonged to a broken Dreg currently dying in the holding pen. That rejecting the bond was the greatest mistake of his life.
Instead, he said, "The Dreg lives. In chains. In darkness. As a reminder that weakness has no place in my realm. Now get out. All of you."
They obeyed.
Because he was still the Alpha King.
Even if he could feel himself dying from the inside out.
In the holding pen, Lyra's convulsions had finally ceased.
Elder Elara sat cross-legged beside her, ancient hands still resting on the girl's forehead, silver light pulsing faintly beneath the skin.
"Is she...?" Mira whispered.
"She sleeps," Elara said. "But not for long. The power is rising too fast. The rejection pain accelerated what should have taken years."
"What power? She's just—"
"She is the vessel." Elara's blind eyes turned toward Mira, and the Omega gasped at the raw certainty in them. "The prophecy wasn't a metaphor. The Moon Goddess herself lives within this child. Dormant, waiting for the moment of ultimate betrayal to awaken."
"You mean... the old stories? About the First Power returning?" Mira's voice shook. "That's just—"
Lyra's eyes snapped open.
Silver. Pure, molten silver, glowing like twin moons.
Every Omega in the pen fell silent.
"It begins," Elara whispered.
And then Lyra screamed.
In his private chambers, Kael had finally dismissed his servants and guards. He stood alone before the floor-length mirror, staring at his reflection.
He looked like a corpse. Skin pale. Eyes sunken. Veins dark against his temples.
The void in his chest pulsed, and suddenly his knees gave out.
He hit the marble floor hard, gasping. Pain lanced through him—not physical, but worse. Like his soul was trying to tear free of his body and run back to the thing he'd rejected.
Blood filled his mouth. He coughed, and crimson spattered across the white marble.
Kael stared at the pool spreading beneath him, his reflection distorted in the red.
"Temporary," he whispered to himself, to the empty room. "It's temporary. Weakness leaving my body. That's all."
But deep in his chest, where the bond used to live, something howled in agony.
And for the first time in his life, the Alpha King knew true fear.