The Weight of the Bond

Lucien's POV

I've broken bones.

Felt my ribs splinter under claws, my skin torn by fang and fire.

But nothing hurt like watching Aria stare at me after the shift, wide-eyed and wordless, every part of her fighting between running and reaching for me.

The worst pain wasn't the transformation.

It was the silence that followed.

The truth stood between us now, ugly and ancient, and I wasn't sure if she'd survive it.

Hell, I wasn't sure if I would.

She hadn't run. That had to count for something.

She hadn't screamed. Or fainted. Or accused me of being a monster.

But she'd looked at me like I'd become the very thing that shattered her reality. And in a way, I had.

Aria Bennett was logic and elegance, brilliant in ways most people never noticed until she opened her mouth and spun knowledge into gold. She was human in the ways I could never be again—unbreakably whole, untouched by the wild rot of the world I lived in.

And now she knew.

Now she had to carry it.

And somehow, so did I.

⸻

I stood alone on the cliff's edge behind my estate, letting the wind carve its path across my skin. The ocean was a living thing below—angry, thrashing against the rocks like it wanted to climb up and drown the world. I understood the feeling.

The salt clung to me. The weight of my skin felt wrong.

I hadn't slept.

Not after last night.

Not after seeing her fingers curl around mine in the clearing, despite everything.

She'd touched me after the shift. She saw the beast and still reached for the man.

And that terrified me more than her fear ever could.

Because it meant I might still have something to lose.

⸻

Eighteen years ago, I shifted for the first time on this very cliff.

I was fifteen. Still skinny, all limbs and confusion. My father had said it would be like coming home.

It wasn't.

It was like dying.

Your body doesn't want to break itself. It fights. Every bone, every cell resists becoming something unnatural. That night, I screamed so loud the sky cracked. I begged for it to stop. I begged for death.

I remember the cold bite of night air against raw skin. The taste of blood on my tongue. The way my mother cried and held me after, whispering something about strength and survival.

I hadn't felt strong. I'd felt ruined.

That was the first time I realized monsters aren't born. They're made.

And now, somehow, Aria had seen what I'd become.

And hadn't flinched.

⸻

I sensed the shift in the wind before I heard the footfalls.

A familiar scent hit the air—iron, pine, something sharp underneath.

"Ezra," I said without turning.

My Beta stepped from the shadows like a ghost—dark hair wind-whipped, eyes stormy. He looked like he hadn't slept either.

"She didn't run," he said by way of greeting.

"She should have."

"She's your mate."

I turned then, eyes narrowing. "That's exactly why she should have."

Ezra crossed his arms. "You think pushing her away protects her?"

"I know it does."

He snorted. "Didn't stop you from showing her."

"She saw me shift by accident."

"But you didn't run either."

I didn't answer. Because we both knew he was right.

Ezra sat on the low stone wall and looked out over the cliffs.

"She's already part of this now," he said. "Whether she wants to be or not. Whether you want her to be or not."

"I didn't choose this bond."

"No. But it chose you."

My jaw clenched. "And if it gets her killed?"

"Then we kill whatever tries."

It was a simple truth. One I wasn't sure I believed anymore.

Because some enemies don't come from outside. Some are already in your blood.