Breaking the Bond: The Alpha Who Called Me Fake Begs for Mercy

Losing consciousness was just the start of another form of torment to me. The bloody, foolish memories I'd fought to forget surged back, tearing through me while my mind was weak.

Drevan loved bare-knuckle fights. Any territorial dispute with rival packs turned into a battle for dominance. His skill was unquestionable, and years of relentless training had left him undefeated.

There was one time when two of his ribs were broken in a fight. At that moment, I was at home waiting for him. The pain hit so suddenly that I tumbled down the stairs. I felt my chest cave in, and each inhale made me feel as though I were gulping down shards of glass.

But I didn't seek medical help. I had a condition almost unheard of among the wolves called Sympathetic Pain, where I'd take on every bit of pain my mate felt.

I was bound to Draven through this curse. Any injury dealt to him appeared on my body instead. Even healers couldn't find anything wrong with me, and they all thought I was losing my mind. The only cure was to complete the mate bond with Draven.

So naturally, I bore every blow and every wound meant for him in that fight. And yet, he was so astonished that he actually believed he was the "chosen one" who had obtained the legendary godlike body.

To test this absurd theory, he decided to prove it that very night at the victory celebration. Right in front of me, he snatched up a fruit knife and slashed it viciously across his palm.

"Don't do it!"

I lunged forward in horror, but I was a step too slow.

The blade cut through without a drop of blood, and the gash vanished the second it formed.

Drevan laughed and said, "You see that, Kyra? Nothing can hurt me."

He stared at his hand like a fanatic, completely unhinged.

"Even a knife can't hurt me. I'm the Alpha King chosen by the Moon Goddess!" he exclaimed.

I curled up on the floor, gripping my shaking hand where the pain screamed through every nerve. I couldn't utter a word.

When he finally noticed me, his euphoria curdled into irritation.

"I'm celebrating here, Kyra. What's with the waterworks? I'm completely fine, and you're down there acting like you're dying. You're killing the mood."

That was when everything changed.

With his apparent invulnerability, Drevan's ego exploded. He cut back on defensive training and abandoned finesse as he charged into battle like a brute. He began taking hits to deliver more devastating attacks.

The pack thrived under his command as they conquered one territory after another. Everyone hailed him as the "Invincible Alpha".

Only I knew the actual price of those victories. Every fight he survived out there felt like a death sentence for me at home. On more than one occasion, the agonizing pain kept me confined to bed.

I had no choice but to beg him.

"Drevan, please take better care of yourself. Stop tanking hits head-on…"

"Shut up!"

However, my concerns only annoyed him.

"When I first met you, you were a wild wolf that couldn't be tamed. How did you turn into this sickly mess? Look at you. Besides lying in bed whimpering, what else can you do?"

Eventually, that contempt affected our intimate life too. On many occasions, he came home drunk at night and was filled with a need to dominate. I always bore all the pain he should have felt in battle, which left my body so battered that even the slightest touch made me tremble.

"Ah… It hurts…"

I instinctively flinched away from his touch, and that reaction extinguished whatever desire he'd had.

"Such a killjoy!" he spat coldly, grabbing his clothes and slamming the door shut on his way out. "If you can't handle it, someone else can."

Perhaps that was when it started. He found other she-wolves outside—healthy ones who could drink and go wild with him.

When he showed off his unmarked skin, he wanted she-wolves who'd gasp in admiration, not cry from phantom wounds. My dear sister Belle was exactly that kind of person.