They Only Felt the Bond After I Died

Three hours earlier, I'd been standing in front of my bedroom mirror, smoothing down the soft gray-blue fabric of my dress. It was simple, understated—nothing that would draw attention away from Ivy's big night. The Crescent Medal ceremony was supposed to be a quiet affair anyway, just me and the pack elders in the small meeting room behind the main hall.

My hands trembled slightly as I fastened the silver bracelet Mom had given me for my sixteenth birthday. The irony wasn't lost on me—in a house where I was constantly overlooked, I was about to receive the pack's highest honor. At seventeen, I'd be the youngest recipient in history.

Downstairs, I could hear the catering staff setting up for Ivy's party. The clink of champagne glasses, the rustle of tablecloths, the low murmur of early arrivals. My sister's Luna announcement was the event of the year, and rightfully so. She deserved this moment.

I checked my phone—6:47 PM. The ceremony was at seven. I'd slip out through the back, accept the medal, and return before anyone even noticed I was gone. Perfect.

That's when I heard the crash downstairs.

Glass shattering. The back door splintering off its hinges. Heavy boots on the kitchen tile.

"She's here," a rough voice called out. "Second floor, end of the hall. Just like she said."

My blood turned to ice. Three sets of footsteps thundered up the stairs, moving with purpose. Not random break-in. Not opportunistic theft. They were here for me.

I lunged for my phone, but the bedroom door exploded inward before I could reach it. Three men filled the doorway—rogues, their scent wild and unwashed, their eyes glowing with predatory hunger.

The leader was massive, scarred from countless fights, his teeth filed to sharp points. "Harper Mills," he said, like he was checking my name off a list. "Right on time."

"What do you want?" I backed toward the window, my heart hammering against my ribs.

"Nothing personal, sweetheart." He pulled something from his pocket, dangling it in front of my face. Keys. Car keys, house keys, and hanging from the ring like a accusation—Ivy's silver wolf charm. The good luck piece she'd worn since she was twelve.

My world tilted. "How do you have those?"

His smile was all teeth and malice. "Don't worry about that. Worry about this—nobody's coming to save you. Your whole family's downstairs celebrating your sister's big night. Nobody gives a shit where you are."

I tried to scream, but one of his companions was already moving. A hand clamped over my mouth, another grabbed my arms. I thrashed wildly, my dress tearing as they dragged me from the room.

"Careful with the merchandise," the leader laughed. "We need her conscious for the photos."

Photos. My stomach lurched as they hauled me down the back stairs, past the kitchen where catering staff worked obliviously, down into the wine cellar where the party music was just a distant thrum overhead.

They threw me against the stone wall, and pain exploded through my shoulder. The leader pulled out his phone, the camera flash blinding in the dim basement light.

"Smile, princess. Your sister wants proof."

Rage gave me strength. I lunged at him, claws extending, but I was still human-form and they were ready. The second rogue backhanded me across the face, splitting my lip. Blood filled my mouth, metallic and warm.

"Feisty," he chuckled. "I like that."

They took turns. Hitting me, photographing the damage, making crude comments about what the "spoiled little rich girl" looked like now. I fought back with everything I had, but three against one in an enclosed space—the math was simple.

During one desperate struggle, I broke free for a split second. Scrambled toward the stairs, toward help, toward life. But the leader caught me by the hair, yanked me backward with such force that I flew across the room.

The wine rack rushed up to meet me. The sharp corner of the wooden frame caught me just above my left ear, and the world exploded into white-hot agony. Blood poured down my face, warm and sticky, pooling on the stone floor beneath me.

"Shit," one of them whispered. "That's a lot of blood."

"Is she dead?" The youngest rogue sounded panicked.

The leader knelt beside me, checking my pulse with rough fingers. I was conscious but barely, my vision swimming in and out of focus. "Still breathing. But we need to go. This wasn't supposed to get this messy."

They fled, their footsteps echoing up the stairs and out through the broken back door. I heard a car engine roar to life, tires squealing on asphalt. Then silence, except for the distant sound of laughter from Ivy's party.

I lay there in the spreading pool of my own blood, my head throbbing with each heartbeat. The gray-blue dress was ruined now, soaked crimson. My phone had fallen from my pocket during the struggle, skittering across the floor just out of reach.

Using every ounce of strength I had left, I dragged myself across the cold stone. My fingers were slick with blood, making it hard to grip anything. But somehow, I managed to pull the phone closer.

The screen was cracked but functional. With my tongue—my hands too shaky to work properly—I managed to swipe to my contacts.

Mom first. The phone rang and rang before going to voicemail. "Hi, you've reached Diana Mills. I can't come to the phone right now..."

I tried Dad next. One ring, then nothing. He'd declined the call.

Conner. Please, Conner. My big brother who'd always protected me when we were kids, before everything changed.

The call went straight to voicemail, but a text popped up immediately: *Again with the fake emergency bullshit? We're done playing your games, Harper. Dad, Mom and I already cut our pack bond with you. Stop being such an attention whore.*

Pack bond. Cut. The words hit me harder than any physical blow. They'd severed their connection to me—no wonder no one had sensed my distress, my pain, my terror.

I was truly alone.

With trembling fingers, I scrolled to the last contact. The one I'd been avoiding for weeks, the one that hurt most to see.

Ryker. My fated mate. The Alpha who'd rejected our bond the moment he realized his political future lay with Ivy, not me.

The phone rang once. Twice.

"Harper?" His voice was sharp with irritation. "What the hell do you want?"

"Ryker," I whispered, my voice barely audible. Blood was filling my throat now, making it hard to speak. "Help me. Please. I'm dying."

A long pause. Then a disgusted sigh.

"Harper, cut the dramatics. Today is Ivy's Luna announcement. Your attention-seeking has got to stop. I told you I'd get you a graduation present later, okay? We can talk then."

"No, you don't understand—" I tried to explain, but the words came out as a gurgle.

"I understand perfectly. You're jealous of your sister and you're acting out. Well, I'm not falling for it anymore. Grow up."

The line went dead.

I stared at the phone screen until it went dark, my reflection ghostlike in the black surface. Above me, the party continued. Laughter. Music. The sound of people celebrating while I bled out in the basement.

My lips curved into something that might have been a smile. How fitting. Even dying, I was still the family disappointment.

The phone slipped from my fingers, clattering against the stone. My vision was fading now, darkness creeping in from the edges. But I could still hear them upstairs—my family, my pack, my fated mate—all of them celebrating the future that would never include me.

Ninety-nine days until my eighteenth birthday.

I'd never see eighteen now.