When His Mistress Hurt Our Daughter, I Ended the Bond

I made up the bed in the east guest room because my hands needed something to do.

I did not do it kindly. I tucked the corners too tight and folded the blanket with the precision I used to use on field cots. Selene watched from somewhere just behind my sternum. She did not speak. She was waiting, the way a Healer waits beside a patient who has not yet decided to live.

I heard Thea before I understood what I was hearing.

It was not a normal cry. My daughter does not cry like other children. When she is overwhelmed, the sound comes out high and thin and wrong, a sound that lives in the back of her throat and does not belong to language. I had heard it three times in six years. Each time I had been the one beside her.

This time I was two rooms away.

I dropped the pillowcase. I ran.

The hallway felt longer than it had ever been. I heard a cabinet slam. I heard a small body hit wood. I heard someone laugh, low, the kind of laugh a person lets out when a thing they planned has worked.

I came around the kitchen doorway and the world narrowed to one square of tile.

Thea was on the floor by the lower cabinets. Her back was against the wood and she was hitting it, again, again, with the flat of her shoulders. Her hands were red. There were red lines down her own forearms where she had clawed at her own skin. Her mouth was open and the sound coming out of it was the sound I have spent six years learning to prevent.

In her right palm, smashed and sticky, was a piece of food.

A texture I had eliminated from our house when she was two. A texture I had personally walked through every pantry shelf to remove. A texture no one in this pack house knew about except me, Owen, and the small private notebook I kept in the kitchen drawer.

Nylah was standing three feet away with her hands folded at her waist. Her face was arranged into something gentle and confused.

'I just offered her a snack,' she said softly. 'I didn't know.'

She knew.

The notebook drawer was open behind her.

Selene came up through me like a tide that had been held back by a wall for seven years. The wall did not crack. It dissolved. My vision went very clear at the edges. My hands stopped shaking. The heater clicked somewhere far away and I could hear it like it was inside my own ear.

Owen came in behind me. I felt him before I saw him, the heavy warm weight of an Alpha who still believed his presence solved a room.

'What's going on,' he said. Not a question. A demand, halfway to annoyance.

I turned.

I hit him.

I had never hit Owen. I had never hit anyone outside of Corps training. My hand moved before I gave it permission, and the back of my knuckles caught him across the mouth with a sound that was not loud but was very, very final. His head turned with it. A bead of blood rose along the inside of his lower lip.

He stared at me. His mouth was open. For one second he looked like a boy who had been slapped by his mother.

Behind him, in the hallway, pack members were gathering. I could see Marla. I could see two of the Deltas. I could see the Beta's wife with her hand over her mouth. They had come for the screaming, and they had stayed for whatever was about to happen next.

Good.

I did not raise my voice. I did not have to. Selene's voice and mine moved together for the first time in years, and what came out of me was quiet and even and carried.

'I, Abigail Warren, reject you, Owen Bishop, Alpha of the Blackthorn Pack, as my mate.'

The bond tore.

It tore the way a tendon tears, with a sound that is not a sound, and a heat behind the eyes, and a small bright blackness at the center of the chest. Owen made a noise. I did not. I had been bleeding from this wound for seven years already. The cut was just a clean edge on something that had been ragged a long time.

I bent down. I lifted Thea into my arms. She was rigid and burning and her face pressed hard into my collarbone. I put my hand on the back of her head the way I had every meltdown of her life, and I walked.

No one stopped me.

I did not take a coat.

The Blackthorn border is a mile and a half from the pack house, through a stand of pines that always smelled like rain. I walked it in a soft gray dress and house shoes with my daughter's full weight on my chest, and I did not feel the cold until I reached the boundary stones.

Then I felt all of it at once.

My breath came out white. Thea was shivering, but she had stopped making the wrong sound. Her small fists were knotted in the front of my dress. I sat down on the flat stone at the boundary and I put my forehead against hers.

'I've got you,' I whispered. 'I've got you. I've got you.'

I took out my phone.

The Healer Corps emergency channel was buried four menus deep, an old habit from a life I had told myself was over. My thumb knew where to find it. I tapped twice.

It connected on the first ring.

I did not say my name. I did not have to.

'Abigail.' Phoenix's voice was very low and very calm. There was no question in it. 'Where are you.'

'Blackthorn border. East stones.' My voice did not shake. I did not know why. 'Thea is with me.'

A pause that was not hesitation. He was already moving.

'Stay there,' he said. 'Stay on the line if you can.'

I did not know how long I sat. Long enough that Thea's shivering changed to a slower, sleepier kind of tremble. Long enough that I heard the Blackthorn patrol coming through the trees, two pairs of paws, and felt them stop at the edge of my sight without coming closer.

Then headlights.

A black SUV came up the service road on the human side of the border, no escort, no flag, no flashing lights. It pulled to a stop ten feet from the stones. The driver door opened.

Phoenix stepped out into the cold without a coat either, and his Alpha aura came with him.

It was not loud. It did not need to be. It moved through the trees ahead of him like weather, and I heard the patrol wolves behind me drop. Just drop. Bellies to the snow. Heads down. Owen's border guards could not lift their faces.

Phoenix did not look at them. He walked to the stone where I was sitting and he knelt in front of me, slowly, the way a man kneels in front of something fragile.

'May I,' he said. He was looking at Thea.

I nodded.

He lifted my daughter out of my arms with both hands, careful of her head, careful of the way her fists were still knotted in my dress, and he held her against his shoulder like he had been waiting his whole life to be allowed to. Thea did not flinch. She turned her face into his coat.

My throat closed.

He helped me to my feet. He did not speak. He did not ask. He walked us to the SUV and opened the back door, and there in the seat was a large silver wolf-dog with the calmest eyes I had ever seen on an animal.

'This is Apollo,' Phoenix said quietly, to Thea, not to me. 'He is very gentle. He would like to ride with you.'

I buckled Thea in. Apollo lay down across the seat and rested his heavy head against her knee and did not move.

I watched, in the rearview mirror, the trembling in my daughter's small body slow, and slow, and finally stop.

Phoenix put the SUV in drive.

He did not ask me where I wanted to go.

He already knew.