The Faltered Bond | Book #1 [Werewolf]

| Omega |

"Steady your breath. Aim... and let go when you're ready." Her words echo through me like the wind in my ears.

I inhale deeply, the cool air filling my lungs as I tighten my grip on the bow. The wood groans softly beneath the tension—an old, familiar sound. One I've grown used to after years of training. It hums through my arms, grounding me.

The world narrows to a single thread: my breath, my heartbeat, the whisper of the wind. I pull the string back further, the resistance biting into my fingers—but I hold, steady.

Just a little longer. Almost there.

I release the string.

The arrow whistles through the air, a blur of feathers and steel. A sharp gust grazes my cheek as it cuts forward—silent, swift, precise.

Then it strikes. Right into the deer's heart.

A short, strangled cry tears from its throat—then silence. The creature collapses in a heap, its body crumpling to the forest floor with a soft thud.

Dead.

I leap from my spot. "I did it!"
But the words are barely out of my mouth before I clamp a hand over my lips.

Idiot.

Another of Mother's rules echoes in my head—never disturb the woods. Even if the arrow hits its mark, loud celebration can spook the prey, make it flee, wounded and panicked. And a lost kill is a wasted life.

Quieting my excitement, I crouch low and begin moving through the brush, careful with each step. The scent of blood is sharp and fresh, guiding me easily through the undergrowth until, at last, I find it.

The deer lies still, unmoving. The arrow sits cleanly buried in its heart.

A perfect kill.

I exhale—slow and steady—only now realizing how tightly I'd been holding my breath. Relief washes over me, warm and quiet. It didn't suffer. Just like Mother taught me.

The carving comes next. My hands are steady, though the cuts are a little rough. Still, I work with care and purpose. Mother always said perfection wasn't the point—it was respect. So long as nothing goes to waste, the forest will provide again.

And I intend to honor that.

Once my bag is full, I bury the remains with care and begin my trek home. I glance to the sky—the sun dipping low on the horizon. Maybe an hour of daylight left.

That settles it.

I store my clothes in the bag and release the hold on my human form, letting the wolven magic surge through my veins. I feel her—my other half—pressing forward, wild and eager. She howls inside me, restless from too many days locked away. It's been nearly a week since I've last shifted. Mother's curfews have been relentless lately, and I've been crawling out of my skin from the lack of freedom.

Tonight, I won't waste a second.

The wind slices through my fur, brisk and exhilarating, setting my senses ablaze. My limbs come alive, muscles coiling and stretching with renewed strength. I weave through the trees like an arrow loosed from its bow, my paws drumming a steady rhythm against the forest floor.

This—this is what I've been craving. Not just speed, but freedom.

I make it home just before sundown, muscles still buzzing from the run. Shifting back, I leap up to the window and slip inside my room with practiced ease, my bare feet padding softly across the floor.

"Mom! I'm home!" I call out, setting my pack gently beside the bed before pulling on a loose T-shirt and some pants.

There's a short pause—just enough for something in me to still—before her voice carries in from the kitchen, warm but measured.

"Welcome home, sweetie. The shower's ready for you. Make sure you scrub thoroughly, okay?"

I freeze, fingers halfway through untangling twigs from my hair.

It hits me then—tonight is the full moon. They'll be visiting her.

As expected, when I reach the shower, I find the usual bottles waiting on the ledge—her handmade, pine-scented shampoo and soap. The ones she insists I use every full moon.

"To help mask your scent," she once told me, long ago, before she stopped offering explanations.

My heart sinks, but I don't protest. I step into the tub and turn on the water.

That's when she gets to work. Scrubbing the house from top to bottom—every surface I've touched, every lingering trace of me wiped away with careful precision. By the time I step out, dressed and towel-drying my hair, I already know she's been in my room.

She's always thorough.

I find her standing just outside my door, her smile gentle and warm like always—but her eyes are shadowed. Distant. Dimming like the final light before a storm.

I play my part. I smile back. We both pretend nothing is out of the ordinary.

She kisses the top of my head and hands me my headphones—the unspoken cue. I slip them on, already cueing my favorite playlist, knowing the music will drown out everything she doesn't want me to hear.

And like every full moon, I lie there in bed, still and quiet, pretending not to know about the men who visit her.

And tonight is no different.

Once they've left and her duty is done, I stay still—eyes closed, breath even, playing the part I know too well. The scent of smoke and cheap booze clings to the walls, burns down my throat, and curls in my lungs like a sickness. My eyes sting with tears, but I don't let them fall.

I remain stone. Silent. Untouchable.

Eventually, I hear her footsteps. Soft. Hesitant. She pushes open the door and steps inside. I feel her approach—feel the hesitation in her hand before it grazes my hair, trembling fingers brushing gently through the strands as though I’m still five years old and safe.

She thinks I’m asleep. I let her think that.

Because this is the part where she cries—quietly, always quietly, holding in every sob so she doesn’t wake me. But I hear it anyway, the way her breath catches. The way she shakes. The way guilt wraps itself around her like a second skin.

And still, every time, her whisper returns—etched in my bones.

"As an Omega, it is your duty to help keep the peace within the pack, Ava."

I remember her eyes—how they looked at me with fierce love… and something else I didn’t understand back then. Not until now.
Fear.

She was terrified of them. Terrified for me.
And yet, she endures. Keeps the peace. Bears the weight in silence—all to keep me safe, hidden from the hungry eyes of lonely wolves.

Clinging to the hope that one day, Selene will smile upon us. That the moon will grant us mercy. That we’ll finally be able to run free.

-*-

⚠ Content warning ⚠
Thhe following story depicts subjects such as:

Violence and Gore
Includes physical combat, bloodshed, injuries, and scenes of torture or intense pain.

Abuse (Physical, Emotional, and Implied Substance Abuse)
Depictions of parental abuse, toxic familial relationships, and emotional neglect. References to alcohol abuse and its impact on others.

Death and Grief
Depictions of characters coping with the death of loved ones and prolonged emotional trauma.

Psychological Distress / PTSD
Characters experience flashbacks, breakdowns, and the mental aftermath of trauma and war.

Rated mature 16+