Chapter 2 – The Girl Who Should’ve Died
1061 Words
Darkness holds me like a tide—cold, endless, heavy—until something warm drags me upward.
A heartbeat.
Not mine.
Steady, frantic, breaking.
I surface with a sharp inhale, lungs burning as if someone has tied invisible ropes around them. My eyes snap open to blinding white light, and I flinch, raising a trembling hand to shield my face.
“Easy,” a rough voice murmurs somewhere above me. “Don’t move.”
The world sharpens.
A ceiling. Bright lights. The sterile scent of antiseptic. The low hum of machines. I’m not in the great hall. I’m not even anywhere familiar. This is the Crescent Crest infirmary, the one reserved for emergencies and high-ranking wolves.
I shouldn’t be here.
I force my head to turn.
Damien sits in a chair pulled tight to the side of my bed—his elbows braced on his knees, his fingers knotted together so tightly the veins in his forearms stand out. His head is bent forward, dark hair falling over his eyes.
He looks like devastation in human form.
My chest tightens painfully.
“Why…” My voice comes out cracked. “Why am I here?”
His head lifts.
His eyes—gods, his eyes—are wild. Not the polished storm-gray he shows the world, but the deeper shade underneath, the one edged with gold when his wolf is screaming for control.
“Because you passed out,” he says softly. “You weren’t breathing right. I—” He cuts himself off, jaw clenching. “I didn’t have a choice.”
A bitter laugh tries to rise from my throat but dies somewhere on the way up. “You mean you didn’t want a dead omega at your feet after you humiliated her.”
His face flinches. Really flinches. But it’s quick, gone so fast I could almost believe I imagined it.
He straightens, dragging a hand through his hair. His movements are tight, angry, like he’s furious at himself and has nowhere to put it.
“You weren’t supposed to be affected that badly.” His tone is clipped, too calm, too controlled. “Most wolves can take a rejection without—”
“Most wolves,” I interrupt, my voice barely more than a rasp, “aren’t being rejected by their fated mate.”
Silence splinters through the room.
Damien looks away first.
A hollow ache thuds through my chest, bruised and raw. The bond might be severed, but its ghost lingers—like nerves cut too quickly still trying to feel.
My wolf curls up inside me, whimpering.
“Why did you do it?” The question leaks out before I can stop it. My throat tightens, but I force the words out anyway. “Why reject me?”
His breathing changes.
Not louder—just heavier, deeper. Like every inhale costs him something sharp.
“It doesn’t matter,” he says at last.
“It does. It always has.” My fingers dig weakly into the blanket. “You could’ve rejected me privately. You didn’t have to—”
“I had to,” he snaps, sudden and violent.
I jerk, startled.
His eyes meet mine, and for the first time since the ceremony, there’s nothing cold or distant in them. Just raw conflict.
“Lila…” He drags a shaky exhale through his teeth. “You don’t understand what I’ve become.”
I stare at him, heart pounding. “Then explain it.”
He stands abruptly, pacing the small room like a caged animal. His hands tremble. He keeps clenching them, like he’s trying to stop something from breaking out.
“I can’t,” he grinds out. “If you knew, it would only make things worse.”
A bitter chill crawls up my spine. “Worse than being rejected in front of the entire pack?”
He stops pacing.
His shoulders rise and fall once, twice.
Then he slowly turns back toward me—expression carved from something desperate and exhausted.
“You’re not weak,” he says softly. “You never were. That’s the problem.”
For a moment, I forget how to breathe.
I open my mouth—no idea what I’m even trying to ask—but he cuts me off.
“Just… leave it alone, Lila.” His voice breaks on my name. “Please.”
The word please coming from Damien Blackthorne feels wrong. Too vulnerable. Too real. It sinks under my skin, confusing me, tugging at places I thought were numb.
Before I can answer, the infirmary door swings open.
Mila bursts in, eyes wide, cheeks blotchy from crying. “Lila!” She hurries to my side, taking my hand with trembling fingers. “I thought—you hit the floor so hard—are you okay?”
“I’m…” I swallow. “I’m alive.”
“Barely,” she mutters, glaring at Damien like she’d happily claw his face off.
Damien’s mask snaps back on instantly—cold, blank, emotionless Alpha heir. He backs away from the bed, distancing himself so quickly the air chills.
“I’ll give you two a moment,” he says stiffly.
He moves toward the door, each step rigid.
But just before he exits, he pauses.
Doesn’t turn. Doesn’t look back. Just stands there, fists tight at his sides.
His voice is quiet—so quiet I almost think I imagined it.
“I’m glad you woke up.”
And then he’s gone.
The door clicks shut behind him like the closing of a cell.
Mila sits beside me, gently brushing hair from my forehead. “Lila… I’m so sorry.”
I nod, though tears blur my vision.
But something is different now.
The rejection hurt—hurt in a way I didn’t know was possible.
But the look in Damien’s eyes…
The tremble in his voice…
The way he caught me like he’d rather shred himself than let me hit the floor…
That wasn’t a wolf rejecting his mate.
That was a wolf terrified of claiming her.
I stare at the ceiling long after Mila falls asleep in the chair beside me.
My chest aches. My heart throbs. My wolf whimpers.
But beneath all of it, something else stirs.
A pulse.
A spark.
A warning.
Whatever Damien Blackthorne is hiding…
It isn’t small.
And it isn’t over.
Not even close.
- Writer
