Chapter 8: The Shadow of the Bond

It's been thirteen days since Colton left me in the forest, and I don't think I have the will to keep trying anymore. I'm tired of life, and everything has become so mundane. Everything I thought I experienced before that day is nothing in comparison to how I've been since. It's like my family has died all over again, and I am bereft and inconsolable. I have no more tears because I've cried so many. I'm nothing but a numb, hollow shell, and the sunlight has withdrawn from my world to leave me in eternal cold shadow. I tried to stop the spiraling depression; I fought hard to beat this feeling of being sucked free of all life, but the Fates don't play when you deny them. I'm not even living anymore. Such is my empty, continuous state of nothing.

I robotically move from my room to the kitchen, from the kitchen to chores, from chores to my room, day after day. I have nothing to say, nothing to add to the conversations around me, and nothing to do or think about beyond focusing on this eternal emptiness that I drag around. It's like a sack of boulders chained to my back, and I can't free myself to outrun them. I was never this girl. I survived the loss of so much more, yet I don’t know how to fight this. I've read books in the library that blame the severance for my worsened state and mental decline. Cast free, set afloat by a rejection of this level... it messes with you more than just the rejection of a normal union ever could.

Wolves can pick mates; it's not always fated. And normally both parties get a choice, so you have to be pretty sure to shackle your heart to someone if you're going to ask them to be mated for life. "Scenting" happens... that's when the mate you are most likely to bond with can smell out your scent among the many and identify you easily. It's usually the way we figure out who we want before we see them. Mates should and can smell one another, no matter the distance or the crowds. So, rejecting someone who syncs with your scent can be crushing as it is. Rejecting someone who imprints at the hands of the Fates... there is no recorded outcome. No one has ever defied it, because quite simply... no one fights the union. It's all-encompassing, "instalove," and a need and hunger stronger than any bond in the land. Imprinting is soul-mate lore. It's unbreakable, pure, and powerful; it defies all logic, sense, or reason. It's magical. No one wants to deny that kind of obsessive connection and walk away to find another mate... until us.

I can confirm: rejecting that kind of bond is like dying, only without actually letting the body fade to black when the soul leaves you. I'm a walking shell, zombified and unable to do anything about it. Death right now is starting to look a hell of a lot rosier than this. I'm in purgatory, only it looks exactly like my life before, yet a whole lot suckier. I don't even know if this is how Colton feels, because sometimes, the rejector has very little in the way of backlash compared to the rejected. They made the choice to end things, and for some reason, the Fates let them get away with crushing another soul. I guess that's why choosing a mate is not an impulse thing, and marking someone you have been dating can sometimes be a choice of many years. I mean, look at Carmen and Colton. Two years, and he still hadn't marked her, even though he told me he made the choice to mate with her. Even he wasn't ready to commit in case she turned him down, and everybody knows how much she loves him.

I've tried not to wonder over the past two weeks if they have rekindled their love affair, but I guess I would know. We're bonded, so I would feel it if he had sex with anyone else, whether I want to or not. Hell, I'll feel it if he even kisses anyone. Even with a verbal renouncement, from what I have read, it should make no difference to my being able to know when he betrays the Fates and chooses to procreate with another. The only balance to that is, he'll feel it if I do, too. Whoever ordained this bullshit needs therapy, because someone up there has a twisted sense of what's right.

I jump out of my skin when the door slams behind me, bringing me back to reality with a bump. I was daydreaming again while folding my laundry and flinch when Vanka strolls in, smoking a cigarette, filling our room with the putrid, choking smell of her bad habit. We're supposed to have a house rule against smoking, but it's not like Vanka ever does anything she’s told.

"Do you mind?" I snap at her bitchily, wafting my hand in the air as the smoke curls toward me. I try to stop it from invading my newly heightened senses and stifle a cough as I get hit in the back of my throat.

"No, not really." She blows a fresh wave right at me as she strolls past, sashaying her hips and hitting me with a sneer as she goes. I bite my lower lip and ignore her before this turns nasty. She's always been quick to aggression and has left me with some pretty bad bruises and scrapes over the years. I know better than to start another fight with her.

I sigh heavily and go back to folding clothes on my bed, wanting to have this done before lights out in a few minutes. There aren't many house rules for the likes of us, but our guardians have a very strict "lights out and locked doors" rule as soon as the moon comes up. It goes back to the wars and the fact that vampires can only come out when the sun goes down. The only time we have an exception is the full moon, every cycle, for the ceremony on Shadow Rock. We don't have packs to protect us here, so we don't get any leeway in our freedoms living in the orphanage.

Vanka's eyes bear down on me, and reluctantly, I look up, penetrating her with a questioning stare. She wants something; that's obvious, but it won't come as a polite request—it never does.

"I'm going out after the guardians go home... if you snitch, I'll mess you up." The amber glow in her eyes adds weight to the promise, and I eyeroll, no longer intimidated since my power to heal and fight back improved greatly with my turning.

"Why would I snitch? I don't care what you do." I go back to staring at the endless pile of laundry, mostly PJs, and try hard to ignore her. I have no energy for this at all.

"Good. I have a hot date with one of the boys from the Ryleigh pack. Nothing serious, totally slumming it; he wants to try it on with a shameful reject. He's a weird one with some serious kinks." She laughs dirtily, looking for a reaction, igniting an instant, deep-seated unease in my stomach. Most she-wolves save themselves for their one true mate, but I guess girls like us don't have any reason to. Even when we get a chance, they reject us on the grounds of who we are.

"Use protection. An unwanted kid would end up right back here and you'd have no choice but to stay," I warn, more for my benefit than hers. I've been counting down the days until she leaves me in peace, and I can fumigate her rank scent from this room. I've nothing else in life to look forward to anymore, so I may as well have that: a room to myself, space to call my own.

"Whatevs... Maybe you should try it and f*** up that pretty little Santo head a little, for throwing you in the trash. It's bound to sting." She sneers and then laughs at her own devious plan, but I ignore it. As much as he’s broken me, I still love him and wouldn't want to inflict that kind of pain. Hell, I wouldn't want to do it to myself; I have no desire to have sex with anyone that's not him, as stupid as that sounds.

"Tell me... is it true you two were mid-screw and ready to mark when Daddy walked in and threw your ass out?"

It's the snide, catty tone that riles my temper, and I throw her a pointed snarl, pinning her eyes with mine as she hits a nerve. I erupt furiously, without restraint; it comes out so fast I can't counteract.

"It's got nothing to do with you, so shut the hell up!"

The insane, instant, deep rumble and scathing tone I elicit scares even me, and as her eyes widen in shock, she drops her cigarette right out of her gawping mouth. I recoil, wondering what the hell that was. I didn't sound like me at all, and that hostility came from nowhere. My blood is riling and heating up in a split second, forcing out what I assume was my wolf growl. I guess she really struck a bone.

"What the fu... your eyes... they're red." She stutters, visibly shaken, and backs away from me a little before realizing her lap is burning. She starts madly grabbing for her dropped "fire stick" like a lunatic. Soon as she retrieves it, she backs up and slides by me, near the wall, before escaping out of our bedroom door with a backward glance of wariness—a look of unadulterated fear—and takes off at speed.

I'm left dumbfounded at both my guttural, aggressive response and this god-damned red crap. I push off from where I am, stepping to the mirror in three strides across the room, and stare at my own reflection before the rage in me calms back to numbness. I have to see this. It's a stirring memory of Colton’s words, and I blanch when I see the evidence for myself, gasping in horror.

She's right... Colton was right. There before me, seeing for the first time how I look when my eyes flash with the warning that I am on the verge of turning, I'm faced with two glowing orbs of the darkest blood-red, in place of where amber should be. They are almost satanic in their fire and gleam, making me look insane or demonic. The shock and instant fear that cascades through my veins icily mutes them back to natural green instantly, and I fall back, eliciting a yelp as I'm gripped with a sense that something is really wrong with that.

Red? What the hell? They're not red. They can't be.

No one has red eyes—not in all the times, notes, books, packs, clans, and history of our kind. I've never heard of it, and it dawns on me that the Elders have forgotten about Colton’s pointing it out that day. It was never mentioned again; maybe they thought he was mistaken, or maybe they were so preoccupied by the fact he almost marked me right under their noses that it was a far more pressing issue. I mean, it's ludicrous. Our eyes are amber. They can't be any other color. It's not a thing... this is not a thing!

I start panicking, pulling myself back to the mirror in a bid to force myself to bring them back, but the ingrained terror running through me stops it from happening. I don't know what to do or what it means. Am I sick? Is there something wrong with me? I have no idea what to think, and I pace insanely, flustered and freaking out, my heart close to popping an artery as it thunders in my chest. My brain spins nauseatingly with the thought that maybe there is something really, really wrong with me. I didn't think anything of it when Colton said it; to be frank, I thought he was tripping and not seeing clearly. That somehow with all the chaos, the drama, and the heavy emotions swirling around, he saw red because of his own rage and mood at the time.

I should go to the medic, right? I should call the Shaman; maybe he will know?

My breathing is shallow as my lungs burn with the effort to get oxygen. I wring my hands and run my fingers through my hair as I try to self-regulate the insane pounding of my heart. My blood pressure is hiking, and I start to feel woozy and nauseous; my skin bristles with a searing temperature as I lose control. I feel like I've just found out I have cancer, or a deadly, incurable virus, or that Armageddon is on its way and we have nowhere to run. I need to calm down. If I don't, I might turn, and in a blind haze, go do something stupid. We're not supposed to turn if we feel like we can't control it. That's when bad things happen—wolves do terrible, awful things to the humans nearby. Frenzied, blood-lusted, murderous things, and then have no memory after.

I have to breathe and slow it down. Except I can't. I'm spiraling and I flop down on the ground pathetically, crumpling as my legs give out from shaking crazily. I clutch my head in a bid to force myself to focus on my breathing, face-planting the floorboards in an effort to get a grip on reality.

What's wrong, Lorey? What is it? Talk to me. I can feel your panic and your fear. What's happening, baby? What's going on?

His voice renders me momentarily stupefied, and I snap up, spinning around on my ass, looking for the intruder before sense tells me he is inside my head.

Colton? Why are you in my head?

I blanch and press my hands to the sides of my skull and slump back down to put my face between my knees, continuing to try to regulate my breathing. I'm confused that he linked after the two-week silence of rejection I've just endured, and I'm still caught up in my own meltdown.

I told you. I can feel you freaking out. You're afraid. What is it? Tell me. If you need me—my help—I need to know where you are. What's happening?

The sob that bursts from my throat as he says the words I have been longing to hear since I last saw him breaks me all over again. That care and need to protect me—because despite the rejection, he still has the urges of a mate. I blurt out my worry and break into over-emotional, terrified tears, fueled by knowing I'm a freak with blood-colored eyeballs.

My EYES are RED!! I think there is something seriously wrong with me.

I snort and wail into the emptiness of my room, gripped with actual devastation, really not focused on the fact that he’s actually talking to me, because this is bigger, scarier, and more overwhelming.

Jesus Christ, Lorey. I thought something was actually happening to you. Don't do that to me! Stop crying!

The sharp, Alpha tone of dominance winds me, and I instinctively obey. I choke, then cough on a tear that had been mid-flow when he hit me with that crap. I'm instantly enraged, as the pain of my body shutting off my emotional response—forced out of a real, heartfelt need to cry by a bossy ahole abusing his gift—winds me.

Don't use that tone on me! Don't tell me what to do!

I snap back, bristled in fury, forgetting myself as anger bursts forth. It stuns me into immediate silence, and I clasp a hand over my mouth, despite saying nothing verbally. He's not my mate anymore, but he is a dominant in our lands, and talking back like that could get me seriously messed up if he saw fit. It's disrespectful on so many levels. No one of my standing would ever, or should ever, snark back at an Alpha.

I'm sorry. I didn't mean that.

I backtrack like a total coward and start to whimper as tears begin to freshly fall all over again. A combination of my previous panic setting in and the sheer devastation of talking to him like this once more—now that my faux pas has shaken sense into me—hurts more than I can bear.

It doesn't matter. Calm down. I'm sorry, I just needed you to stop... listen to me, Lorey. I knew about your eyes, remember? There's nothing wrong with you. The Shaman, he’s been researching all this time. Just try not to let anyone see in the meantime, until I know what it means. There have been others, but none you will find in the history books. The Shaman doesn’t know why, but you have to keep it under wraps and stop freaking out. Do you hear me? You almost gave me an epic heart failure coming through like that.

I wipe my face and try to pull myself together, exhaling heavily to steady myself and sitting upright forcefully. I'm a little soothed by what he said, enough to rationalize and stop acting like a complete idiot. Bringing my attention to the fact that when he’s in my head, things feel less bad. My pain subsides enough to function, even with this kind of connection to him.

I didn't mean to project on you. I swear. I wasn't trying to reach you; I know how things are between us.

I sound like a pathetic, whiny child, and it just drives home how "non-Luna" I am.

This wasn't you. We're bonded. When you're afraid to that extent, or hurt, or anything like that... I'll still feel it, no matter what we do. Just try and be rational. Hold it together.

I guess it works both ways, not that big, tough Colton Santo probably ever gets freaked out or scared. I doubt I'll ever feel any extremes from him on my end; he’s way too mature and battle-seasoned for any kind of hysterics.

What if I'm sick?

I pout petulantly, not really all that settled with his explanations and still mulling. I'm shaking now that the shock is settling in, and I sniff my mess away.

You're not sick. I would know.

He almost chastises me, as a paternal tone takes over, and I try not to picture his face as his voice surrounds me. It already hurts enough to hear him; I don’t need a visual reminder on top of that.

Then what if I'm cursed and this is how you know? Red's the color of danger. Maybe I'm a walking hex!

I point out, a real ounce of possibility in that. I mean, it's me, after all.

According to our kind, all of you in that home are cursed... are their eyes red, too?

I swear that was a hint of sarcasm, a warming in his tone to suggest humor, but I let it slide.

Okay, then, what if I'm not really a werewolf and I'm something else?

The silence that stretches out between us makes me shudder, and the panic once again soars.

OH my god, that's it, isn't it?!?!

I squeak, unleashing a god-awful noise in the process and jerk upright, eyes widening as that fear hits me low in the belly once more. I lurch to my feet to pace erratically.

NO! No... no, okay. I was considering it, but that's dumb. There are no others like us, so it's not that. Besides, I saw you turn! You're a wolf, a pretty one at that.

Colton soothes, if somewhat bossily, yet it seems to work, and I exhale heavily and stop walking around in manic circles. I blush at the "wolf" remark, even if I know he’s probably trying to be nice to pull my head out of hysteria.

Hmmm. How do you know there aren't other wolfy-type beings?

I push, my voice strained, fear still lingering now that my brain is on this path of self-analysis. My heart rate is climbing higher and my feet itch to start walking again.

We imprinted; pretty sure two different species can't do that. Fate wouldn't allow that. It's insane. You're the same as me, Lorey, trust me. We'll figure this out.

I hate that despite everything, his deep, soothing tone and sexy voice have a commanding ability to make me feel that he can make everything okay. That he's in control and there to catch me.

It's not your job to figure this out. There is no "we."

I remind him sullenly. That familiar pang I've been carrying for weeks comes back to nestle in my chest, and my fear subsides, overpowered by my long-time companion and shadow: Heartbreak.

Lorey......

It's a soft, regretful whisper of my name that tears at my heartstrings. He doesn't get to finish whatever it is he’s going to say when a deafening, painful scream—so insanely loud, high-pitched, and blood-curdling in its reverberation—tremors through the house and vibrates everything around me. My head, my body, my brain, and the surrounding forests shake and stutter in such a way that my whole body spasms aggressively. It turns my blood to ice instantly, frozen still in fear, and catapults me out of my own head like a vicious eject button that sends me crashing to the floor heavily.

It's the loudest, most painful noise I've ever felt in my life, and the overwhelming nausea and agony it inflicts on me in that moment sends me reeling across the floorboards—scrambling with my nails on the slippery surface—to fight the penetrative pain of my brain near exploding. I land in a crumpled heap, gasping in terror. It feels like something physically swept through the walls, like an invisible wall of power and chaos, and rendered me completely useless.

What the f

? What the hell was that? Lorey? Lorey... answer me?*

Colton’s panic-stricken tone dances through my mind, but I'm still reeling from the internal vibrations consuming my every nerve ending, from that god-awful noise which seems to be pulsing around me as my senses fade in and out. My body is twitching, and I don't feel right at all. It's done something to me. I'm weak and unable to move, barely able to breathe, as though all my organs are struggling to fight the pulse or function. Pulling myself slowly to lay flat on my belly, I try to haul myself to the door. My head is pulsating with the aftereffects of whatever that was; my brain feels bruised and throbbing, and though it's no longer blasting, I can feel something in the air around me. It's like an invisible, thick smog holding me down, swiping my ability to get up, as though it's sucking all the oxygen and energy away.

Colton.... something's wrong.... I can't get up.

I gasp for air, my head swimming with stars and darkness invading my vision as I try so hard to pull myself up. I'm wracked in pain and have no strength to fight it. I'm powerless, and as the effects of whatever that was have rendered me completely useless, I lose the ability to link to Colton, too. I feel him drop out of my head on my end, as though my gift ceases to be before blankness fully smacks me in the face and I pass out.