Discarded
Blood is the only thing that's ever made me feel real.
I couldn't hear the war anymore. Only my pulse. Thunderous, ragged, snarling through the hollow in my head as I pressed my palm into the shredded mess of my thigh. The gash was deep—bone-deep—and the scent of my own blood was sharp in my nose, a reminder that I was still alive. Barely.
Around me, the forest burned. Shadows moved between trees—men, wolves, monsters—locked in chaos. Many tired and unable to shift wielded sharp, glinting swords. The steel clashed as snarls ripped through the smoke, and the ground trembled beneath the weight of it all.
I should've shifted. I should've run.
But my leg was failing me again.
Fucking traitor.
The weak one. The one he used to grab and twist when I was too slow in training, too human, too broken.
I gritted my teeth and dragged myself behind a fallen tree, forcing the wound closed with sheer will. I had fought harder with worse. I wouldn't die here. Not in the North. Not on their land.
A sharp cry cut through the air. Familiar. One of ours.
I twisted toward the sound, just in time to see Kael—one of my closest soldiers—go down, throat torn open by a massive black wolf. No. Not a wolf. A Lycan.
Bigger. Older. Deadlier.
I froze. The smoke parted just long enough for me to see the creature shift mid-movement, limbs twisting, bones cracking as fur turned to flesh.
He rose from the bloodied earth like a god carved from violence.
Naked, towering, his broad chest streaked with crimson, a long gash curving over one shoulder and down his ribs. But he barely seemed to feel it. His eyes scanned the battlefield like he was born in it.
And then they landed on me.
For a moment, the world fell silent.
His eyes were slate-gray—cold, expressionless, ancient.
Something inside me twisted.
I tried to get up. Stumbled. Collapsed again.
"Get up," I hissed at myself. "Get the fuck up."
But I couldn't. My thigh was soaked. My body shaking.
He started walking toward me—slowly, deliberately—like he had all the time in the world to crush me.
I recognized him now.
Zacchaeus Thornton.
Alpha of the North. Lycan heir. The one we were warned about.
My father only told me one thing in regards to the person standing in front of me. If I see the Lycan heir, kill him, or die trying.
Kill this monster?
Like hell.
He was a freaking beast.
I tore my dagger from its sheath and bared my teeth. If I was going to die, I was going to die like I was trained to.
He stopped a few feet away, gaze trailing over me—not in amusement. Not in pity. Calculating.
"You're bleeding out," he said. Voice low, cold, emotionless.
"Not yet."
He crouched, still naked, still soaked in blood that wasn't his, and tilted his head slightly.
"You shouldn't be alive."
"Disappointed?" I spat.
He didn't answer. Just stared. And then—so fast I couldn't react—he grabbed my arm and yanked me upright. My leg screamed, and I swore, clawing at his shoulder, but he didn't flinch.
The moment his skin touched mine, something snapped.
Not bone. Not pain.
The bond.
I felt it like a thunderclap inside my ribs.
A burning.
A pull.
A claim.
My breath hitched.
"No," I choked. "No, no—"
His grip tightened. I saw it in his eyes—the exact second he felt it too.
That cold expression didn't crack. But something changed.
His jaw ticked.
His pupils dilated.
And I knew.
He knew.
Zacchaeus fucking Thornton was my mate.
I stared up at him, chest heaving, blood drying on my skin, and felt my stomach twist into something savage.
No.
The word pulsed behind my eyes. This wasn't happening. Couldn't be.
He looked just as stunned — frozen in place, blood smeared across his chest, muscles tense like he expected another fight. Smoke drifted low between us, curling in the aftermath like ghostly fingers. Dead bodies littered the forest floor, steam rising from blood-warmed earth. The air stank of iron and death.
And somewhere in the middle of it, fate had turned cruel.
My right leg, useless and aching, throbbed with every breath I took. It had nearly given out completely when the bond snapped into place — when something primal and ancient inside me recognized him. My mate.
No.
The pain flared again as I tried to shift my weight. I bit down on a scream. I wouldn't give him that.
Zacchaeus didn't move toward me. Didn't speak.
The silence stretched, heavy as stone.
"I didn't... expect this," he said finally. His voice was low. Hard. Like ice cracking beneath pressure. "Neither did you."
"No," I breathed, forcing myself upright. "I didn't."
I got one step back before my leg buckled again, sending me hard to one knee. A white-hot flash of pain tore up my thigh and I hissed through my teeth.
He moved a little then — like he meant to catch me — but stopped himself.
"Don't," I snapped.
He studied me through hooded eyes. His gaze flicked to my leg. "You're injured."
"No shit."
"You won't make it far like that."
"Good. Then leave me here."
His expression didn't change. "I don't leave what's mine."
I flinched. "I'm not yours."
His eyes narrowed just slightly. "The bond says otherwise."
My throat tightened. An invisible chain now coiled around my ribcage and pulsed with low heat. Foreign. Unwelcome.
"I don't care what the Moon says," I hissed. "I don't want this."
"And you think I do?" His tone was clipped now. Brutal. "Do you think I wanted a Southern wolf snarling at my throat and bleeding at my feet? Do you think I asked for this?"
My breath stuttered. The weight of his voice hit harder than a blow.
He stepped closer, slow and controlled, every inch of him commanding. The smoke curled around him like it obeyed him.
"I don't know your name," he said, voice cutting like a winter wind. "I don't know what the hell your Alpha was thinking, sending you into this. But the moment I smelled your blood, I knew something was wrong."
I blinked. "Wrong?"
"It's not just wolf," he said. "There's something else in it. Faint. Old. I don't know what. But I will find out."
Goosebumps prickled up my arms.
He didn't say it like a question. He said it like a sentence.
The trees loomed around us like silent sentinels. The battlefield was still, save for the slow drip of blood from ruined bodies and the distant howl of a wolf announcing the end of the fight.
Zacchaeus turned without waiting for a response.
"You can follow," he said. "Or you can crawl. But you're coming with me."
"I'm not your prisoner," I spat.
"No," he said over his shoulder, voice flat as iron. "You're my problem."
I didn't move at first. The words sank in slowly, heavier than they should've been. Not cruel. Just... final.
Then he started walking.
The battlefield stretched behind us, burning and broken. The smell of death clung to my skin, thick in my nose. I limped after him, my bad leg dragging with every step, each movement a small rebellion against the bond pulling me forward.
He didn't look back once.
It wasn't far. Just past the edge of the northern clearing, where the surviving wolves from both sides were being held in tense silence. The scent of blood and dominance still lingered, sharper here. Raw.
And then I saw him.
My father.
Alpha Calloway stood tall, arms crossed, blood drying at the corners of his mouth. His silver-streaked hair was slicked back, armor dented and stained. Not from battle — he'd barely fought. He never did. He let others bleed for him.
His eyes found me, and the sneer that pulled at his lips wasn't surprise. It was satisfaction.
Zacchaeus didn't wait for introductions.
"She's mine," he said.
His voice was steady, cold. A quiet threat beneath every syllable.
My father's brow arched. "So I've heard."
"She goes with me. Now."
My heart pounded. I looked between them — the king and the coward.
My father didn't flinch. "You won. I'm in no position to argue. Take her. She's yours. We're even."
He said it too quickly. Too smoothly. Like he'd rehearsed it.
Zacchaeus must've heard it too. His jaw tightened.
"You don't want to know what I'd do if you refused?"
My father smiled. "I already know. That's why I'm not."
But his eyes flicked to me — cold, empty — and lingered too long.
There was no anger. No reluctance. No shame. Just calculation.
He was giving me away like property. Like livestock.
Like it had been part of his plan all along.
Zacchaeus stepped forward slowly, his body radiating stillness and death.
"You insulted my council," he said. "Waged war on my territory. And you walk away with your head still attached. That's mercy."
My father's smile never reached his eyes. "Then we both got what we wanted."
"That's it?" I shouted. My voice cut through the smoke like a blade. "That's all you have to say?"
He looked at me — slowly. Like I was an afterthought. "What would you have me say, Blakelynn?"
I took a step forward. The pain was nothing compared to the fire in my chest.
"You trained me like a soldier. You broke me. For this? To hand me off like some fucking bargaining chip?"
He didn't answer.
"I nearly died," I snarled. "I killed for you. Bled for you. And you couldn't even pretend to care?"
His eyes narrowed — just slightly. Not in guilt. In boredom.
"You were always meant for more than me," he said simply. "This just happened sooner than I expected."
I stared at him, stunned. My mouth opened, then closed.
He turned his attention back to Zacchaeus like I wasn't there. "She's yours. Do with her what you will."
Zacchaeus didn't respond. He didn't need to. I clenched my fists as bile rose in my throat. My father didn't even look at me when he said it.
Zacchaeus was about to turn when I found my voice.
"Wait."
He glanced back. Just one word. But it burned like fire.
"Let me speak with him," I said. "Alone."
Zacchaeus stared at me, unreadable. Then gave a single nod.
"You have two minutes."
He walked off with slow, deliberate steps, stopping just far enough away to let us speak—but not far enough that my father could get away with anything worse.
I turned to face the man who made me.
He studied me like I was a puzzle missing all the wrong pieces.
"Well," he said dryly, "if I'd known being worthless would land you a mate like him, I might've crippled your other leg too."
I flinched, but I didn't look away.
"I am your daughter."
"You are nothing," he growled out, fangs protruding from his gums. "You are a disappointment! You came into this world crying like a pup and never stopped! All that training, all that blood—I tried to carve a warrior out of broken bones, and what did I get? A weak-legged waste with too much emotion and not enough bite."
"I fought your wars," I hissed. "I bled for your pride—"
"You were a tool. Nothing more." His voice dropped to a whisper, venomous and intimate. "Your mother begged me to spare you before she died. She thought you were special. Moon-touched. What a joke. All you ever did was take. Her life. My time. This pack's respect."
Moon-touched? What did that even mean?
My vision blurred.
"You sold me."
"I traded you," he corrected coldly. "And I won't lose sleep over it."
A tear slipped down my cheek before I could stop it.
He watched it fall with something that looked like disgust.
"Look at you," he sneered. "Already soft. He'll eat you alive."
I turned before he could see the rest of me shatter.
Zacchaeus waited where I'd left him, arms crossed, eyes unreadable.
I didn't say anything as I limped toward him. I couldn't.
He didn't ask.
But I felt the shift in him as I walked past—his eyes tracked every movement like he already knew of the damage that had been done.
And the worst part was... I let it happen.
Because some part of me still wanted a father.
Even if all he ever gave me was pain.
I saw something shift behind my father's eyes as we prepared to leave and as his group of beaten down wolves tucked tails and began to retreat. A flicker. Something... pleased.
It was a look I was painfully familiar with. He hadn't lost. Somehow in his sick and twisted mind he had practically won.
Let's call it a slight pivot from the original plan. A pivot that placed me in enemy hands—right where he wanted me.
As we walked away, I didn't feel like a survivor. I felt like a trap that hadn't been sprung yet...it was unsettling.
The forest changed as we walked.
The deeper we moved into the North, the darker everything became. The trees were taller here, ancient things with trunks wide enough to swallow a man whole. Their branches knotted above us like twisted arms, blotting out what little light remained. Moss hung like drapes from the boughs. The air was colder. Wetter. Heavy with the scent of pine and blood and magic I couldn't name.
I kept my head down. Not from shame — from necessity. Every step was war.
My leg burned. Every time I shifted weight onto it, white-hot pain flared up my thigh and down into my calf. I gritted my teeth until my jaw ached, but I wouldn't stop. I wouldn't let them see me fall.
Zacchaeus walked just ahead of me. Silent. Watchful. His presence loomed like a second moon—constant and cold. He didn't look at me, but I knew he was listening. Counting my breaths. Measuring how much longer I could last.
The others followed at a distance. I felt their eyes more than I saw them.
"Why isn't she restrained?" one muttered. A woman, sharp-voiced and angry.
"She's Southern."
"She tried to kill the Alpha."
"She's weak. Look at her limp."
"She's his mate," someone whispered. "The bond snapped. I heard it."
That silenced them—for a while.
I kept walking.
Branches clawed at my skin, snagged in my hair. I could feel blood trickling down the inside of my boot. My fingers were numb. My chest burned.
No one offered help.
Eventually, Zacchaeus slowed. Waited.
I caught up, barely.
"You're dragging your leg," he said, voice neutral.
"Sharp observation," I muttered, not looking at him.
"You won't make it another hour like that."
"I'll make it."
He didn't move.
"Let me carry you."
"No."
"You're bleeding."
"I'm always bleeding."
His jaw tightened.
"You're not proving anything."
"I'm not trying to. I just don't want to owe you."
He said nothing. Just started walking again.
The silence stretched. Every step hurt worse than the last. My breath came in short, sharp bursts. I tried to hide the limp, to walk more evenly, but it only made things worse. My body wasn't listening anymore. My bones were buzzing.
Another hour passed.
And then another.
Each time I slowed, Zacchaeus slowed too. Each time I stumbled, he watched. But he never reached for me. Never offered again.
He was giving me the choice to fall.
By the fifth hour, I was swaying.
My skin felt too tight. My eyes burned. The edges of the world were softening.
When I tripped over a root and caught myself with both hands, I stayed there a moment. Kneeling. Breathing. Trembling.
"You should stop," he said behind me.
"I'm fine."
"You're not."
"I've been worse."
"That's not the same as better."
I looked up at him. "Why do you care?"
He didn't answer right away.
Then, quietly:
"Because I've seen people break. And you're close."
I pushed myself to my feet. "Good. Maybe when I break, I'll finally be free."
"You won't," he said. "The bond doesn't break. It waits."
That silenced me.
The final stretch blurred. I didn't remember the trees. The ground. My steps. Only the throb of my leg and the sting of my father's voice echoing in my skull.
When we reached the outer rise — the place where the forest dipped into the valley and the northern stronghold finally came into view — I collapsed.
There was no warning. No drama. My legs just buckled and I went down, knees hitting the dirt hard before everything spun sideways.
Strong arms caught me before I hit the ground completely.
Zacchaeus.
I hated how warm his skin was.
I hated how easily he held me.
I hated that I didn't have the strength to push him away.
"I told you," he murmured.
Everything went black.
