Chapter 45 – The Bondbreaker
The stone beneath her feet was damp again from the rain that came through last night. Giselle had long lost track of how many days had passed since her capture, but the cold, wet floor of this cell remained a constant. A reminder. A slow, gnawing erosion of her strength.
She hugged her knees tighter, trying to warm herself, to keep her breathing steady despite the lingering ache in her bones. Her wolf, Aeris, was quiet. Too quiet.
‘Please… say something,’ Giselle whispered inwardly.
But there was only silence.
The metallic *clang* of the heavy dungeon door tore through the silence. Giselle’s eyes snapped to the hallway just as footsteps echoed down the corridor. Heavy, deliberate. And then—
A voice. That voice.
“Oh, little wolf,” came the mocking purr of the *scarred rogue leader* as he stepped into view, his lips twisted in that ever-present, smug smirk. The long, jagged scars that warped half his face gleamed under the flickering torchlight. “How fragile you look now, locked away in my control.”
Giselle’s lips curled in defiance, even as she forced herself upright with effort. “You’ll regret this.”
“I doubt that,” he replied coolly. “Your precious Alpha is the one who’ll be drowning in regrets soon. If only he had marked you as his when he had the chance.”
He stepped closer to the bars, his eyes gleaming with twisted amusement. “I must admit, that Alpha’s will has held up longer than I expected. But everyone breaks. Especially when they lose what they care about most in this world.”
Giselle’s hands tightened into fists. “He’ll find me.”
“Oh, he’s already trying,” the rogue said, his voice lilting with dark amusement. “In fact, he just followed a glowing trail right to that pathetic little witch in the woods. Right where I wanted him.”
A second set of footsteps approached then—softer, almost soundless.
The figure that entered next was swathed in deep black fabric, draped head to toe, leaving only her eyes visible. Giselle’s breath caught. Those eyes…
She didn’t know how. But something about them was *familiar*—a flicker of recognition that made her wolf shift restlessly within her. Or try to.
‘Aeris?’ Still nothing.
“She’s been very helpful,” the rogue drawled, glancing at the veiled woman with something close to reverence. “And now, thanks to her… we’ll take the final step towards breaking that Alpha of yours.”
He turned his gaze back to Giselle. “You see, my dear, Rowan’s bloodline hides a very old power—one that should’ve belonged to us. He doesn’t even know what he guards. But once you’re gone, once the bond is broken… he’ll unravel.”
Fear struck her like a slap. “What—what are you talking about?”
But the woman said nothing. She merely stepped forward and lifted her hands.
Giselle’s pulse thundered. “*Wait—*”
Then the chanting began.
Soft at first. A whisper against her ears that she could barely hear.
Then it grew—layered, echoing through the air until the words wrapped around Giselle like chains, pressing into her skull. The torches in the dungeon flared blue, and the air turned heavy, *wrong.*
A low hum vibrated through her bones. Her skin prickled.
And then it hit.
*Pain.*
Agony unlike anything she’d ever known detonated through her chest, her spine arching sharply as her body convulsed. She screamed—at least she *thought* she did. Her voice felt ripped from her throat, the sound smothered by the unrelenting tide of torment.
‘*AERIS!*’ she cried in her mind, desperation clawing at her soul. Her wolf stirred, barely—like a whisper of wind through a dying forest.
The pain escalated, hot and sharp, curling into every nerve, setting her muscles alight as if she were being *peeled apart from the inside.* Giselle clawed at her own throat, trying to draw breath, tearing at her skin, but nothing helped.
The chanting grew louder.
And louder.
Until it was *all she could hear.*
Until there was no dungeon. No rogue. No air. Just the *burning*.
A light flared behind her eyes—bright, blinding. Her body shuddered again, limbs thrashing against the stone as that *light* concentrated into a single point inside her chest.
The bond.
It was there—glowing, warm, *Rowan.*
And then it began to *tear.*
A ripping, sickening pull as if her very soul was being torn in half. The pain forced another scream from her lips—no, her *mind*—she wasn’t even sure she was conscious anymore. It echoed in a void she couldn’t see, couldn’t name.
“*Stop,*” she begged. “Please, stop.”
Her fingers dug into the stone floor, blood mixing with dirt. Her vision blackened at the edges.
Then—
A voice.
‘*Giselle.*’
A whisper, low and loving. A voice that cradled her name like a prayer.
Rowan.
The sound of it wrapped around her like arms, warm and strong. The bond flared—bright gold and brilliant—and suddenly she could *feel him*. The steady beat of his heart. The way he *ached* for her. His soul, tethering itself to hers like a lifeline.
‘*Come back to me,*’ he said, voice like music and strength and sanctuary.
The pain faltered. Not gone. But diminished. Held back by him.
The veil of chanting tried to surge forward again, drowning out his voice, but Rowan *held fast*, his presence like fire in the darkness, beating back the spell.
Giselle gasped as her back arched once more—and then the bond snapped tight again, like a cord pulled taut and anchored deep within her chest.
She collapsed.
Her body hit the stone floor hard, skin slick with sweat and blood. The chanting cut off in a *single beat,* as if silenced by an unseen force. A bitter curse echoed in the background—male, angry.
The rogue leader.
But Giselle couldn’t focus on what he was saying as the pain grabbed hold of her and held on tight.
Everything was too quiet now, her body numb, the world blurry and weightless.
The last thing she felt before slipping under was the soft, warm presence of Rowan still inside her chest… pulsing, strong.
Still hers. For now. And forever.
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