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Torn Bond: The Alpha's Late Regret

Qijia Lady

5.0

Werewolf

10 Chapters

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I gave up my dream of becoming the Pack's elite warrior to save Alpha Gasper's life. In return, I became his fated mate, spending five years as his nurse and shadow. But when his first love, Becky, returned, my years of quiet devotion meant nothing. He brought her into our home, showering her with the tenderness I had craved, while treating me with cold impatience. During a Pack gathering, his closest friends openly mocked my limp and the ugly silver scar I got from protecting him. "She walks like a crippled duck! A crippled Luna is a disgrace to the Monroe Pack." Becky giggled, leaning into Gasper. And Gasper? He just sat there, sipping his whiskey in silence. When I finally snapped and confronted them, he grabbed my arm, his eyes full of annoyance. "Why do you always have to be so bitter and unforgiving?" Bitter? I took a silver-laced wire for him. I lost my future for him. Later, he drunkenly confessed that his inner wolf was physically repulsed by my scar, calling it "unclean." The realization hit me like a physical blow. To the man I sacrificed everything for, my pain was an inconvenience, and my loyalty was a disgusting flaw. I stopped crying. I drained my secret savings, secured a spot at a neutral academy, and stood before my Alpha one last time. "I, Clarabelle Rhodes, reject you, Gasper Monroe, as my mate." Leaving him writhing in the agony of a severed bond, I turned and walked away.

Torn Bond: The Alpha's Late Regret Chapter 1

Clarabelle POV:

The wet, ragged gasps and the frantic friction of bare skin against skin drifted through the heavy oak door, slicing through the midnight quiet like claws across glass.

I froze in the dim hallway, my hand still holding the silver tray with a cup of herbal tea.

Inside his suite, the rhythmic slaps and guttural groans grew harsher, wilder-raw with a desperate, animal need.

My Alpha was taking care of himself.

A sharp, sick ache punched through my chest. Today was the fifth anniversary of our mating ceremony, and in all those five years, he had never once touched me. Never consummated the bond. Every time his Heat flared up and his inner wolf burned with primal fever, I stood outside his room playing the dutiful nurse with calming teas and cold compresses.

The Moon Goddess had decreed us fated mates, weaving our souls together with an undeniable spiritual thread. He was starving for release right now, and his fated mate stood just inches away on the other side of the wood, carrying the natural soothing scent granted by the goddess to calm his fever.

Yet Gasper would rather use his own fist.

To him, claiming a crippled she-wolf was a permanent stain on his proud Alpha bloodline. He believed my ruined leg had destroyed his glory, and his arrogant wolf chose to fight its own primal mating instincts to the brink of madness rather than submit to the bond.

The panting inside spiked, hitting a frenzied peak. Then came a strangled, breathless shudder-a sound ripped straight from the depths of his soul:

"Becky..."

The name shattered the last fragile piece of my heart.

Becky. His first love. The sweet, fragile daughter of an allied pack who had left him to study in the human realm years ago, shattering his pride and driving him to reckless binges. He swore she was just a ghost from his past, an old wound buried beneath his duties as Alpha.

He lied.

The tea tray slipped from my numb fingers.

Crash!

Porcelain exploded against the marble tiles with a deafening clatter. Scalding liquid splashed over my bare ankles, soaking the hem of my dress, but the burning tea was nothing compared to the ice flooding my veins.

Panic seized me. I had to get away before he saw the shattered remains of my pride.

I spun around to flee, but in my frantic hurry, my ruined left leg betrayed me. The scarred muscles buckled under my weight. I slipped on the wet floor, smashing hard against the console table before collapsing into the puddle of tea and jagged ceramic shards.

The bedroom door was ripped open.

Gasper filled the frame, tall, broad, and radiating an overwhelming wave of musk and spent Heat. He wore only a pair of dark sweatpants hanging low on his hips, his muscular chest and flat stomach glistening with sweat. His slate-gray eyes were still dark, glazed with the lingering aftershocks of his climax.

When he looked down and saw me sprawled in the mess on the floor, his brow furrowed with sharp irritation.

"Clarabelle?" His voice was thick and raspy, rough from the sounds he'd made just moments ago. "What are you doing out here?"

"I... I came to bring you tea," I choked out.

Desperate to escape his suffocating presence, I pressed my palms against the tiles, trying to scramble up. But the floor was slick, and my damaged leg had no strength. I slipped again, scraping my knees against the broken porcelain, cutting into my palms.

Five years ago, I was on track to become an elite pack warrior. Then Gasper, drunk and reckless over Becky's departure, walked into an ambush, and I threw myself between him and a rogue's silver-laced trap. The silver ate into my flesh, crippling my leg forever. The Moon Goddess had revealed our mate-bond shortly after, but that sacred connection had curdled into a curse of suffocating guilt. He completed the public mating ceremony out of obligation to the broken girl who had shielded him, but behind closed doors, he locked away his touch, refusing to let an imperfect mate share his bed.

Gasper stepped out of the doorway. He reached down, offering an arm with that practiced, smooth courtesy he always put on. "Did you hurt yourself? Let me help you."

His words sounded caring, but his posture was stiff, holding himself back. And as his eyes flicked down to my trembling, twisted limb, I caught it-that fleeting, instinctive twitch of his jaw.

The disgust.

The raw revulsion he always hid whenever he looked at the ugly silver burns carved into my skin.

"Don't touch me," I whispered, slapping his hand away with the last scrap of dignity I owned. "I can stand on my own."

Gasper's hand hung in the air for a second before he pulled it back, his expression turning cold and distant.

"You're being difficult over an accident," he muttered, crossing his arms over his bare chest. "If your leg is that weak tonight, you shouldn't be wandering the halls. Go back to your room."

Without looking at me again, he pressed a finger to his temple, opening the mind-link: Martha. Third floor. The Luna dropped something outside my door. Clean it up.

I dragged myself up against the wall, white-knuckling the wallpaper as I forced all my weight onto my good leg, trembling with agony.

"By the way," Gasper added, gesturing toward a small velvet box sitting on the console inside his room. "Happy anniversary. I had my assistant pick out a gift for you. Take it when Martha's done."

A hollow, bitter laugh almost tore from my throat.

I didn't need to open it. For five years, on every birthday and mating anniversary, he handed me that exact same box containing the exact same style of enchanted moonstone necklace. Inside the drawer of my nightstand, nine identical necklaces were already gathering dust.

This made ten. A mechanical, hollow handout to soothe his guilty conscience, while another woman's name was on his lips when he spilled his seed in the dark.

"Thank you, Alpha," I said softly, the words tasting like ash.

I leaned over and picked up the velvet box from the console, clutching the cold velvet tightly in my bleeding palm. I didn't look back at him.

Clutching the wall, dragging the scarred leg that had once run like the wind, I limped down the endless corridor toward my empty room. Behind me, his heavy door clicked shut with an indifferent thud.

Five years of patience. Five years of devotion.

Tonight, it was finally over.