By the time Anya Holloway turned pre-teen, it felt as though Alaric Stone had been part of her life forever.
As long as she could remember, he had always been there. Walking her to school. Sitting beside her in class. Waiting outside when she stayed late. His presence was constant, steady, and protective, so familiar that Anya once believed it would never change.
But as they grew older, something shifted.
Alaric's temper worsened as they approached sixteen. While other boys struggled awkwardly through adolescence, Alaric seemed to mature too fast. His emotions burned hotter, his instincts sharper, his need to keep Anya close almost unbearable.
Whenever another boy tried to approach her, Alaric intervened.
A warning glare.
A threat whispered low.
A hand gripping her wrist as he pulled her away.
"Stay away from her," he would say, his voice cold and dangerous.
At first, Anya told herself he was just being protective. That he meant well. That this was simply how Alaric cared.
But the breaking point came shortly before her sixteenth birthday.
A classmate confessed his feelings to Anya after school. He was nervous and sincere, and Anya barely had time to respond before Alaric appeared.
The punch came without warning.
Shouts filled the hallway. Teachers rushed in as the boy fell to the ground, stunned and bleeding.
"Alaric, stop," Anya screamed. "You've gone too far."
He did not listen. His eyes were wild, his chest heaving with barely controlled rage.
"I told you not to touch her."
That was when something inside Anya finally broke.
She stepped between them, shaking with anger and hurt.
"Alaric, stop," she cried. "You've gone too far. I'm begging you. Leave me alone. I hate who you are now."
The words hit him harder than any blow.
He froze.
Pain tore through his chest so suddenly it stole his breath.
"Anya," he asked quietly, his voice trembling. "Do you know what you're saying?"
Tears streamed down her face. "I'm tired. I'm tired of you being stuck to me every single day. I want my freedom back. Please leave me."
She did not tell him the rest that she believed his anger and constant fighting were her fault. That she thought pushing him away would make him happier.
Alaric stared at her for a long moment.
Then he nodded.
"Fine," he said hoarsely. "If that's what you want. You'd better not regret it."
For days after the argument, Alaric and Anya passed each other like strangers.
They sat in the same classroom, walked the same hallways, breathed the same air, yet the distance between them felt unbearable. Alaric no longer walked her home. He no longer waited for her after class. His presence, once constant and grounding, disappeared so completely that it left Anya unsettled and aching in ways she had not expected.
She told herself this was what she wanted.
On the fourth day, she could not endure it anymore.
That afternoon, Anya stood outside Alaric's house, fingers clenched tightly around the strap of her bag. The door felt heavier than it should have when she knocked. After a moment, footsteps sounded from inside.
When Alaric opened the door, surprise flickered across his face before it was replaced by guarded restraint.
"What are you doing here?" he asked quietly.
"I need to talk to you."
He hesitated, then stepped aside.
Inside his room, the silence pressed down on them. Anya clasped her hands together, heart racing.
"Alaric," she began, her voice trembling despite her resolve, "you have been too much lately."
His jaw tightened.
"You are always watching me. Always following me. Always fighting for me," she continued. "I know you think you are protecting me, but it feels suffocating. I do not even know who I am anymore without you right there."
She forced herself to meet his eyes.
"I want you to focus on yourself. Your studies. Your hobbies. Make other friends. Live your own life instead of revolving around me."
Each word struck him like a blade.
Alaric turned away, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. Frustration burned in his chest, sharp and helpless. He wanted to shout the truth. He wanted to tell her that every instinct in his body demanded he protect her, that her safety was not a choice but something carved into his blood.
But he could not.
It was forbidden.
And worse, it was not the time.
"You do not understand," he muttered.
"I am trying to," Anya whispered. "But you will not let me."
The silence stretched until Alaric finally spoke again, his voice unsteady.
"Do you really want me to stay away from you?"
Anya's throat tightened. For his sake, she nodded, even as her eyes filled with tears.
"Yes," she said softly. "I think it would be better for you."
Something in Alaric shattered.
Tears slipped free as he closed his eyes. Deep within himself, he reached for the bond that had tethered them since childhood. With a pain that felt like tearing his own soul apart, he sealed it away.
When he opened his eyes again, his expression was hollow.
"Go," he said quietly. "Leave."
Anya hesitated, then turned and walked out, never seeing the way he collapsed against the door once it closed.
******
That night, it was the last time she ever saw him.
The moment Alaric sealed the bond, pain tore through his chest like fire ripping through flesh. The seal did not quiet the bond. It provoked it.
His wolf woke up screaming.
Alaric barely had time to stagger out of the house before his body betrayed him. He ran into the forest behind the Stone residence, lungs burning, vision blurring, every nerve ending igniting as something ancient and feral clawed its way to the surface.
Bones cracked.
Muscles tore and rebuilt themselves.
His scream dissolved into a howl that shattered the stillness of the night.
It was his first shift.
The wolf burst free, massive and wild, silver eyes blazing with rage and loss. It tore through the forest, shredding earth and bark alike, driven by one instinct alone: find her. Claim her. Undo the seal.
But the seal held.
And it hurts.
Miles away, his parents felt it.
The sudden surge of Alpha blood. The violent awakening of a wolf far too powerful for a boy so young. They followed the call without hesitation, finding him deep in the forest, raging and out of control, tearing at the ground as if trying to claw his way back to something he had lost.
It took both of them to calm him.
When dawn finally came, Alaric lay trembling on the forest floor, naked and exhausted, the wolf retreating beneath his skin for the first time. His father wrapped a jacket around his shoulders. His mother knelt beside him, her expression unreadable but grave.
Back at the house, once his hands stopped shaking, Alaric told them everything.
About Anya.
About the bond.
About sealing it.
The room fell silent.
No werewolf had ever identified their mate so young. Let alone sealing a bond before claiming. Let alone triggered a first shift through sheer emotional force.
His parents exchanged a look heavy with understanding and concern.
"You stayed too long in Westbridge," Marcus finally said.
"It's time we return to Central City," Evelyn added gently. "This is not where you truly belong."
Alaric lowered his head, fingers curling into fists.
"With your first shift complete," Marcus continued, "you'll need training. Control. Discipline. What awakened in you tonight cannot be ignored."
Alaric said nothing.
Not long after, the Stone family left Westbridge and returned to Central City.
Alaric watched the town disappear through the car window, his jaw clenched, his expression unreadable. Inside, something vital was tearing itself apart.
He wondered if she felt it. The sudden hollow. The sharp ache with no name.
Alaric disappeared from Anya's life as suddenly as he had once appeared.
But the bond did not disappear.
It only went quiet.