Bonds

-Alex's POV-

My father's voice rasped, pulling me out of the black hole of anger I'd been sinking into. He started talking, his voice weak and shaky, but the words were clear. "The man I sent... the one who brought your mother..." he trailed off, his chest heaving with each ragged breath.

"He left her at the study door," he began, his voice regaining a semblance of its former strength. "She knocked, like she always did, even though everyone knew it was her I'd called for."

His voice rasped on, each word a shard of ice scraping against my already raw nerves. As the words flowed out of his mouth, I wasn't just hearing them, I was seeing them. It was like a horrifying movie playing out behind my closed eyelids, a movie I desperately wished I could shut off.

I pictured her then, my mother, standing outside that imposing metal door, her hand raised in a hesitant knock. She always did things properly, even when dealing with a man who rarely deserved such courtesy. The memory sent a fresh wave of pain crashing over me, a bittersweet mix of love and frustration that threatened to drown me.

His gruff voice sounded from behind the door, "Come in."

The door creaked open, and I could practically see her step cautiously inside, her back straight despite the tremor in her hands. The study, usually a bastion of cold formality, seemed to shrink under the weight of her presence. My father, a tyrant in his own right, sat behind his massive desk, a scowl permanently etched on his face. He didn't even bother to look up as she entered, his gaze fixed on some document as if her arrival was an unwelcome interruption.

"You sent for me," her voice, usually strong and confident, sounded small and fragile in the cavernous room. The air hung heavy, thick with the unspoken tension that had become a constant companion in our household.

After a beat that stretched into an eternity, he lifted his head, his dark eyes meeting hers for a fleeting moment before flicking back down to the paper. “I'm sending Alex away."

The words hit her like a physical blow. Her eyes widened in disbelief, her mouth agape as if to speak, but no sound emerged. It was as if someone had punched the air from her lungs. "What do you mean you are sending him away?" she finally managed, her voice a mere whisper. "You can't."

He slammed the document shut with a finality that made her flinch, the sharp crack echoing through the room. Now, he did look at her, his gaze cold and devoid of any warmth. "I can't?" he echoed, his voice a low growl.

My mother straightened her spine, forcing a semblance of composure. "I am not trying to tell you what you can or cannot do," she said, her voice surprisingly steady considering the tremor in her hands. "I am just trying to understand. He is my son, and I don't want him to go away. I want him to grow up with me."

Her words seemed to ignite a fire within him. He rose from his chair, his imposing figure casting a dark shadow over her. The room felt like it was shrinking, the walls closing in as his anger filled the space. "You see, that is the problem," he spat, his voice laced with venom. "You are the problem. You are making him weak."

He started to pace, a caged animal, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. "Alex is my legacy," he continued, his voice rising with each word. "He is to become a powerful wolf, a leader who will be feared by all. You, with your gentle ways and soft heart, are a hinderance to the man he is to become."

Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her viston. She knew Damon Thorne had a way of twisting reality to fit his narrative, of making her feel Chapter 110

like the villain in their story. She knew she was fighting a losing battle, but a mother's love wouldn't be silenced. "Please, Damon," she pleaded, her voice cracking with emotion. "Please don't take him away from me. He is just a child. He needs his mother. He needs me"

The air crackled with the raw vulnerability in her voice. My father, however, remained unmoved. He steepled his fingers,his gaze fixed on some invisible point on the wall behind her. "It isn't up for debate. It's already been decided."

His words were laced with a nonchalance that grated on my nerves even though it was just a pictured memory. It was as if he were discussing the weather, not the future of his own son. My mother, however, wasn't ready to give up. Tears streamed down her face, carving glistening tracks through the caked-on makeup he always forced her to wear. "Decided by whom, Damon? By you? By some pack council I wasn't even informed about?"

He sighed, a long, exaggerated sigh that spoke volumes about his dwindling patience. "This isn't about the pack council. This is about Alex's future. He needs to be trained properly, and frankly, you're not equipped for that."

Her chin trembled, but her eyes held a steely glint. "Equipped? I'm his mother I've raised him for ten years. Who are you to say I'm not equipped?"

He leaned back in his chair, a sly smirk playing on his lips. "You've raised him to be soft. To be naive. He needs discipline, strength. Things you simply can't provide."

Her shoulders slumped, the fight slowly draining out of her. "But he's just a child, Damon. He needs his mother."

"He'll have mentors, other pack members who can guide him. He'll learn everything he needs to know." He waved his hand dismissively, a gesture that spoke more than any words. “This conversation is over. The arrangements are being made. Alex will be leaving soon."

His tone left no room for argument. It was a cold, final dismissal that sent a wave of fury crashing over me. Here I was, an adult man, yet his words still had the power to wound me, to make me feel like a helpless child once again. But my mother wasn't done yet.

"And what about me, Damon? Don't I get a say in this?"NôvelDrama.Org © content.

"You've had your say. And frankly, your concerns are... irrelevant. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a lot of work to do."

He didn't wait for her reply, his broad shoulders brushing past her as he strode towards the door. The click of the door opening echoed through the room, punctuating the thick silence that had descended. My mother remained rooted to the spot, her body trembling, tears carving a silent path down her cheeks.

Then, as if jolted awake from a nightmare, she straightened, her voice raspy but firm. "I want a divorce, Damon. I don't want to be married to you anymore."

The effect was instantaneous. My father's head whipped back around, his eyes narrowing into slits releasing the door knob. "What did you just say?" he demanded, his voice dangerously low.

She met his gaze defiantly, a spark of defiance igniting in her own eyes. "You heard me," she repeated, her voice unwavering. "I want to leave, and I'm taking Alex with me."

It was a mistake. The fire that had been simmering beneath the surface of his anger erupted in a volcanic explosion. In a heartbeat, he was on her, his hands wrapping around her throat with a vice-like grip. Her gasp for air was cut short, her eyes bulging in terror.

"You want to leave? Take him away from me?" he snarled, his voice laced with fury.

"Damon... stop... I... can't breathe," she choked out, clawing at his hands with desperate fingers.

His grip only tightened. "I'll never let either of you leave," he roared, his face contorted with rage.

In that suffocating silence, a strange sensation washed over me. It was a feeling of terror, of helplessness, a chilling echo of her own emotions. It was as if I were somehow experiencing her struggle firsthand.

Driven by a primal instinct for survival, she fueled the only weapon she had left. Gasping for breath, she rasped out, "I'll never stop trying to take him away. Never stop fighting to get him out of your clutches."

The air crackled with a sudden energy, the temperature dropping several degrees in an instant. Am guttural growl/ripped from my father's throat, his eyes darkening as his wolf rose to the surface. Claws extended digging into the skin of her neck. I felt a phantom pain erupt in my

own chest, a sickening echo of her agony.

She knew. In that split second, she understood the full weight of her situation, the horrifying reality that escape was no longer an option. With a final surge of defiance, she focused her remaining strength on one last desperate plea.

"I will never stop trying to take him away and when we are both gone," she gasped out, her voice barely a whisper, "you'll be all alone in your misery. You... you...will... have... nothing."

Those were the last words she spoke just before my father let out a powerful growl and ripped his hand from her neck, his claws slashing her throat.

I felt her presence fade, a hollow emptiness settling where it once resided. There was no pain, no lingering suffering-just a chilling sense of peace, the peace of liberation.

Her last thought, as clear as day in m

my mind, was a silent whisper, a message meant only for me. "I love you, Alex it breathed, a gentle echo in the recesses of my mind. "I'll always be with you, even in spirit."

Then, the weight of her lifeless body hitting the floor jolted me back to the harsh reality of the present but i could still see the exact image my ten year old self saw when he walked into that study, Her lifeless eyes staring at me with her throat ripped open, blood pooling round my father's feet as he stood over her with a look of horror with the realization settling in that he had killed her.

He had killed my mother.