Lorenz and I entered the bond as strangers rather than lovers, though I clung to hope that time might draw us closer. During my studies, I worked to stand on my own—earning small grants, selling my paintings to human collectors, and striving not to drain Lorenz’s resources.
But he treated me like an inconvenience, cold and distant, barely acknowledging my efforts. In his eyes, I was a tolerated guest, not a mate.
On our bonding ceremony, he refused even the simplest mark of affection, turning away the instant it was over. The rare nights he came to my den were clouded by drink, and his touch never spoke of care; it reminded me that I existed in his life only by concession.
One evening, he stumbled into my den, eyes glazed, scent tainted by alcohol. I braced myself.
“Toni,” he slurred, leaning against the frame, “why don’t you ever visit me?”
“You never asked,” I replied, trying to steady my voice. “And it’s not as if either of us desired this bond fully.”
He laughed harshly, staggering across the floor and seizing my arm. “You’re only here because of my mother. Without her, you’re nothing.”
“Yes, Lorenz,” I whispered, feeling the weight of his grip tighten around my wrist. “I know.”
Years passed, and I endured, out of loyalty to the matriarch who had been my only source of kindness. I even turned down an offer to study among foreign packs, fearing it would disappoint her.
But no matter what I achieved, I could never occupy the place in Lorenz’s heart reserved for Emily. I was only a shadow, a substitute for the mate he had lost.
That night, after another argument, a quiet determination settled in me. My mentor’s voice echoed in my mind: “The scholarship is yours if you take it. Italy waits for you, Toni.”
It wasn’t just an opportunity—it was a lifeline, a door finally opening after years trapped in a life that was never truly mine. I resolved to walk through it, leaving behind everything that had bound me.
The next morning, over breakfast, Lorenz barely acknowledged me, his attention glued to the small glowing screen of his communicator. The previous night’s tension seemed to have evaporated from his mind.
I cleared my throat, steadying myself to speak a truth I had long carried.
“Lorenz,” I began softly, “what would you think if I pursued a master’s in Italy?”