Chapter 4: The Irresistible Pull

~~Basil~~

I sat in the packhouse’s common room, staring blankly at the whiskey glass in my hand. The amber liquid sloshed slightly as my fingers tightened around the crystal, but I barely noticed. Across from me, Bernard sprawled lazily on the couch, arms crossed behind his head, eyes fixed on the ceiling. To anyone else, he looked relaxed, unbothered. But I wasn’t anyone else.

I felt his frustration, just as he felt mine. It was the curse of being twins—two halves of a whole, bound by blood and instinct. Our minds were an open book to each other, no words needed.

“She’s back.”

Bernard’s voice slid into my head, sharp and restless, a blade wrapped in silk.

I took a slow sip of whiskey, letting the burn sear my throat before answering. “I know.”

“And it’s fucking with us.”

I clenched my jaw. It was fucking with us. The moment Ruby stepped back into our pack, something inside me snapped loose. My wolf had reacted violently, pacing, snarling, clawing at my insides like a caged animal. And Bernard—though he wouldn’t admit it—felt the same.

She wasn’t supposed to affect us. Not after all these years. Not after what we did.

“We rejected her,” I reminded him, though the words felt hollow even in my own mind.

“Then why does her scent make me want to rip my own skin off?”

I didn’t answer.

Because I didn’t know.

Because I felt the same. Every time she was near, it was like acid poured into old wounds—wounds we thought had long since scarred over.

Bernard sat up, scrubbing his hands down his face, his movements agitated. “I need to get her out of my fucking head.”

I knew what he meant before he even thought it.

Distraction.

The same way we had always dealt with things we couldn’t control. Dull the emotions. Drown the bond.

And just like that, we were in sync again.

We found her in one of the private rooms—a stunning she-wolf with golden hair and curves that begged to be touched. She was eager, desperate to please both of us, and we didn’t hesitate. Our names spilled from her lips like a prayer. Her scent was nothing like Ruby’s, but it didn’t matter.

We didn’t speak Ruby’s name.

We didn’t think about Ruby.

We let the heat of the moment consume us—the feeling of her body, the way she responded to us—anything to drown out the madness clawing at our minds.

But it didn’t work.

Even as I pressed against the she-wolf’s body, even as I lost myself in the rhythm and fire, I felt Ruby.

Her scent lingered in my senses, her eyes flashing in my mind—those wide, stormy eyes that used to look at us like we hung the moon.

“Basil—” Bernard’s voice suddenly invaded my thoughts, his tone tight, strained.

It wasn’t pleasure I felt through our twin bond.

It was pain.

And it wasn’t ours.

It was hers.

*****

~~Ruby~~

I was reading Raine’s letter when it hit me.

A sharp, searing agony ripped through my chest, so sudden and violent I couldn’t even scream. The letter slipped from my fingers, drifting like a feather to the floor as my body folded inward. My breath caught—choked—like something had pierced through me.

Then I heard it.

Moans.

Breathless. Heated. Unmistakable.

I wasn’t in their room. I wasn’t anywhere near them. But I felt it.

I heard it.

Like I was there—trapped, helpless, watching them with her. The she-wolf.

My hands flew to my ears as if I could block it out. But it wasn’t sound. It wasn’t something I could shut off or run from.

It was the bond.

The fucking bond.

My knees buckled. I hit the edge of the bed, barely keeping myself from collapsing as wave after wave of pain crashed through me. It was raw. Violent. Carnal. Their pleasure—their betrayal—fused into every nerve.

My wolf let out a broken cry inside me. It wasn’t a howl. It wasn’t rage.

It was grief.

Basil. Bernard.

They were with her.

And I felt every moment of it.

Every kiss.

Every touch.

Every sound they dragged from another woman’s throat.

It was like they branded me from a distance. Like they set my heart on fire and watched it burn from the comfort of someone else’s arms.

I gasped, clawing at my skin, trying to tear them out, to tear the bond out, to stop feeling. But it was no use. It was alive—thriving—pulling me deeper into a nightmare I couldn’t wake from.

“No, no, no—” I whispered, over and over, but the words offered no comfort. My voice was a tremor, my body a storm.

I staggered to my feet, knocking over the lamp beside the bed. The wooden chair crashed to the floor. My breathing was ragged, chest heaving like I was drowning on dry land.

Glass splintered underfoot as I stumbled toward the door, a sharp sting slicing through my palm. I didn’t stop.

I couldn’t.

I had to get out.

Out of the room. Out of the house. Out of this connection.

The hallway blurred around me. My vision swam, the corridor tilting dangerously. I didn’t care. I needed distance. I needed to outrun the ghost of their hands, the echo of their voices tangled in desire that wasn’t meant for me.

But no matter how far I ran—

The pain followed.

A phantom stitched to my bones.

I burst through the back doors of the packhouse, stumbling into the night, gasping for breath. The cold air slapped me hard, but I welcomed it. It was the only thing that didn’t feel like them.

My knees hit the ground and I curled into myself, fists buried in the dirt, body wracked with silent sobs. My wolf though distant whimpered, curled tight around the bond as if it could somehow protect what was left of us.

But there was no protecting us from this.

They’d shattered something tonight.

And I didn’t know if it would ever be whole again.