Bonds

-Alex's POV-

x's Pov The antiseptic tang assaulted my nostrils as I pushed past the clipboard- clutching nurse at the entrance. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow over the entire scene, but it did nothing to dispel the cold dread that coiled in my gut. I wasn't in the mood for pleasantries, or forced smiles, or whatever small talk the nurses usually engaged in.

Just get me to him, that was all I wanted.

I practically stomped down the hallway, the echo of my footsteps bouncing off the pale walls. Finally, I reached the designated room, the numbers above the door blurring slightly as I shoved it open with unnecessary force. The scent intensified, mingling with the faint, metallic tang of blood that always seemed to cling to these places.

There he was.

Damon Thome.

A tangle of tubes snaked around him, feeding into machines that beeped and whirred with an unsettling rhythm. His chest rose and fell in shallow gasps. He looked worse, much worse, than he had during my last visit, Part of me, a twisted, vengeful part, felt a flicker of satisfaction. He deserved this, this pathetic shadow of a man, for everything he'd taken away. But that feeling was quickly overshadowed by a wave of something far more potent- a crushing sense of loss, I stood there for a long moment, rooted to the spot, a silent observer in this sterile tableau. The beeping of the machines, the rasp of his breath, the rhythmic click of my own fingernails against the cool metal railing around his bed - those were the only sounds that filled the oppressive silence.

His eyelids fluttered open then, revealing pale, watery orbs that scanned the room before landing on me. A flicker of recognition crossed his face, followed by a grimace that contorted his features in pain.

"Alex," he rasped, his voice a dry whisper barely audible above the whirring machines.

I stared back at him, a million questions churning in my gut. Questions I'd carried with me for years, a bitter weight that had shaped me into the person I was today. Words stuck in my throat, a tangled knot of anger, resentment, and a deep, hollow ache.

After what felt like an eternity, I managed to force the first question out. "Why?"

It was a single word, but it held the weight of a thousand unspoken accusations.

Why the constant anger?

Why the relentless pressure?

Why the absence of love?

He let out a shaky sigh, his chest hitching with the effort. His gaze drifted away from me, lost somewhere beyond the white walls of the room.

A flicker of something-regret? Fear?-crossed his face momentarily, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating. The rhythmic beeping of the machines seemed to mock the lack of response. My anger, simmering just below the surface, began to bubble over.

"No answer?" I spat, my voice tight with barely concealed fury. "You were always so full of orders, so quick to criticize. Where are your words now? Where's your booming voice telling me how to act, how to live my life?"

He flinched at the harshness in my tone, but still remained silent. Frustration gnawed at me. All those years of pent-up anger, the hurt, the isolation, the constant fear - it all came flooding back, threatening to drown me in its intensity.

"You always hated it when I talked back, didn't you?" I continued, my voice a low growl. "Remember how you'd scowl, how your eyes would turn cold? Well, guess what? I don't care anymore. I'm going to say it all."

I stepped closer to the bed, looming over him like a dark shadow. The beeping of the machines seemed to fade into the background as I leaned in, my voice a low, dangerous hiss.

"You had no right," I snarled. "You took my childhood, twisted me into some weapon you thought you could control. You turned our home into a prison, filled with nothing but tension and fear."

He closed his eyes, his face contorted in a grimace of pain, whether physical or emotional, I couldn't tell. But it did nothing to quell the growing storm inside me.

"And then, you took her away," I continued, my voice raw with barely contained emotion. "The one person who loved me unconditionally, who saw the good in me even when I couldn't see it myself. You took her away from me, and you never even had the decency to explain why!"

My voice cracked on the last word, and for a moment, a sob threatened to tear from my throat. But I choked it back, forcing myself to remain composed. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing me weak.

He remained silent, his labored breaths the only sound in the room. The machines beeped their monotonous rhythm, a constant reminder of his fragility. But to me, he wasn't frail. He was a monster, a man who had built his empire on fear and control, and who had crushed everything beautiful in his wake. "You have nothing to say now, do you?" I spat, my voice dripping with contempt. A flicker of something defiance? Stubbornness? - sparked in his cloudy eyes. He tried to speak, but a fit of coughing wracked his body, leaving him gasping for breath. I watched him with a cold detachment, a part of me hoping he wouldn't be able to utter another word and after a seemingly endless struggle, he managed to regain his composure. "Alex," he rasped, his voice even weaker than before.

"You... you.

don't understand."

"Don't I?" I scoffed. "I think I understand plenty. I understand that you were a cruel, selfish man who cared about nothing but power and control. I understand that you destroyed everything you touched, including your own family."

He flinched again, his gaze flickering away from mine. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, leaving a glistening track on his pale skin. "It wasn't like that," he whispered, his voice barely a croak. "It... it was never supposed to happen like that."

There it was, the excuse I'd been waiting for. The justification, the explanation that would somehow erase the years of pain and suffering. But part of me knew it wouldn't. No words could ever truly erase the past.

"Then tell me," I growled, leaning in even closer. "Tell me why you did it. Tell me why you took her away from me."

He closed his eyes again, his face etched with a grimace of pain, both physical and emotional, I was sure. A long, tense silence followed, broken only by the rhythmic beeping of the machines.

Was he thinking?

Trying to come up with some elaborate lie?

My patience was wearing thin. The anger that had been simmering just beneath the surface began to both over. "Don't play dumb with me," snarled, my voice laced with barely contained fury. "You owe me this much. Tell me why you took her life, or I swear on the moon goddess, I'll take yours right here, right now."

He flinched violently at my threat, his eyes snapping open in fear. For the first time since I'd entered the room, a flicker of life seemed to spark within him. He struggled to lift himself up on his elbows, his face contorted in pain.

"Wait. Let me explain..."

I watched him with a predatory gaze, my hand hovering near the metal railing of the bed, ready to restrain him if he tried anything stupid. Part of me wanted to lash out, to inflict the same pain he had inflicted on me for so many years. But another part, a more rational part, knew I

needed to hear him out.

He took a shallow breath, his chest rising and falling with effort.

My eyes narrowed into slits. "You were wasting my time."

The air crackled with tension, and I could feel the wild rage of my wolf boiling just beneath the surface. My fingers instinctively extended, claws popping with a sharp click against the metal railing.

If I let him out, I knew my wolf wouldn't hesitate. He wouldn't rest until my father paid the ultimate price for his actions. But a sliver of reason. held me back. I needed answers, and blind rage wouldn't provide them.

He flinched at the sound of my growl, his body tensing in fear. He struggled to sit up straighter, his movements slow and labored. His cloudy eyes, filled with a flicker of terror, met mine for a brief moment before darting away.

A deep growl rumbled in my chest, a sound that sent shivers down his the spine. He flinched again, trying ton scoot back on thelbed, but limitations of his frail body kept him trapped.

to breathe.

"Tell me, father," I growled, my voice a low, dangerous hiss. "Tell me why I walked into your study and found my mother dead and her throat ripped out."All rights © NôvelDrama.Org.