The house was quiet that night, colder than usual. Rylan had curled up on his bed, exhausted from the emotional toll of graduation, his heart still raw from seeing Kia with Seth. His wolf prowled restlessly, senses on edge, growling low in his chest.
He thought he might finally have a moment of peace.
But peace had never been his to claim.
The front door slammed open, loud and sharp, rattling the walls. Rylan's head shot up. Heavy, staggering footsteps approached. The smell of alcohol hit him before he even saw his father's face—burnt whiskey and something sharper, more dangerous.
"Rylan!" his father bellowed, voice thick and slurred. "Get down here, you little brat!"
Rylan's stomach turned. He had been careful. Quiet. Obedient. Yet his father's anger never needed reason—it simply existed, ready to erupt at any time.
He tried to shrink back, but the door to his room swung open violently. His father stormed in, face red and twisted with fury.
"You think you can just sit there and do nothing?" his father yelled. "You're weak. Useless. A disgrace!"
Rylan's heart pounded, fear mingling with the rising anger of his wolf. "I… I'm sorry, Father…" he stammered.
But apologies never worked.
The first blow landed across his face with a sickening crack. Rylan stumbled, hitting the edge of the bed. His vision blurred. Pain shot through him like fire, but he forced himself to breathe, to stay upright.
Another hit. And another. Each strike carried not just pain, but contempt, a crushing weight of years of neglect and humiliation. His wolf growled, low and dangerous, instincts flaring, but Rylan didn't fight back. One small act of defiance would mean death—or worse, prolonged suffering at the hands of someone stronger, merciless, and drunk on power.
Blood ran from his nose. Bruises bloomed across his arms and ribs. The room spun, but the voice inside him—the wolf—kept him alert. Fight, run, survive… for yourself.
And then the reality of his situation struck him like ice.
He wasn't just fighting for himself.
Somewhere deep inside him, where life quietly grew, he carried the child—a tiny life that depended on him.
Pain mingled with purpose, fury giving way to clarity. If he stayed, he and his child would never survive. If he left… if he risked everything… maybe he could build a life where they were safe. Where they could be free.
The blows continued, his father's drunken rage unrelenting. Rylan's body ached, blood soaked his shirt, and the edges of consciousness blurred. But his resolve hardened. Each strike was a reminder of the chains he had lived under—and the chains he would break.
When the beating finally stopped, his father staggered away, muttering curses and threats, leaving Rylan gasping, bruised, and battered on the floor. His wolf whimpered in pain, pressed close to his chest, trembling but loyal.
Rylan lay there for a long moment, feeling the weight of every memory, every humiliation, every moment he had been crushed by the world and his own family. And then, amidst the pain and darkness, a spark lit inside him.
He sat up slowly, trembling, hands pressed against the floor, and whispered, barely audible:
"I… I will leave this place. Not just for me… but for you too."
He pressed a hand to his stomach, feeling the tiny life inside him. His wolf nuzzled against him, as if understanding, as if lending strength.
"I will survive… I will live… and I will protect you. No matter what it takes."
Tears mingled with blood and sweat, but his resolve was iron. The pain of the night could not crush him—not entirely. Somewhere in the agony, a seed of strength had been planted. And from this night of despair, a plan began to form.
Rylan would leave this country.
He would carve out a life for himself, and for the child growing inside him.
No more fear.
No more chains.
For the first time in his life, even in pain, he felt something resembling hope.
And his wolf purred softly, a promise echoing in his chest: We will survive. Together.