the room he sent me to
1490 Words
“Go to your room and rest,” Kael said behind me.
His voice was level. Detached. Final.
I did not turn around.
I heard the faint rustle of fabric as Seraphina adjusted herself behind him. I felt their calm at my back, solid and unmoved, like this moment would not haunt them later. Like it had already been decided. Like it had been decided long before tonight.
Kael did not follow me.
He did not call my name again.
He did not ask about the child in my arms.
He simply turned back to the life he had chosen.
I walked.
Each step down the corridor sent a sharp pulse of pain through my lower body. Blood soaked the pads beneath my gown. My legs trembled, weak from labor, from loss, from standing when I should have been lying still. My spine burned with exhaustion, but I did not stop. I refused to collapse where they could see me.
The pack house was quiet.
Too quiet for a place that had just welcomed its future alpha heir.
No servants rushed forward. No guards bowed. No one congratulated me.
The silence followed me like judgment.
I reached my bedroom and pushed the door open with my shoulder. It creaked softly, the sound too loud in the stillness. Inside, the room smelled the same as always. Cold stone. Wolfsbane polish. Kael’s faint lingering scent, already fading.
I closed the door behind me.
The sound was final.
I crossed the room slowly and sat on the edge of the bed. My legs gave out the moment I stopped moving. Pain surged through my abdomen, sharp and deep, and I gasped, clutching the blankets as black spots danced at the edge of my vision.
Eryx stirred.
The small sound he made pulled me back from the brink.
“I am here,” I whispered, though I did not know if I was saying it to him or to myself.
I shifted him carefully, settling him against my chest. His body was warm, too warm, fragile and light in a way that terrified me. He smelled like milk and blood and new life. My son. My miracle. My last remaining piece.
I waited for the bond.
I waited for the instinctive pull I had been told about since childhood. The overwhelming rush. The fierce certainty. The way a mother’s wolf recognized her cub as her own.
Nothing came.
Mira was silent.
Not sleeping. Not resting.
Gone quiet in a way that felt wrong.
I frowned and adjusted my grip, pressing Eryx closer. I inhaled deeply, letting my wolf sense him, reach for him.
There was no answering spark.
My breath caught.
“No,” I whispered. “No, no, no.”
Eryx’s face scrunched, his tiny mouth trembling before he let out a thin cry. The sound pierced straight through my chest. Panic flared, sharp and suffocating. I rocked him instinctively, murmuring soft words I barely remembered learning.
“I am here,” I said again. “I have you. I have you.”
His cry only grew louder.
My heart began to race.
I tried to shift my emotional state, tried to calm myself, knowing my emotions affected him. The moment I forced my breathing steady, he quieted slightly. When my thoughts slipped, when the image of Kael and Seraphina pressed itself into my mind again, Eryx cried harder.
Understanding dawned slowly and cruelly.
He was reacting to me.
To my instability.
To my fracture.
Tears slid down my cheeks, silent and hot, dripping onto the blanket beneath us. I wiped them away quickly, biting down on my lip as pain lanced through my body again.
“I am sorry,” I whispered. “I am trying.”
I shifted, wincing as I leaned back against the pillows. My body felt wrong. Heavy. Slow. My limbs trembled with weakness. Healing should have already begun. A Luna healed faster than this. A strong she-wolf healed faster than this.
My wolf was not helping me.
My milk did not come when I tried to feed him. I waited, coaxed, pressed through discomfort and fear. Nothing happened. Eryx cried again, desperate now, his small hands curling weakly against my skin.
“I know,” I said hoarsely. “I know.”
Shame pooled low and bitter in my stomach.
I had failed him already.
A soft knock sounded at the door.
I froze.
I did not answer.
The door opened anyway.
Kael entered first.
Seraphina followed.
They looked untouched by the night.
Kael’s hair was still damp from a shower. He had changed into clean clothes, dark and tailored, every inch the composed alpha. His gaze swept the room briefly before settling on me and the child in my arms.
Seraphina stepped in beside him, her posture relaxed, her expression coolly curious. She wore one of Kael’s shirts, the fabric hanging loosely over her body.
The sight stabbed deep and precise.
I tightened my hold on Eryx.
“You should be resting,” Kael said.
Not concern. Instruction.
“I am,” I replied quietly.
Seraphina’s eyes flicked to Eryx, then away just as quickly. Disinterest. Calculation.
“He is crying,” Kael observed.
My fingers curled into the blanket. “He is hungry.”
Kael nodded once. “The wet nurse will be summoned.”
The words landed heavy.
“You will not touch him,” I said.
Seraphina arched a brow. “You are in no condition to be making demands.”
I lifted my gaze slowly.
“I carried him,” I said. “I bled for him. You will not take him from me.”
Kael’s jaw tightened. “No one is taking him.”
“That is exactly what you are doing,” I said. “You just do not want to say it out loud.”
Silence stretched.
Kael exhaled slowly. “This situation requires stability. Emotional displays will not help your position.”
“My position,” I repeated softly.
Seraphina stepped forward. “You should be grateful,” she said. “He is ensuring the child is cared for.”
I laughed quietly, the sound broken. “By whom?”
Her lips curved faintly. “By those who are capable.”
The room felt smaller.
Kael looked down at Eryx again. This time longer. There was no softness in his eyes. No pull. Just assessment.
“He is weak,” Kael said.
The word struck like a slap.
“He was born early,” I said, my voice trembling despite my effort to keep it steady. “He needs time.”
Kael’s gaze shifted back to me. “Weakness must be corrected early.”
Something twisted painfully inside me.
“He is not a flaw to be fixed,” I said. “He is a child.”
Seraphina tilted her head. “A child who will one day represent this pack. Sentiment will not make him strong.”
My chest burned.
“You will leave,” I said quietly. “Both of you.”
Kael’s eyes hardened. “This is my house.”
I met his gaze without flinching. “This is my room.”
Seraphina laughed softly. “You do not have authority here.”
Kael stepped forward. “Enough.”
His tone brooked no argument.
My hands shook as Eryx whimpered again, reacting to the tension. I forced my breathing steady, focusing on him, on the rise and fall of his tiny chest.
“I will not fight you tonight,” I said. “I am too tired. Too hurt.”
Kael nodded, as if satisfied. “That would be wise.”
Seraphina leaned closer to him, her shoulder brushing his arm. “You see,” she said to me, “this is how it will be.”
I looked at her.
At the woman standing in my doorway. Wearing my mate’s scent. Claiming my future.
“I see,” I said.
Kael turned toward the door. “Rest,” he said again. “We will discuss arrangements tomorrow.”
Arrangements.
He left without another word.
Seraphina lingered a moment longer. Her gaze swept me once more, sharp and measuring.
“You should learn to let go,” she said. “It makes survival easier.”
Then she turned and followed Kael out.
The door closed behind them.
I sagged back against the pillows, the strength draining from me all at once. My body shook with silent sobs I refused to voice. I pressed my face briefly against Eryx’s head, breathing him in, grounding myself in his warmth.
“I am still here,” I whispered. “Even if no one else is.”
Mira did not answer.
Moonlight slipped through the window, pale and distant, touching the scarred skin above my heart where the bond throbbed faintly.
For the first time since I was a girl, I wondered what would happen if I stopped enduring.
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