Chapter 7- Burning Words
878 Words
Soren woke fully just after dawn.
The pain came first—dull, deep, manageable. He cataloged it automatically: cracked ribs, healing lacerations, exhaustion that sank into bone. The hospital room was still dim, the quiet broken only by the steady hum of equipment and distant footsteps.
Crescent Moon healers.
Which meant—
He exhaled slowly.
So she’s real.
Soren turned his head just enough to confirm he was alone. Then he reached for his phone on the bedside table, fingers stiff but functional. There was only one number he needed.
Soren:
You awake?
The reply came faster than expected.
Rhys:
I am now. How bad is it?
Soren huffed softly. Typical. Always checking on his beta first.
Soren:
I’ll live. That’s not why I’m texting.
A pause.
Longer this time.
Rhys:
What’s wrong?
Soren stared at the ceiling, jaw tight, replaying the sound of her voice in his mind—steady, concerned, instinctively gentle.
Soren:
The girl you’ve been talking to.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Rhys:
What about her.
Not a question.
A warning.
Soren smiled faintly.
Soren:
What exactly do you know about Mikaela?
Silence.
Minutes passed. Not seconds.
Soren didn’t push. He didn’t need to. He could practically hear Rhys pacing, could feel the moment realization clicked into place.
Rhys:
Why are you asking me that.
Soren finally turned his head toward the window, watching pale morning light creep across the floor.
Soren:
Because she was one of the healers assigned to me last night.
The response came immediately this time.
Rhys:
…What.
Soren closed his eyes.
Soren:
She talked. Thought I was asleep.
She’s worried about you.
And whatever you think you’ve been hiding—she can feel it.
The phone vibrated again before he could set it down.
Rhys:
Did she say anything else.
Soren considered lying.
He didn’t.
Soren:
She doesn’t know why she’s connected to you.
But she knows it isn’t nothing.
Another pause.
When Rhys finally replied, the words were bare.
Rhys:
I’ve never met her.
Soren snorted quietly.
Soren:
Neither has she.
Doesn’t seem to matter.
The three dots lingered this time, blinking like a heartbeat.
Rhys:
I don’t know what this is, Soren.
Soren’s fingers tightened around the phone.
Soren:
Then you’d better figure it out.
Because Crescent Moon’s Alpha is already trying to put distance between you.
And fate doesn’t like being told no.
He set the phone down before Rhys could answer.
Rhys stood alone at the edge of the temporary Red Moon quarters, the morning air cold against his skin.
His phone was still in his hand.
The words burned.
She was one of the healers assigned to me last night.
She’s worried about you.
She can feel it.
Rhys exhaled slowly, breath fogging as he stared out over unfamiliar territory. Crescent Moon land stretched before him—orderly, strong, guarded.
And somewhere inside it—
Mikaela.
He dragged a hand through his curls, pacing once before forcing himself to stop. Control had been drilled into him since the day his Alpha father had begun shaping him into a leader. Panic solved nothing. Instinct unchecked was a liability.
And yet.
His chest felt tight, like something was splintering from the inside out.
Four years.
Four years of messages sent across distance. Of conversations that never quite crossed into truth. Of a pull he’d dismissed as coincidence, then bad timing, then poor judgment.
He’d never let himself consider what it meant.
Until now.
Because she wasn’t an idea anymore.
She had a voice.
A presence.
Hands that checked pulses and smoothed blankets without hesitation. Instincts sharp enough to sense what he’d been trying to bury.
“She thinks I’m hiding something,” he muttered.
Because he was.
He knew exactly when it had started to change—when the pull had gone from distant hum to sharp demand the moment he crossed Crescent Moon’s border. When he’d nearly turned a corner and lost control.
He’d stopped himself.
Barely.
Rhys braced his hands on the railing, jaw clenched as images he’d never seen filled his mind anyway—long hair catching the light, fair skin, eyes he hadn’t yet looked into but already knew would undo him.
Mate.
The word surfaced unbidden.
“No,” he said aloud, voice low and firm.
He couldn’t afford that. Not with packs on edge, borders strained, and an Alpha watching him for weakness. Not with Ronan already circling something that wasn’t his.
Jealousy flared—hot, violent, unmistakable.
Rhys stiffened.
That wasn’t just instinct.
That was a challenge.
He forced himself to breathe through it, grounding, anchoring the surge before it could snap into something irreversible. He would not claim what he didn’t yet understand. He would not drag her into pack politics or fate’s cruelty.
But denial no longer felt like protection.
It felt like cowardice.
His phone vibrated again.
Soren.
Rhys didn’t open it.
Not yet.
Instead, he straightened, shoulders settling as resolve bled through the chaos.
He would face this.
On his terms.
Because whatever bond was pulling at him had already threaded itself into Crescent Moon’s heart.
And Mikaela deserved the truth—even if it shattered the careful distance he’d spent four years building.
Rhys turned back toward the quarters, eyes burning with purpose.
- Writer
