“Logan will kill me if he comes back to find I let you bleed out.”
It hurts to admit the truth, but I do it anyway. “Doubtful.”
“They’ll be back soon,” Ares says. “Likely with some grand plan. Will you be ready to move?”
I lean back against the pillows, pain radiating from my belly in a way I know isn’t right but can’t quite manage to care about. “I’ll manage.”
My eyes closed, attention narrowing to the aching wreckage of my body. The silence goes on long enough that I assume Ares has left before he abruptly speaks again.
“Maya’s been asking about you,” he says.
Something tightens in my chest—hope or fear or some combination of both. I open my eyes again, wincing against the light. “What did she want to know?”
“If you were okay.” Ares’s mouth quirks in what might be a smile. “I told her you were too stubborn to die from something as trivial as blood loss.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“She’s worried about you,” Ares continues, his voice softening slightly. “Even through all this shit, even in heat, she’s worried about you.”
The words shouldn’t affect me as much as they do. Shouldn’t send a warm current through my veins, shouldn’t make my heart beat faster. I’ve spent years mastering my reactions, hiding my true nature behind a carefully constructed facade of beta normalcy. One comment about Maya’s concern shouldn’t be enough to crack that control.
But it is.
“She shouldn’t be,” I say, the words coming out harsher than intended. “I’m fine.”
Ares snorts. “Yeah, you’re the picture of health. Bleeding through your shirt while practicing knife forms you used to be able to manage in your sleep. Totally fine.”
I shoot him a glare, but there’s no real heat behind it. We both know he’s right. I’m pushing myself too hard, too soon.Risking the recovery I need to be useful to the pack. To protect Maya when the inevitable danger comes.
Because it will come. It always does.
“You should rest,” Ares says, standing abruptly. “Real rest, not this bullshit meditation-through-pain you’ve been doing.”
I don’t bother denying it. Ares knows me too well, has fought beside me too long. He recognizes self-punishment when he sees it.
“I need to be ready,” I say instead. “We won’t be safe here for long.”
Ares doesn’t have an argument for that. We both know that if the king’s guards found us now, he would be the only able to mount a defense. Alone, he might stand a chance, but not if he has the added burden of defended two weakened Omegas.
The door closes behind him with a soft click, leaving me alone with thoughts I’ve been trying to outrun through physical pain. Thoughts of loyalty and betrayal, of pack bonds and deeper connections, of what I owe to Logan versus what I owe to myself.
Of what I might owe to Maya, who saved my life in that clinic. Who looked at me afterward with eyes that held no judgment, only concern.
I lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling as exhaustion finally catches up with me. The painkillers on the nightstand remain untouched. I don’t need chemical dulling when fatigue will do the job just as well.
As consciousness begins to fade, I allow myself one last moment of weakness. I reach for the bond again—that fragile, damaged connection to Maya—and let myself feel what filters through. Her heat has intensified, bringing with it a loneliness that echoes my own. A need that can’t be satisfied alone. A confusion of emotions too tangled to separate.
Rest, I think toward her, with no expectation the sentiment will reach her through our damaged connection.I’ll get strong enough to keep you safe again, or I’ll die trying.
CHAPTER 9
Maya
Ares’s snoring is what finally drives me from my room. The rhythmic rumble has been my constant companion for three days now, a peculiar lullaby that’s both comforting and maddening. Tonight, though, it scrapes against my already frayed nerves like sandpaper.
I press my ear against the door, listening. The snoring continues uninterrupted—deep, steady breaths punctuated by the occasional snort. My hand hovers over the doorknob, indecision freezing me in place. The mini-heat has left me with a restless energy that pulses beneath my skin, demanding action.
I need air. Space. Movement.
