“And it has to be you?” He’s in my space now, looming over me, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him.“Always you? Running headfirst into fire while the rest of us watch?”
“You would have done the same thing.”
“That’s different.”
“How?” I push to my feet, ignoring the way my legs shake, the way the room tilts. “How is it different?”
“Because I’m the Alpha!” The words rip out of him. “Because it’s my job to protect this pack. To take the hits. To—“
“To die for them?” I step closer, close enough to see his pulse hammering in his throat. “That’s what you were going to say, isn’t it? It’s fine when you sacrifice yourself, but when I try—“
“You’re not pack.”
The words hit like a slap. I go still.
Something shifts in his expression—regret, maybe, or frustration at himself. He runs a hand through his hair, turning away.
“That came out wrong.”
“Did it?”
“Nova—“
“No, you’re right.” My voice is steadier than I feel. “I’m not pack. I’m the outsider who showed up with trouble on her heels. Why would you care if I—“
“Because I can’t lose you.”
The admission hangs in the air between us, raw and exposed. He’s still facing away, shoulders rising and falling with harsh breaths.
“I can’t protect you when you run headfirst into fire,” he says, quieter now. “I can’t follow you into places I don’t understand. I can’t—“ His hands clench at his sides. “I sat in that chair for six hours, Nova. Counting your heartbeats. Waiting for the next one to not come. And I couldn’t do anything except watch.”
The anger drains out of me, replaced by something softer. More dangerous.
“Dane.”
“You want to know why I brought you here instead of the infirmary?” He turns to face me, and the look in his eyes makes my breath catch. “Because I needed you where I could see you. Where I could hear you breathing. Where I could—“ He breaks off, shaking his head. “It’s not rational. I know that. But I couldn’t let you out of my sight. Not after...”
He doesn’t finish. He doesn’t need to.
The space between us feels charged, electric. I should step back. Should rebuild the walls I’ve been hiding behind even when our bodies didn’t. Instead, I close the gap.
“I’m here,” I say softly. “I came back.”
“Barely.”
“But I did.” I reach up, my fingers hovering near his jaw. “I’m solid. I’m real. I’m not going anywhere.”
His eyes drop to my mouth, and the air between us shifts. Thickens.
The moment stretches, dangerous and full of possibility. Then he exhales slowly, stepping back. Creating space.
“You need sleep,” he says, voice rough.
“So do you.”
His mouth flattens. “I’m fine.”
“You’re a liar.” I study his face—the exhaustion he won’t admit, the tension he can’t release. “When did you last sleep? During the seventeen hours I was gone? The four hours I was phasing? Or have you been awake this whole time?”
