Three months. That’s all it took to turn him into this.
He stares down at me with cold, detached eyes.
"Blaze?" I try again, softer. Hoping the name alone will pull him back to me.
He doesn’t speak. Just stares, hollow and unblinking. It’s the silence that guts me most. Blaze was never silent. He talked like it was his job to share every disjointed thought that popped into his head.
I reach out, hand shaking. I just want to touch him. Just want proof he’s really here and not some fever-dream specter my guilt conjured up.
He steps back.
Then snarls, his upper lip curling, teeth bared like a cornered beast.
"You left.”
It’s an accusation. His voice is gravelly and deep, so unlike the jovial Alpha I knew. This is not the Alpha who called me Sparkles and made me laugh until I cried tears of mirth.
“I had to,” I say, but my voice is pathetic. Small. I don’t believe it anymore, not the way I used to.
He crouches beside me, his gaze drilling into mine.
"Why?"
"I had to help my family."
He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t breathe.
"Weare your family," he says, nostrils flaring. There’s a tremor beneath the words, something sharp and trembling.
"I know." The admission cuts deep. "But they were my family first."
I hang my head, tears threatening to fall from my eyes. Who is this Alpha? I don't see Blaze anywhere inside him.
The air between us is thick with tension. He doesn’t move. Just watches. He doesn't seem to want to hear any more explanations, but he’s looking for something and I don’t know what.
“I’m sorry, Blaze,” I whisper, afraid to speak louder in case it triggers the tension vibrating through the Alpha to detonate. "I didn't mean to hurt you."
“You showed me the light,” he says, voice cracking around the edges. “And then dumped me back in the dark.”
“I don’t understand, Blaze. What light?”
“You!” he shouts, startling me. “You kept me in the light. You… made the dark tolerable. And then you left. And it’s worse now. So much worse.”
That lands like a punch. The pain in his voice, it’s unbearable.
A sudden, crushing weight slams into my chest.
Not mine.
His.
I gasp, clutching at my breastbone. It’s as if there is a phantom hand in my chest, ripping and squeezing.
His anguish is pouring through the flimsy bond flickering between us.
This is just a weak impression of what his ‘darkness’ feels like, and it’s drowning me.
“Oh, Blaze…” My voice breaks. I reach for him, instinct overriding fear. “I didn’t know. I didn’t realize—”
