(Caelan's POV)
Every breath I took felt like my throat was scraped down with broken glass. My chest was heavy and my body was weak. The fever did not go away, but I refused to stay in the healer's tent. I refused to be useless while my brothers bled on the walls.
So I stood. I fought. And when my knees buckled, I made sure no one saw it.
Not even Kieran.
He had enough weight on his shoulders without mine dragging him further down.
Asides from the stress of the fever, my bond with Aisla would randomly surge and knock the air out of me. By the second week of the war, I could not ignore it anymore. My wolf was restless, pacing inside me and snarling for air I couldn't draw. The bond pulsed without mercy with every step I took and it caused me to stumble from the very weight of it.
Aisla.
Her name hammered in my ribs like a heartbeat I could not silence. She was alive. I knew it. I felt it. The fever was not a random sickness. It was her absence eating at me from the inside out.
