The morning sunlight streamed through the curtains of Rachel's guest room, warming Mia's face as she sat curled up on the edge of the bed. The soft hum of Rachel in the kitchen, the faint clatter of dishes—it all should have felt comforting, but Mia's heart felt heavy. She had been staying with her friend for a few days now, recovering from the accident, yet the ache in her chest wasn't from her injuries. It was from Ryan's absence.
She hugged a pillow to her chest, staring at nothing in particular.
Rachel walked in with two cups of tea, setting one down on the nightstand. "You're brooding again," she teased gently, though her eyes softened with concern. "Thinking about him, aren't you?"
Mia looked down, embarrassed. "I can't help it, Rach. I… I thought he cared. I thought—" Her voice broke, and she bit her lip. "But he never came. Not once. Not when I was in the hospital, not even after."
Rachel sat beside her, rubbing her back. "You were unconscious for two days, Mia. Maybe he didn't know. Maybe he had some emergency—"
Mia gave a bitter laugh. "There's always an emergency. His work, his meetings, his… I don't even know anymore." She closed her eyes, feeling tears prick. "But if I mattered to him, wouldn't he have found a way?"
Silence hung between them for a moment. Rachel reached over and clasped her hand. "You matter, Mia. Don't ever doubt that. Maybe he's just not ready… or maybe there are things he hasn't told you yet."
Mia sighed, leaning into her friend's shoulder. "I wish life was simple. Sometimes, I just want to go back to the orphanage days, when all I had to worry about was sharing bread and making sure the little kids didn't cry at night."
Rachel chuckled softly. "You used to be the tough one back then. Always scolding me for sneaking sweets."
Despite herself, Mia laughed too. "You were terrible at hiding them."
"Hey, you always caught me!" Rachel grinned. Then her smile softened. "But you've come so far, Mia. You built yourself up from nothing. Don't let anyone—Ryan included—make you forget how strong you are."
Mia nodded quietly, though her heart still longed for him. Even if she wanted to stay angry, memories of his smile, his voice calling her "princess," the warmth in his eyes—they haunted her. She missed him, even though she hated herself for it.
---
Meanwhile, deep in the pack's territory, the atmosphere was heavy with tension.
Ryan was being carried back to the pack house, his once-proud stance now broken. His warriors supported his arms, his steps staggering, blood still seeping through the bandages hastily wrapped around his torso. His face was pale, his jaw clenched tight to keep from showing pain.
The pack doctor rushed forward the moment they crossed the threshold. "Lay him down—quickly!"
They lowered Ryan onto the bed in the healer's chamber. The doctor's hands moved swiftly, inspecting the wound where the spear had pierced him. His face hardened. "The silver tipped the weapon. It's weakened him far worse than normal steel would have. He's burning from the inside."
Ryan groaned, his golden eyes dulling as he tried to push himself up. "I need… to get back out there. My pack—"
"No!" the doctor snapped, forcing him back down. "You've lost too much blood. If you fight now, you'll collapse and never rise again. You need rest, Alpha. Drugs will hold the fever at bay, but only time will let you heal."
Ryan's body trembled with rage and weakness. He hated lying there, hated feeling powerless while his people looked to him for strength. But his body betrayed him, his limbs heavy as stone.
The doctor pressed herbs and poured a bitter draught into his mouth. "Sleep. That's the only command I'll give you now."
As Ryan's eyes began to droop, the door creaked open. Suzan entered, her perfume drifting with her as she carried a bowl of warm water and fresh cloths.
"I'll take care of him," she said sweetly, her eyes flicking over his battered form with something unreadable.
The doctor hesitated, then nodded. "Fine. But no distractions. He needs calm."
Suzan approached the bed, her expression softening as she sat at Ryan's side. She dipped the cloth into the bowl and gently wiped the blood and sweat from his face. "Oh, Ryan," she whispered, her voice tender, "you give too much of yourself."
Ryan stirred faintly, half-conscious, his mind swimming between pain and fever. He felt the coolness of the cloth on his skin, the gentleness of her hand brushing his hair from his face.
"You don't have to carry this burden alone," Suzan murmured, leaning closer. "You have me. I'll always be here for you. Unlike others who… don't understand your world."
Ryan's brow furrowed at her words, a flicker of Mia's face flashing across his mind. He muttered her name under his breath, but it was so faint Suzan barely heard it.
Her lips tightened, but she forced a smile. "Rest now. You'll see soon enough who truly stays by your side."
She continued to tend him, dabbing his wounds, whispering soft words that threaded care with her hidden desire. And in his weakened state, Ryan could not push her away. He was trapped—between his duties, his failing body, and the ache in his heart for the mate he longed to return to.
And so the distance between Mia and Ryan grew wider, even as both of them lay in different places—Mia in Rachel's home, silently crying into her pillow, and Ryan in his pack house, slipping into uneasy dreams while Suzan watched him with calculating eyes.