BELLA
"Didn't you hear what I just said?" I snapped, stepping back. "I'm not staying in the same room with—"
Before I could finish, he grabbed my wrist, pulled me inside, and shut the door behind us.
Click.
The sound echoed too loud in my head.
I shut my eyes at once and dropped into a shaky karate pose.
"Touch me," I warned, "and I swear I'll—"
"What are you doing?" he asked, amused.
"I told you I know Kung Fu," I said through clenched teeth. "Come closer and I'll—"
"I thought you said karate," he cut in casually.
"What?"
"I thought you said karate. That's what you said in the bathroom."
I opened my eyes.
"…I know both," I muttered.
He laughed. A real laugh.
"Okay," he said. "If you say so."
I looked around.
Then I froze.
"Wait," I said slowly. "This room is different."
"Yes," he replied. "This one is yours."
I turned in a slow circle.
The room was soft and warm. Cream walls. Gold lights. A wide bed with silk sheets. Flowers on the table. Everything smelled clean and calm. Feminine. Gentle.
It didn't feel like a guest room.
It felt… chosen.
"It's beautiful," I said quietly.
"You're welcome," he replied. "So you don't have to worry about jumping me in my bed tonight."
"What?" I spun to face him.
He smirked.
"Don't act shocked. I know why you didn't want to share a room."
"You are insane."
"Admit it, Bella," he said softly. "You like me."
"No," I snapped. "You're crazy."
"Love at first sight," he teased.
I rolled my eyes. "Aren't you a king? Aren't you supposed to act like one?"
He stepped closer.
Too close.
I stopped breathing.
"Yes," he said quietly. "I'm a king."
Then his voice dropped.
"But I'm also a man."
My heart jumped.
"What does that even mean?" I asked.
"I can hear your heart," he said gently. "It's racing."
Heat rushed to my face. I stepped back.
But his hand caught my waist.
Pulled me in.
"What are you doing?" I whispered. "Let go of me."
"Bella," he said, suddenly serious. "I'm desperate."
I froze.
"My life depends on you," he continued. "I'll do anything to make you fall for me."
"You're insane," I shot back.
"No," he said calmly. "I know you're the one. I feel it."
Then he released me.
"But don't worry," he added. "I'm confident."
I scoffed. "I feel sorry for you. If you knew who I really am, you'd know you picked the wrong person. But be serious—are you saying you might die if I don't fall in love with you?"
He nodded. "Yes."
My eyes widened. "What?"
He smiled. "Relax. I'm joking. I think my coughing-blood days are over."
"You cough blood? Those witches really hate you."
"They do," he agreed, still smiling.
"Will you stop smiling?" I snapped. "Everything is not funny."
"I can't," he said softly. "Not around you. You make me happy."
I folded my arms. "Men are all the same. Even werewolves—you're all players."
"I'm not," he said. "I'll prove it."
I didn't reply.
"You should sleep," he added. "You're tired."
He pointed to the huge closet. "I instructed the maids to bring you clean clothes. I hope you like them."
Then he turned to the wall.
"Where are you going?" I asked. "The door is right there."
He smiled but said nothing.
He placed his hand on the wall.
It opened.
My mouth dropped.
"What the hell?" I rushed forward. "That's a secret passage!"
I leaned in.
My blood froze.
"That's your room," I said loudly.
"Yes," he replied. "We're neighbors."
"You have to be kidding me."
"Well," he said with a wink, "good night, my love."
"Who is your love?" I snapped. "Go back to your cousin—what's her name? Because I'm not falling for a prayer like you."
He lifted his hand in a lazy wave and turned away.
Then he stopped.
His shoulders stiffened.
My smile faded.
"What now?" I muttered. "Don't tell me you're—"
He clutched his chest.
Hard.
The sound that left his throat wasn't a laugh.
It was a broken, violent cough.
"Logan?" I said, my voice sharper now. "Cut it out. I'm not coming into your room just because you—"
He coughed again.
This time, red splattered against the stone floor.
Blood.
My breath punched out of me. "Oh my God… is that blood?"
He staggered.
Then collapsed.
"Logan!"
I ran to him without thinking.
I dropped to my knees beside him, my dress pooling on the floor. My hands hovered over his body, shaking, unsure where to touch or if I even should.
Then the words slammed into my head.
One touch from her can break the curse and save your life. But if she does not…
My chest tightened.
What the hell was that supposed to mean?
Was this really happening right now?
My thoughts went crazy.
I don't love him.
I barely know him.
Yes, I'm drawn to him—pulled toward him in a way that scares me—but love? No. That's not love.
We met today.
"Logan," I whispered, my voice breaking.
"Logan!"
No answer.
His eyes slowly lifted to mine. They were dull. Weak. Still blue—but fading, like the sky before a storm.
Panic rushed through me.
"What do you want me to do?" I cried. "Tell me what to do!"
My hands pressed into the floor. My heart felt like it was about to jump out of my chest.
"Should I call your cousin? Should I call Clara?"
Before he could answer, he started coughing again.
Hard.
Violent.
Blood spilled from his mouth and stained the floor.
"Fuck," I cursed. "You told me this stopped. You told me you were fine!"
This was bad. This was really bad.
"I'm calling Clara," I said, scrambling to stand. "She'll know what to do."
I had just turned when his hand shot out and grabbed my wrist.
I screamed.
"Jesus!"
His skin was ice cold.
My whole body froze as I stared at him, fear locking me in place.
Was this it?
Was this the moment?
For a few seconds, the coughing stopped.
I held my breath.
Please. Please let it work.
Then it came back.
Worse.
His body shook. Blood spilled again.
"No, no, no," I cried, losing it. "You can't die. You can't!"
I grabbed his shoulders, his chest, his face—touching him everywhere.
"How am I supposed to go home if you die?" I sobbed. "How am I supposed to survive this place without you?"
Nothing worked.
If anything, it got worse.
My hands pulled back.
"Oh God," I whispered. "This isn't working."
That was it.
I was calling for help.
I yanked my arm free and rushed for the door.
But before I could open it—
Knock. Knock.
I flung it open without thinking.
Spike stood there.
He opened his mouth to speak, but his eyes dropped to my clothes—covered in blood.
His face changed instantly.
He shoved past me, locked the door, and scanned the room.
"Where is he?" he demanded.
I pointed.
Spike crossed the room in seconds, lifted Logan like he weighed nothing, and laid him on the bed. He wiped the blood from Logan's mouth with shaking hands.
"What happened?" he asked, eyes still on Logan.
"I don't know," I said, my voice barely there. "One moment he was joking. The next he collapsed. I swear I didn't do anything."
Spike finally looked at me.
"This is not your fault," he said firmly. "He knew this would happen. He chose this."
My stomach dropped.
"What do you mean?" I whispered. "Are you saying… what those men said earlier… are you saying he's going to—"
I couldn't finish.
I covered my mouth.
"He won't die," Spike said quickly, turning back to Logan. "Not him. He always has a plan."
Logan groaned in pain. His face twisted. Tears slid down the sides of his eyes.
My heart shattered.
"Do we just leave him like this?" I asked, kneeling by the bed. "Has it always been this bad?"
Spike nodded slowly. "Yes. But not like this," he admitted. "It's been months—six months since the last time he suffered this badly."
My throat tightened.
"I brought it back," I whispered.
"No," Spike said. "This would have happened anyway."
"Then call someone," I snapped. "A doctor. Anyone."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone.
"The High Priest," he muttered. "He'll know what to do."
"Yes," I said quickly. "We just saw him. Call him."
Spike frowned. "You met him?"
I nodded.
He tried again. No answer.
"I don't have a choice," he said quietly, looking at me in a way that made my chest hurt.
"I need to call Clara," Spike said. "She might be the only one who can save him."
I won't lie.
That didn't make me feel good at all.
Spike was already pulling out his phone, his thumb hovering over the screen, when—
Logan suddenly shot up in bed.
He grabbed Spike's wrist.
Hard.
"Logan?" I gasped. "How do you even still have strength?"
Logan didn't look at me.
His eyes were locked on Spike.
Cold. Sharp. Serious.
I couldn't hear anything, but I knew something was happening.
They were talking.
Not out loud.
In their heads.
Logan had done it to me before—spoken inside my mind without moving his lips.
Seconds passed.
Maybe a minute.
Then Logan let go of Spike's hand.
He fell back onto the bed like all the strength drained out of him.
And then—
He started coughing again.
Hard.
Painful.
Blood stained his lips.
"What just happened?" I demanded, turning to Spike. "He told you something, didn't he?"
Spike didn't answer.
Instead, he stood up.
"Why are you standing?" I asked sharply. "Don't tell me you're leaving."
"Yes," he said.
My eyes widened.
"What?"
"You can't be serious," I snapped. "You know I can't do anything in this case. And you know this engagement thing is fake. How can you leave me alone with him?"
I pointed at Logan.
"He's dying."
"That cannot happen," Spike said calmly.
"If he dies, the elders will demand your death."
I froze.
"…You're joking, right?" I said, fury rising in my chest.
"No," he replied. "I'm not."
Then he added, softer,
"But I have faith in both of you."
And with that, he turned to leave.
I rushed forward and blocked his path.
"You know what?" I hissed. "Screw you. You're a terrible friend."
He stopped.
"I'll save him myself," I said. "Just give me Clara's number."
His face darkened.
"You can't tell anyone about Logan's condition," he said coldly.
"Not even Clara."
"Are you insane?" I shot back. "Everyone must have heard him coughing by now."
Spike shook his head.
"His room is soundproof. No one knows yet."
He looked straight at me.
"If you really care about Logan… stay with him. Watch over him."
"Everything will be fine," he added.
Then he walked past me.
At the door, he paused.
"Don't open this door for anyone," he said. "Lock it."
And then—
He left.
The door shut behind him with a heavy click.
I stood there, frozen.
Empty.
Angry.
Terrified.
I turned slowly.
Logan was still coughing.
Blood soaked the sheets.
I walked to the door.
Locked it.
Silence filled the room—broken only by Logan's weak breathing.
I stood there, shaking, staring at him.
Alone.
With a dying king.
And a curse that might need my heart to break it.