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Wolves Of Fate
🕑 Added 2025-04-15 07:07:29 +0000 UTCChapter 14 – A Quiet Collapse
*
I held the storm and did not break, not when he screamed, not when he shook. I became the silence he had never known, the space where fear is finally still.
He came to me cracked, a thousand shattered echoes in his chest, and I—foolishly, hopelessly— Tried to piece them back with touch alone.
He asked if death would’ve been kinder. And something ancient inside me howled. Not in rage, but in the unbearable weight of knowing he meant it.
He fought me, with the kind of panic born from old wounds, from hands that once hurt instead of held. But even as he clawed and cried, he stayed. And when he broke, he broke into me. His tears dried like the remnants of rain, soft trails against skin too young. To have weathered so much. And even in sleep—especially in sleep— He held on. Fingers curled in my sleeve, like he had reached for something in the dark and found warmth instead of teeth.
I don’t know why he feels safe here.
But maybe, I don’t want him to let go.
*
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The moment she left the room, I let out a sharp breath, my fists clenching at my sides. Damn it. This wasn’t how I wanted things to go.
My mother was insufferable.
I watched the door she had just exited through, my jaw clenched so tight I could hear my own teeth grinding. I had planned to tell him everything slowly, in a way that wouldn’t overwhelm him—but of course, mother had stormed in and torn the bandaid off in her usual fashion.
I inhaled sharply through my nose, forcing my anger down as I turned my gaze back to him.
He sat there, stiff and unmoving, his arms wrapped around himself like he was trying to hold himself together. His breathing was uneven, his pupils blown wide with something I could only describe as pure devastation.
I wanted to say something, but what the hell was I supposed to say?
Hey, don’t worry, my mother is just a blunt, overbearing nightmare of a woman, and she sucks at breaking news gently? That wouldn’t help.
Instead, I remained quiet, shifting slightly closer on the bed. I didn’t reach out to him—I knew better than that—but I stayed close enough that he wouldn’t feel alone.
The silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating. His shoulders were trembling.
Then, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke—his voice barely above a whisper.
“…Would it have been better if I died?”
The words sent a bolt of something sharp and agonizing straight through my chest.
A growl ripped from my throat before I even realized it, a deep, warning sound that startled him so badly his head snapped up. His eyes, still wet with unshed tears, locked onto mine in shock.
I had no idea why I had growled. I didn’t understand it. But hearing those words come out of his mouth made my body react in a way I couldn’t control. It was instinct, primal and possessive, something that made my wolf snarl in protest.
His breath hitched, and for a second, I thought he might shrink away—but then his expression crumbled, and that shattered look in his eyes hit me harder than I was prepared for.
Without thinking, I moved.
I pulled him into my arms, wrapping myself around him in a tight embrace.
The moment my arms locked around him, he panicked.
His scent changed—sharp and acidic, like fear laced with old pain. His heartbeat thundered against my chest, rapid and wild. It made something primal in me stir—not in hunger, but in pain.
He thrashed wildly, desperation fueling his every movement as he shoved at me with more strength than I expected. His nails dug into my arms, sharp and frantic, his entire body trembling with the effort to escape. His breathing was ragged, each inhale a choked gasp, and when he shouted, his voice cracked under the weight of his emotions. Tears streamed down his face, unchecked and endless, as he fought against me like his life depended on it.
"Let go! Let go of me!"
But I didn’t.
Even as he fought with everything he had, I held on.
His struggles weakened, his body trembling violently against mine, and then—finally—he stopped.
His hands, which had been pushing against me, slowly curled into my sleeves. His body sagged in exhaustion, his forehead pressing against my shoulder as quiet, broken sobs racked through him.
I didn’t move.
I became stillness itself, afraid even a breath might shatter this fragile calm.
I just held him.
Minutes passed, maybe longer, before his voice returned, soft and worn down.
"Why… why is this happening to me?" he whispered. "My life was already hard enough. Why did it have to get worse?"
I rested my chin gently against his head, my grip on him tightening slightly.
"Maybe…" I whispered, "maybe it’s an opportunity. A new start."
I felt him flinch slightly at my words, but he didn’t pull away.
I hesitated, then continued. "The next two weeks are going to be hard. But… I’ll help you. You won’t be alone in this."
His body tensed, and then he lifted his head slightly. His confused gaze met mine.
“…Two weeks?” His voice was hoarse. “Isn’t the full moon in four?”
I exhaled slowly, bracing myself before I answered.
"You’ve been unconscious for two weeks."
The silence that followed was deafening.
His entire body went rigid, his fingers tightening around my sleeves as if trying to ground himself.
I sighed, finally loosening my hold on him, though I didn’t fully let go.
"I wanted to explain all of this to you slowly," I murmured. "One thing at a time."
I glanced toward the door and scowled. "But my mother ruined that."
He didn’t say anything for a long time.
Then, finally, he spoke.
“…It’s okay.”
I exhaled softly, something in me easing at his words. Without thinking, I pulled him back into a tight embrace, holding him close once more.
For a long moment, there was only silence. Then,
“Why is it like this…?” His voice was slow, uncertain, like he was trying to piece together something he couldn’t understand. “…Why do I feel safe like this… in your arms?”
A strange warmth spread through my chest, my heart fluttering in a way that left me breathless. I swallowed, my grip tightening just slightly. I should have had an answer—I always had an answer—but for the first time, I didn’t know what to say.
“…I don’t know,” I lied.
I didn’t want to admit the truth.
I didn’t want to admit that I felt it too.
Minutes passed, and I felt his body grow heavier against mine. His breathing softened, no longer shaky or uneven. A quiet calm settled over him.
I shifted slightly, tilting my head to get a better look at his face.
He was asleep.
I blinked, my heart stuttering unexpectedly.
He looked… peaceful. Vulnerable.
His hand, still tangled in the fabric of my sleeve. His grip had loosened, but he hadn’t let go.
My breath caught.
Just minutes ago, he’d fought me like I was a threat. Now… he was clinging to me in his sleep like I was something safe.
Something warm curled in my chest, and I felt my face heat up.
I swallowed and carefully shifted to lay him down properly on the bed, easing him onto the pillow with a tenderness I didn't know I had in me. As I pulled back, my gaze lingered—just for a moment.
His lashes brushed his cheeks like faint shadows. The tear streaks on his skin had dried, leaving pale tracks like the aftermath of a storm. And even now, in sleep, he kept holding onto me—his fingers still loosely curled in my sleeve, like part of him wasn’t ready to let go.
My heart fluttered.
I looked away, cursing silently at how warm my chest felt.
This was going to be a long two weeks.
