I don’t know when or how it happens, but I’m in my bed at home.

  The same down comforter. The same silky sheets. The same familiar scent of jasmine and honey, and clean linen clinging to everything. Even the air feels softer here, like it was made to cradle me instead of press in on me.

  For one breathless moment, I forget how to move.

  Hope rises so fast it makes my throat tighten. It feels like stepping out of deep water and realizing you can finally breathe again.

  I blink hard, waiting for the cave ceiling to reappear. Waiting for stone and shadow and the weight of chains.

  But the room doesn’t change.

  My heart stutters violently, then pounds harder, like it’s trying to claw its way out of my chest.

  I sit up too fast, the mattress creaking beneath me.

  My door flies open.

  My mother and father rush in first, their faces pale, eyes rimmed red like they haven’t slept in days. My mother’s hands are already reaching for me, as if she needs to prove I’m real. My father’s jaw is clenched so tight it looks painful, but his eyes are glassy, shining with relief he doesn’t know how to hold.

  Kellan follows close behind them.

  Then his parents.

  Everyone is talking at once.

  Questions crash over me like a wave, too loud, too fast.

  “Where have you been?”

  “Are you hurt?”

  “Did he touch you?”

  “What happened?”

  “Do you remember anything?”

  My lungs fill with relief so sharp it almost hurts. My vision blurs. I press a hand to my chest, trying to steady my breathing.

  “I’m okay,” I try to say, but my voice barely breaks through the chaos.

  “We’re overwhelming her,” my mother says gently, her familiar calm cutting through everything like a blade through fog. She steps closer, smoothing my hair back from my face with trembling fingers. “Let’s give her some space.”

  They hesitate.

  My father’s gaze lingers on me like he’s memorizing every detail. Kellan’s parents exchange a glance that is too sharp, too quick.

  Then, one by one, they file out.

  Reluctant. Hovering.

  The door closes softly behind them.

  Leaving me alone with Kellan.

  The silence that follows is not peaceful.

  It is heavy.

  It presses against my ribs.

  Kellan stands stiffly at the foot of my bed, hands clenched at his sides. He doesn’t come closer. Doesn’t reach for me. Doesn’t touch me like he used to, like he always promised he would if anything ever happened.

  His eyes flick over me, quick and clinical, like he’s searching for proof.

  Proof of what, I don’t know.

  “So,” he says.

  “So,” I echo, my voice thin.

  He swallows once, throat working like he’s forcing something down. “What happened to you?” His tone is tight. Controlled. “Where did you go?”

  “You know what happened,” I say slowly, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice. “Azrael took me. The night of my first shift. You were there.”

  His jaw tightens.

  “What I saw,” he says carefully, “was you leaving with him.”

  My stomach drops so hard it feels like the bed tilts beneath me. “That’s not true.”

  “You were in his arms,” he continues, voice steady, almost cold. “Naked. Unresisting.”

  “No,” I whisper, the word catching in my throat. “He dragged me away. Pulled me off a cliff. You saw it.”

  “What I saw,” he repeats, slower now, as if he’s savoring the accusation, “was you holding onto him.”

  Rage flashes through me, sudden and blinding. It burns hot behind my eyes. “That’s a lie.”

  “Is it?” His gaze sharpens. “You didn’t fight him. You didn’t call for help. And when the pack found you…”

  His mouth twists, not with grief, but with something uglier.

  “…you were still with him.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything,” I snap. “I was a prisoner.”

  “It means you chose him.”

  My chest aches. The words strike somewhere deep, not because they are true, but because they are what he wants to believe.

  He steps closer, just one pace, but it feels like a threat instead of comfort.

  “I protected you,” he says quietly. “From the pack. From questions. From consequences.”

  I stare at him, cold spreading through my veins. “Protected me how?”

  “I told them you were confused,” he says. “That you’d been manipulated. That you’d come back once whatever fantasy he sold you wore off.”

  Fantasy.

  The word scrapes at something raw inside me.

  “There’s something I don’t understand,” he continues. “If you were already involved with him, why pretend with me?”

  My throat tightens. “I wasn’t pretending,” I say desperately. “I loved you.”

  His mouth curves, but there’s no warmth in it. No tenderness. No softness.

  “Loved me?” he repeats.

  “Yes,” I whisper. “I did.”

  He exhales sharply through his nose. “I loved you from the moment you walked into our home with that ridiculous ribbon tied in your hair.”

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  My stomach twists.

  I can see it so clearly, like the memory is stitched into my skin. The ribbon bouncing against my hair as I ran through the hallways. My mother laughing. Kellan watching me like I was something precious.

  “I built my life around you,” he says, voice low, vibrating with something that feels too sharp to be love.

  My throat tightens. “Then why can’t you believe me?”

  “Because I know what I saw,” he says flatly. “And I know what you are.”

  The words freeze me.

  My breath catches.

  I can’t move.

  “You don’t get to play innocent,” he adds, voice colder now. “Not after humiliating me. Not after choosing him.”

  “I didn’t choose anyone,” I whisper, but my voice feels small in the space between us.

  His eyes burn with something that makes my skin crawl.

  “You broke me, Lirian,” he says, calm now. Final. “And I won’t forgive you for it.”

  He turns for the door.

  “Kellan, please,” I sob. “Come back. I love you. Only you.”

  He pauses, hand on the door, shoulders rigid.

  Then he says, without looking back, “You’re dead to me.”

  My blood turns to ice.

  “Don’t ever come near me again.”

  The door slams shut.

  My scream tears out of me as my chest caves inward, pain ripping through my heart so violently I can barely breathe. It feels like something inside me splits, like the sound itself fractures my ribs.

  And beneath it all, a voice calls to me.

  “Lirian.”

  I know that voice.

  “Lirian, wake up.”

  Hands grip my shoulders, firm but gentle, grounding me.

  I jerk awake with a gasp, lungs dragging in air like I’ve been drowning.

  Azrael’s face fills my vision.

  His eyes are wide, his expression tight with something he tries to hide and fails.

  “You’re safe,” he says quietly. “You were dreaming.”

  I blink, disoriented, my heart still hammering like it’s trying to escape my body. My cheeks are wet. My throat burns.

  “Am I…” My voice cracks. “Am I home?”

  Something flickers across his expression.

  Guilt.

  Regret.

  Pain.

  “No,” he answers softly. “You’re here.”

  Reality crashes back in so hard it leaves me breathless.

  Stone. Fire. Shadow.

  The cave.

  “Oh.”

  The word tastes bitter.

  He releases me slowly, as if he’s afraid I might shatter if he moves too fast. He shifts back, giving me space without leaving.

  I turn away, bitterness flooding my veins like poison. “Then let me sleep.”

  He nods once.

  No argument. No irritation. No insistence.

  He moves back to the fire, lowering himself onto the stone floor where he always sleeps, giving me the bed without comment. Like it costs him something, but he pays it anyway.

  I watch him from the shadows, anger burning hot and sharp.

  I hate him.

  He took me from my family. From Kellan. From everything I knew. He locked me in this cave and called it protection.

  And yet…

  Kellan’s love had been conditional.

  Measured.

  Possessive.

  Azrael had never touched me without permission. Never demanded anything. Never punished me for fear or confusion.

  The comparison makes my stomach twist.

  Shame seeps in as I pull my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around myself, seeking comfort where none exists.

  I don’t know what hurts worse.

  My family believing I abandoned them…

  Or the sickening fear that if I return, I might hurt them far more than my absence ever could.

  The dream leaves me restless long after it fades.

  I wake sometime before dawn, the cave wrapped in that quiet hour where the world seems to hold its breath. The fire has burned low, embers pulsing faintly in the hearth. Shadows stretch long across the stone.

  Azrael is still asleep.

  He sits where he always does, back against the wall near the fire, head tipped forward slightly. One arm rests loosely across his knee, the other draped at his side. His breathing is slow. Even.

  Controlled, even in sleep.

  I watch him longer than I should.

  In sleep, he looks different. Gentler, somehow. The sharp lines of restraint softened, the weight he carries eased just enough to reveal what lies beneath it. There is no tension in his shoulders. No vigilance in his face.

  Just him.

  Fondness settles in my chest before I realize what it is.

  It grows quietly.

  Warms.

  Spreads.

  I tell myself it is gratitude. Familiarity. Relief after fear.

  That is all.

  But my wolf stirs, alert now, ears pricked. She does not question. She knows exactly what she feels.

  Want.

  The space between us feels smaller than it did before.

  I rise slowly, careful not to wake him. Bare feet whisper against stone as I cross the cave. Each step feels deliberate. Not rushed. Not frantic.

  I stop just in front of him.

  Close enough that I can feel the warmth of his body.

  Close enough that I can hear the steady rhythm of his breathing.

  His scent wraps around me, grounding and intoxicating all at once. Cedar. Earth. Something darker beneath it, something that feels like night and storm clouds.

  He stirs.

  Green eyes open, sharp even in the dim light.

  “Lirian?” His voice is low, rough with sleep. “Are you alright?”

  “I couldn’t sleep,” I admit softly.

  He studies my face, searching for distress, fear, fracture. Whatever he sees makes him shift, sitting more upright.

  “Do you need…”

  I don’t let him finish.

  I sink down in front of him. Close enough that my knees brush his. Close enough that my wolf presses eagerly against my ribs, humming with satisfaction.

  He freezes.

  Not pulling away.

  Not reaching out.

  Stillness.

  “I just wanted…” My voice falters. I place my hand on his forearm. The contact is light. Testing. “Not to be alone.”

  His breath catches.

  The markings beneath his skin glow faintly, a whisper of light tracing the lines of his curse. His jaw tightens as he inhales slowly, deliberately, as if forcing control back into his body.

  “This is not a good idea,” he murmurs.

  “You aren’t pulling away,” I whisper back.

  His gaze drops to my mouth.

  Lingers.

  The air between us thickens. Heavy. Charged.

  I lean in, just a fraction.

  Enough to feel his breath ghost across my lips.

  Enough that my wolf surges, triumphant, pushing heat through my veins.

  Azrael’s restraint cracks.

  Not shatters.

  Cracks.

  His hand comes up, hovering at my waist, fingers flexing as if unsure whether to pull me closer or push me away. His breathing is no longer steady. It is measured, but strained, like he’s holding himself together by sheer force.

  “Lirian,” he warns, voice rough now. “You don’t understand what you’re doing to me.”

  “I think I do,” I whisper.

  For one terrifying, hopeful heartbeat, he leans in too.

  Our lips brush.

  Barely.

  A whisper of contact, so light it could be mistaken for imagination.

  And then the fire pops loudly.

  An ember snaps free, skittering across the stone.

  We both jerk back as if struck.

  Azrael’s hand drops instantly.

  He stands so fast the movement sends a rush of air through the cave. He turns away, dragging a hand through his hair, breath uneven.

  “That was too close,” he says hoarsely. “Too close.”

  I stare at him, heart hammering so hard I can feel it in my throat.

  “We…” He stops himself. Swallows. “That cannot happen again.”

  He faces me then, something raw and unsettled in his eyes.

  “You don’t understand how hard this is for me,” he says quietly. “To deny you. To deny what I…”

  His voice breaks off like he bit down on the rest of the words.

  His jaw clenches.

  “I won’t fail you,” he continues, voice firming with effort. “But this was too close.”

  He steps back, putting space between us that feels suddenly vast.

  “You should rest,” he says, softer now. “And so should I.”

  He returns to his place by the fire without looking at me again.

  I remain where I am, breath unsteady, my wolf pacing furiously beneath my skin.

  Because for the first time, I realize something dangerous.

  It’s not just my wolf pulling to him.

  He’s also pulled to us.