Tired Of Pretending

Naya’s POV:

All through the day, it still was not so different. I hid away from everyone, locked myself inside my room and without even knowing, with no control over my body, I drifted off to sleep again.

I woke with the sound of screaming, metal, the wet choke of a dying wolf still in my ear from my nightmare.

For a moment I didn’t know where I was.

The blankets were tangled around my legs that were damp with sweat. I looked around the room, and it smelled normal, no blood or burning flesh, which meant I was safe.

I hated that word.

Safe meant alive. Alive meant I survived , and the fact that I survived meant I betrayed them all…

My throat tightened. My chest felt too tight, like my ribs had been sewn together too closely. I dragged in a breath and it scraped all the way down.

Dorian and Kade were not around to hover around me, so I had to pull myself together.

Kade… his name rang a bell in my heart, making my wolf purr, but I shook my head as if it could stop the thoughts from sticking.

“Get up,” I muttered to myself. “Move.”

Because if I stayed still, the memories sat on me like weight.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed. I stood too fast and the room tilted. Black dots flickered across my vision.

Great.

Even my body was tired of pretending.

I hadn’t been eating properly. I knew that. Everyone knew that. Dorian tried to be subtle about it. Kade didn’t bother being subtle, he just made food appear within reach like some overbearing warlord of nutrition… I knew he was putting in effort, but I ignored most of it.

Grief sat heavier than hunger.

I crossed the room slowly, steadying myself on the edge of the table. A tray still sat there from earlier with bread, sliced fruit, untouched meat, and some herbal tea that had definitely gone cold. My stomach rolled at the sight.

I turned away.

The fireplace cracked softly and yet it bothered me. My pack used to sound like this at night… low voices, low laughter, embers settling. My father used to sit closest to the fire with the alpha. He said warmth belonged near the heart of leadership.

My throat closed at the sad thought.

“Don’t. Don’t go there.” I whispered to myself.

But grief doesn’t listen to commands.

I sank into the chair beside the window and pressed my forehead to the cool glass. Outside my window, the training grounds were quieter now, dusk settling, patrols changing. A few wolves still moved in the distance.

Normal life.

Normal sounds.

Normal breathing.

My chest started to hurt again. I heard someone laughing right in front of my bedroom door and I remembered the evening before it all went to shot...

One quiet evening and then from nowhere, smoke in the air, children crying, blood... So much blood. I remembered the kid again... So innocent, so young, he did not deserve what happened to him. The image of his small fingers clutching my sleeve broke me again. I remembered the way his heartbeat fluttered, and then stopped.

I pressed my fist against my mouth to keep quiet. I would not cry here. Not in his pack. Not in his territory. Not where anyone could hear weakness and mistake it for surrender. I did not want to surrender but I was tired... My body was tired... My mind was tired.

I tried not to cry, but my shoulders started shaking anyway.

Traitor body.

I bent forward, elbows on my knees, breath coming apart in shallow pieces. It felt like something inside me had been held under water for too long and was finally thrashing loose.

I didn’t notice the bond at first.

Then I did.

A low, steady pull, like he was trying to ask if I was OK. Like a hand hovering near my back without touching.

I stiffened.

No no no no no, not now. I did not need him to see me break again.

I shoved the feeling away as hard as I could, building walls, pushing stone into every crack. The effort made my head pound.

The door opened quietly.

I didn’t hear the knock, if there was one.

I knew who it was anyway.

My wolf knew.

I scrubbed at my face fast, furious at the wetness there. I straightened, turned halfway toward the window like I’d just been watching the sky, like my breathing wasn’t already fucking wrecked.

Of course he was hovering around me.

“You didn’t eat,” Kade said softly.

“I’m not hungry,” I answered. My voice sounded raw with unshed tears.

Silence stretched behind me. I could feel him taking in the room, the untouched tray, the twisted blankets...

“Naya...You’re shaking,” he said.

“I’m cold.”

It was a lie. The fire was warm enough to melt bone but my body was actively failing me.

He took a few steps towards me.

“Dorian said you walked earlier,” he added.

“Congratulations to Dorian.”

“You don't have to be cold to me right now...That takes more energy than you have right now.”

“Are you here to give me a medical report?”

“No.”

I looked at him in the eye and he stared right back.

“I’m here to check up on you because I felt the bond spike. I understand if you don't want to talk about it, but I cannot but listen”

Damn it.

“Stop fucking listening to it!!!”

His gaze locked on mine steady, dark, unbearably focused, not defensive, not dominant. Just… there.

“I can’t,” he said quietly. “It’s not a radio I can switch off.”

I hated that the answer sounded tired instead of proud. Like he was getting tired of dealing with me. Like I was a burden. Like I stressed him more than his fucking pack did.

My eyes burned with tears again at that though. I looked away before it showed.

“If you're tired of dealing with me, you should not bother...I’m fine,” I snapped.

“You’re not.”

“So fucking insightful, Kade.”

“You’re fading away, Naya.”

That word hit too close to the truth.

“I said I’m fine.”

“And I said you’re not,” he replied calmly.

Why wouldn’t he fight me? Why wouldn’t he push? I knew how to resist force. I didn’t know how to resist patience or whatever it was he was doing.

“I don’t want to talk,” I said.

“Then don’t.”

“I don’t want comfort.”

“Then I won’t give comfort.”

“Stop watching me.”

“I can’t do that either.”

My laugh broke halfway out. “You’re terrible at following instructions.”

“Yes.” he said with no argument or ego.

It disarmed me more than anger would have.

My control slipped, and grief surged up through the crack like a flood. My face twisted before I could stop it.

I turned away sharply, but it was too late.

He already saw, but he did not move to comfort me and somehow that made it worse.