CHAPTER 8: Cracks In The Armor

Three days passed with no improvement. Breakfast with Darius remained a display of stiff formality. He arrived at seven, ate with mechanical efficiency, and left precisely thirty minutes later.

I was going insane. The mate bond pulled at me constantly, a restless tether that left my wolf pacing and confused. My body ached with a need I didn’t want to acknowledge, and the mark on my neck flared with burning heat whenever I went too long without seeing him.

"You look terrible," Vera announced on the fourth morning, barging into my quarters without knocking. She carried her medical bag and wore her "healer face", the one that meant compliance was not an option.

"Good morning to you, too," I muttered.

"Sit." She pointed at the couch.

Vera moved with professional efficiency, checking my vitals. "Heart rate elevated. The temperature is high. Bags under your eyes that suggest zero sleep." "How long has the bond been causing physical symptoms, Lila?"

"I don't know what you’re talking about."

"I’m a healer. I know what a deteriorating bond looks like." Vera sat beside me. "You need to spend real time with Darius. The bond sees his emotional distance as rejection. If this continues, the symptoms get worse, fever, constant pain, and eventually, the inability to shift. You’ll both start going feral."

Fear spiked in my chest. "Force him to care?"

"No. But you can force him to actually try," Vera said firmly. "Darius is terrified of feeling, of losing control, of being hurt again. But his fear is killing you both. Someone has to make him see that. As his mate, that someone is you."

After Vera left, I sat in silence, her words pressing down on me.

At six-fifty-eight that evening, I knocked on Darius’s door. He opened it looking startled. "Lila? What.."

"We need to talk." I pushed past him into his quarters. "And I don’t care if it’s a bad time. We’re talking anyway."

Darius closed the door slowly. "Lila,

"You said you’d try. But showing up for thirty minutes a day to check a box isn't trying. It’s a performance."

His jaw tightened. "What more do you want?" I want you to stop treating me like an obligation." I stepped closer, the bond singing at the proximity. "Do you feel the throb in your mark? Vera says if we keep fighting this, we’re going to get sick. We’re going to go feral, Darius."

That stopped him cold. The irritation in his eyes vanished, replaced by alarm. "Sick? Marcus didn't mention that."

"Maybe he didn't want to scare you. But I am scared. I didn't ask for this, but I’m not going to lose my mind because you’re too stubborn to be human."

I wrapped my arms around myself, shivering despite the heat of the bond. Darius ran a hand through his hair, a rare gesture of agitation. I saw the war behind his eyes, safety versus the relentless pull of the bond.

"I do not know how to be what you need," he said, his voice lower and more broken than I’d ever heard it. "I don’t know how to care about someone and not be terrified they’ll be taken away."

"Maya," I said softly. "This is about her."

His expression shuttered. "I told you, I won't talk about that."

"And I’m saying you have to. Because whatever you’re carrying is destroying us." I took a risk, closing the last foot of space between us. "Give me something real, Darius. Otherwise, we’re just waiting for the end."

Darius was silent for so long I thought he would kick me out. Then, so quietly I almost missed it, he spoke. "She died because of me."

The admission hung in the air, heavy and dark.

"I was leading the response to a rogue attack," he continued, his hands clenched. "Maya was a warrior. She followed me even though she was told to stay back. I thought we had won. Then a rogue came for my throat, and she... she threw herself in the way."

I felt the bond flood with a grief so immense it nearly knocked the breath out of me.

"She died in my arms," he whispered, looking at me with haunted eyes. "I spent ten years making sure I never cared again. Because caring means losing. I cannot survive that twice, Lila."

Everything clicked. His coldness wasn't about my rank; it was about his own survival. He wasn't rejecting me; he was rejecting the pain of a potential second loss.

"I am so sorry,” I said, reaching out to touch his hand. The bond flared with warmth. "But Darius, Maya made a warrior's choice. You can't spend the rest of your life as a ghost because you’re afraid of a shadow. You aren't living. You’re just existing.”

"It’s practical,” he argued, though his grip on my hand tightened.

"It’s lonely. And the bond won't let you do it anymore. It demands life.” I squeezed his fingers. "At least if you try, there’s a chance. If you don't, we’ve already lost.”

He stared at our joined hands like they were a foreign language he was finally beginning to translate. "I don't know how to do this," he admitted.

"Neither do I. But we figure it out together? No pressure. Just... honest attempts."

Finally, he nodded.

"Then let’s start now,” I said, leading him toward his couch. "Spend the evening with me. No clocks. No reports."

He sat stiffly, but he didn't pull his hand away.

"Tell me something about yourself that has nothing to do with being Beta,” I prompted.

He thought for a moment. "When I was eight, I wanted to be a carpenter. I liked building things instead of fighting." He shrugged. "But it wasn't practical."

"That explains why you're so good at building walls," I teased gently.

He actually laughed. "Your turn. Tell me something real."

"I hate being an omega,” I admitted. "Not the rank, but how people treat you.

“You are not worthless," Darius said firmly. He looked at me with respect. "I’ve been watching you. You don't let people intimidate you. That takes a strength most warriors don't have.”

The compliment sent a flush to my cheeks.

The ache in my neck had faded into a gentle hum. For the first time, the future didn't look like a dead end. Darius was no longer running. And I was finally being seen.