Chapter 5: Sick Alpha

I make sure not to get in his way anymore. But today, the house was too quiet for some reason.

I quickly tiptoed my way to the kitchen and fixed myself a quick breakfast. I didn't want him to wake up and insult me again. But I'm not a plant; I can live without air, so I took this chance.

Since it's Saturday, Sasha won't arrive until noon, and the nurse won't even come.

Once I was done, I returned to my room, but then I noticed something...

I couldn't hear anything from Dimitri's room, and although that should be a relief for me... it was worrisome. He was usually up by now.

I first knocked on the door. Softly. Hesitantly. The sound barely echoed in the heavy silence of the apartment.

No answer.

My wolf stirred uneasily in the back of my mind, a low whine building in her throat. "Mate. Hurt?" I shoved the thought away, telling myself it was just paranoia.

Dimitri was probably sleeping in, or ignoring me on purpose, like he always did. Still, the quiet felt wrong. Too thick. Too empty. Usually by this hour on a Saturday, I'd hear faint movement from his room—the rustle of sheets, a low curse, the occasional slam of a drawer as he went through his recovery exercises with gritted teeth. Today? Nothing but the distant hum of the city far below the windows and the steady tick of the clock in the hallway.

I knocked again, a little louder. "Dimitri?" My voice came out small, almost swallowed by the door. "Are you... okay?"

Silence.

My stomach twisted. I shouldn't care. He'd made it painfully clear that my presence was a curse, that I was nothing but a bought hybrid abomination forced into his life.

But I couldn't just walk away. Not when the apartment felt like a tomb. What if the silver bullet's effects had worsened overnight?

I pressed my ear to the door. Nothing. No breathing. No movement. My heart picked up speed.

"Dimitri, I'm coming in," I whispered. My hand trembled as I turned the knob. The door creaked open slowly, revealing his room bathed in the soft gray light of early morning filtering through partially drawn curtains. The machines that had once monitored him were mostly gone now, but the faint scent of antiseptic still lingered beneath his overwhelming presence.

He was on the bed, sprawled on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes. The sheets were tangled around his waist, his black t-shirt ridden up to expose the angry scar from the silver bullet along his side. It looked redder than usual, inflamed. His chest rose and fell, but shallowly. Too shallowly. Sweat glistened on his forehead, dark hair damp and sticking to his skin. He looked... vulnerable. In pain.

My wolf surged forward with a desperate whimper. "Mate. Help mate."

I hesitated in the doorway, guilt crashing over me like a wave. This was the same bed where I'd lost control that night. Still, he didn't look too good, so I couldn't let those thoughts consume me.

I stepped closer, bare feet silent on the cool floor. "Dimitri?" I called softly, reaching out but stopping short of touching him. I'm sure he wouldn't like that.

His breathing hitched suddenly. A low groan escaped his lips, pained and raw. His free hand clutched at the sheets, knuckles white. The scar on his side seemed to pulse.

I couldn't leave him like this. Even if he'd throw me out the second he woke. Even if he'd call me every cruel name in existence. Swallowing hard, I moved to the side of the bed and gently touched his arm. His skin was burning hot.

"Dimitri, wake up. You're feverish."

His eyes snapped open.

"You," he rasped, voice hoarse. His hand shot up, grabbing my wrist in a grip that was strong despite his condition. "The hell are you doing in my room?"

I froze, blood draining from my face. "I—I'm sorry. I was just checking on you. You looked like you were in pain. The scar—"

He didn't let go. His gaze raked over me, taking in my rumpled sleep clothes, my messy hair, and the way I trembled under his touch.

"Get out," he growled, but there was less venom than usual. More exhaustion. His thumb brushed unconsciously over my pulse point, sending sparks up my arm. "Before I do something you might regret."

I tried to pull back, but his grip held. "Please. Let me get you water. Or call the doctor. You're burning up."

He laughed bitterly, the sound cracking into a wince as he shifted and the scar pulled. "Worried about your future pay, stray? Afraid Alexi will not pay you if I drop dead?" Despite the words, he released my wrist slowly, almost reluctantly. His eyes lingered on my face, tracing my features as if seeing them clearly for the first time. "Why can't I get you out of my head?"

I wasn't sure what to answer, and thankfully, before I did, he closed his eyes again.

He looked very, very sick, and since I didn't know what to give him, the least I could do was go to the bathroom and wet a towel.

I put it on his forehead and repeated the process whenever it got too hot, but no matter how much I tried, it didn't bring his fever down.

"Alpha?" Sasha called from outside.

I quickly stood up and ran to meet him.

"Lyrien?" He asked in confusion because by now I would be in my room, pretending like I didn't exist.

"Can you call the doctor? I think Dimitri is sick," I blurted out, my voice shaky.

Sasha's expression shifted from mild surprise to sharp alertness in a heartbeat. He didn't waste time asking why I was in Dimitri's room or how long I'd been there. That was one thing I appreciated about him—he acted first. "On it," he said, already pulling out his phone as he strode down the hall toward Dimitri's door. I followed close behind, my bare feet silent on the floor, heart hammering so loudly I was sure he could hear it.

The next hour blurred into a tense whirlwind. Sasha made the call. The doctor—a stern older man with a bag full of equipment who had visited a few times during Dimitri's initial recovery—arrived faster than I expected, probably because everything Romanov-related moved at lightning speed when money and bloodlines were involved. I hovered in the doorway while the doctor examined Dimitri, checking the inflamed scar, taking his temperature, drawing blood, and muttering about silver residue still lingering in his system.

"After effects of the poisoning," the doctor confirmed, his gloved hands gentle but efficient as he adjusted an IV line. "The fever spikes like this sometimes. His body is still flushing out the last traces. He'll need rest, fluids, and these antibiotics. Keep him cool. Monitor the scar for any worsening infection."

Dimitri was half-awake through most of it, his blue eyes glassy with fever but still managing to shoot glares in my direction whenever I stepped too close. "Get her out," he rasped at one point, voice rough like gravel. "Don't need the stray playing nurse."

The words stung, but they lacked their usual cutting edge.

Sasha gave me a quiet nod of approval when the doctor left instructions for monitoring. "I'll stay in the living room. Call if anything changes." He hesitated, then added softly, "You're doing good, Lyrien. He might not say it, but... this matters."

I nodded, throat tight, and returned to Dimitri's side once we were alone again. The room felt smaller, heavier with his scent and the faint medicinal tang. I resumed the cool compress routine, dipping the towel in icy water from the bathroom and laying it gently across his forehead. Every time I touched him, even briefly, sparks danced along my skin. His arm was burning hot, muscles tense under my fingers.

"Why are you still here?" he muttered after a long stretch of silence, eyes closed, but brow furrowed. His hand twitched toward mine before he caught himself and let it fall back to the sheets. "Should've run the second you saw me like this. Weak. Pathetic."

"You're not weak," I whispered, wringing out the towel again. "You're recovering from silver poisoning. From a coma. Anyone would—"

"Save the pity." He cracked one eye open, blue gaze hazy but piercing. "I don't need it."

I froze with the towel in my hands, staring at the inflamed scar along his side. I could run, and nobody would blame me, but in the end, he was my mate, and I didn't want to see him in pain. "I will be out as soon as your fever lowers."

He growled something, but I didn't catch it. Soon, his breathing grew heavier.

I'm not sure what I'm doing now, but I hope... he hates me a little bit less.