74. To Protect My Pack

Aella

The sterile smell of antiseptics fills the air, mingling with the earthy scent that is uniquely Roman. Even unconscious, he smells like the forest, like the wilderness we both call home.

My hand finds his, dwarfed by the size of his palm, but perfectly molded to fit. I’m holding onto him as if he’s my anchor, the one constant in a world that has spiraled so far from what I knew.

I replay the night over and over again in my head. The tension in the room, the way Roman’s eyes narrowed as he exchanged words with Vasily in rapid Russian.

I couldn’t understand the words, but the intent was palpable—two titans locked in a battle of wills and strength. And I’d stood there, unable to do anything but watch and hope that Roman would come out unscathed. My heart aches at the thought.

What was so personal that it had to be shrouded in their mother tongue? Was it just a string of profanities or something deeper? A sharing of old wounds and familial grievances that led them to this terribl