Chapter 108: More To This - Callista's POV

When he said I could rest, I almost laughed. It wasn’t funny at all, but my body just didn’t feel like it wanted to rest anymore. It belonged to something stretched too thin and had been that way for entirely too long. I had been pulled too far into exhaustion that my awareness wouldn’t let me fully slip away.

Raze finally left, slamming the door as he left, the sound echoing in the room like a final warning that none of us were done unraveling for the night. I rolled my eyes at the dramatic exit more than anything else, though my attention didn’t really follow him. It stayed right where it had been since I’d crossed the threshold into Riven’s room.

Riven’s room. I still wasn’t used to being here, but then again, when would I ever be?

I climbed into his bed without asking, without ceremony, without any real thought beyond the fact that standing felt harder than sitting, and sitting felt harder than collapsing. The covers carried a deep, grounding scent that made my wolf settle just enough to stop pacing.

I lay down on top of them instead of under them, as if I wasn’t fully committing to the idea of staying. Like I might still get up at any second and pretend none of this had happened.

The room was quieter now, but it wasn’t peaceful yet. Not really. Peace didn’t exist in this space the way it should have. Not when every breath still felt like it belonged to something unfinished.

My fingers curled slightly into the fabric beneath me as I stared at the ceiling, trying to let my body sink into a stillness that my thoughts refused to match.

And then I felt him. He wasn’t touching or speaking, but he was there beside the edge of the bed.

The bond tightened immediately as I rolled onto my side. I felt the bond tug again, like a thread being pulled tight between two points, refusing to stay separated no matter how hard one of them tried.

“You’re hovering again,” I said finally, my voice flat. “Are you getting into bed or not?”

“I’m just standing here, trying to convince myself that you’re real,” he replied, his voice soft.

“Same thing. Get dressed and get into bed.”

That got a quiet exhale out of him, something halfway between a laugh and a surrender, but he still didn’t move away from the bed. He was hesitating and I could feel it.

Eventually, I heard fabric shift.

I didn’t turn to watch him change. I didn’t need to. The bond made it impossible to ignore him, anyway. Every small movement rippled faintly between us, as if I were wired directly into his presence.

When the bed dipped slightly behind me, I finally let out a breath.

“Was that so difficult?” I asked, still facing the opposite direction.

“Yes,” he said immediately.

That made me glance over my shoulder.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed now, not fully settled, as if he were still negotiating with the idea of being here at all. His shoulders were tense in a way that didn’t match the calm he was trying to project.

I shifted slightly, rolling more onto my other side so I could face him properly.

“You’re worse than Raze,” I muttered.

A faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. “That’s insulting, considering the way he is.”

“It’s accurate.”

That almost earned me a real smile, but it didn’t fully stick. Instead, his gaze dropped briefly to my throat.

The mark.

I felt it instantly in the bond, that subtle tightening again, sharper this time, like his attention physically pulled at it. I didn’t bother hiding it. There was no point anymore.

“It’s healed,” I breathed. “And everything is fine. I’m alive.”

He shook his head. “It’s almost healed and you could have been dead.”

“That was your wolf. He just needed to mark me again because we had been separated. Mom told me it might happen.”

He just looked at me with a narrowed gaze.

I raised a brow slightly. “Are you disappointed?”

“No,” he said immediately. “I’m—”

He stopped himself, which told me more than whatever he was about to say. I watched him carefully for a moment before shifting again, propping myself up on my elbow so I could sit a little closer to him without fully closing the distance.

“You keep doing that,” I said, frustration lacing my tone. “Stop that, okay?”

“Doing what?” he asked.

“You keep stopping yourself mid-thought like you’re afraid of saying the wrong thing,” I replied.

His jaw tightened slightly. “I am saying the wrong thing most of the time.”

“That’s not true,” I said, shaking my head. “You’re just overthinking everything, like it’s going to explode if you breathe the wrong way.”

His gaze held mine for a long moment. “That’s because sometimes it does feel like that.”

That silenced me for a second. I shifted closer on the bed again, careful this time, giving him space to decide whether he wanted to move away or stay where he was.

He didn’t move. That alone felt like progress, even if it was fragile.

“You know,” I said finally, “I’m starting to think you’re more afraid of hurting me emotionally than physically.”

His eyes flickered. I felt it immediately through the bond, that subtle tension tightening again.

“That’s not true,” he said, but it lacked conviction. “I’m afraid I’m going to destroy you.”

I tilted my head slightly. “Hug me.”

“What?” He asked, his brow knitting together in confusion.

“Hug me, Riven. Give your mate a well-deserved hug.”

Slowly, he leaned and wrapped his arms around me, tugging me up until I was nearly in his lap. He groaned as his nose met my hair.

“You smell so good,” he said, his body trembling. “I’ve been waiting to hold you again since the night you left.”

“Then don’t let go of me,” I whispered. “Never let go.”

He ran his hand up and down my back. “I want to turn you away, make you stay far away from me, because I’m a dangerous man, Callista. But the thought of your wolf withering away…I can’t.”

His words settled into me in a way that didn’t feel light or comforting, even though his arms were.

Dangerous man. I almost scoffed at the thought of it.

He truly was trying to protect me from his other side, but I knew that there was no life without him. My fingers curled slightly into the fabric of his shirt at his shoulder before I could stop myself.

“You keep saying that,” I murmured, my voice quieter now, “like I’m not already standing here choosing it, anyway.”

His hand stilled for a fraction of a second against my back. The bond reacted instantly, tightening, then easing again like it was trying to match our breathing.

“You shouldn’t have to choose it,” he said softly. “I should be a better man for you, and I am, until that side of me takes over.”

I let out a soft, tired breath against his chest. “But I do choose this.”

That made him pull back just enough to look at me. It wasn’t far, but enough that I could see his expression properly.”

His eyes looked less controlled up close. Less like the version of him that tried to calculate every outcome, and more like the one that was simply reacting to my being here.

“I don’t trust myself,” he admitted quietly.

I blinked at him. “That’s not new information, but I’m glad to hear you say that out loud. Last year, we had an issue with you diving in head first. At least I see you’ve grown in more ways than just physically.”

A faint, humorless exhale left him, as if he almost wanted to laugh but didn’t have the energy for it.

“I mean I don’t trust what I become when I lose control,” he corrected, voice rougher now. “You felt it. You saw it. I don’t get to pretend that it wasn't me just because I came back afterward.”

My gaze dropped briefly to his chest, then back to his face. “You came back and we’re going to fix this.”

His jaw tightened. “That doesn’t erase what I’ve done.”

“It doesn’t have to erase it,” I replied. “It just has to mean something.”

That made him go still again. For a moment, I thought he was going to argue. I could feel it building in him through the bond, that familiar resistance, that instinct to reject anything that sounded like forgiveness.

But instead, he lowered his forehead lightly against mine.

“I don’t know how to stop it from happening again,” he admitted into the space between us. “The medicine and everything else I have done to keep it at bay isn’t going to work forever.”

“No, but how old is Raze? Look at him. His father said he was so far gone, but he held a conversation with us, even after living with you for over a year. That doesn’t look like it’s growing to me,” I whispered. “I think there’s hope, and it’s not what we think.”

That grabbed his attention. His gaze met mine. “What do you think it is?”

“I don’t know yet, but I think there’s more to this than what we first thought,” I said, my gaze drifting down to his throat where my mark scarred his skin. “And I have to believe we’re going to make it to the other side.”