Chapter 156 Because tonight, he is alive
IRIS
I reach the bedroom door and pause, hand on the handle. My fingers feel cold, almost numb, but it’s not from the temperature. It’s the weight of everything that happened tonight. The way Kelvin… gave himself so that Darian could live. So that I could live.
I want to scream. I want to cry. I want to curl into a ball and disappear, because no matter how much relief I feel that Darian is alive, the thought of Kelvin’s lifeless body burns my chest. It’s not just grief. It’s guilt. How can I be here, breathing, when he… He chose to die so that we could survive. My mind reels at the unfairness, the tragedy. He didn’t have to. He shouldn’t have. But he did.
I step into the room slowly. The air is thick, charged in a way I can’t quite place. Darian sits on the edge of the bed, his dark form silhouetted against the muted light spilling in from the window. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t spoken. He doesn’t even look at me. And I don’t want him to. Not yet. Not tonight.
There’s something about him like a storm that’s been held in check, finally letting itself breathe, finally letting its eyes flicker with relief and grief and exhaustion all at once. My chest tightens. He survived because of Kelvin, and yet… here he is, alive. Whole. Present. And the thought that he bears the weight of my brother’s death just to be here with me makes me ache in ways I cannot name.
I move closer, the soft swish of my nightie the only sound breaking the stillness. My eyes don’t leave his form as I climb onto the bed, kneeling slowly beside him. His shoulders are tense, broad, a wall I don’t dare touch, but my hands find the fabric of his shirt anyway, just brushing it. He inhales sharply at the contact but doesn’t protest.
I lower myself gently until I can rest my head on his chest. His heartbeat is steady, though I can feel the faint tremor beneath it. Each rise and fall is a reminder of life. Of presence. Of warmth. I cling to it as though I can absorb it into my bones, as though if I stay close enough, maybe the emptiness inside me will shrink.
“Darian…” I whisper, the word barely more than a breath. He doesn’t respond. That’s okay. I don’t want words. I don’t want to have to say anything, explain anything. My throat tightens when I think about speaking because any sound I make would remind him of Kelvin. And I am not ready to face him in conversation yet.
I just lie there, letting my body sink into the steady weight of him beneath me. The warmth of his chest, the slow, rhythmic rise and fall, it’s grounding. I close my eyes, willing myself to dwell in the peace that has settled around us, fragile as it is, fragile as life itself.
Mixed emotions churn within me. Relief, yes. Oh my God, relief that Darian is alive, that I am alive but relief is tainted by guilt. By sorrow. By disbelief. How can I feel peace when Kelvin, brave and selfless, sacrificed himself for us? My chest aches with the injustice of it. He was so young, so full of life, and now… gone.
I press my cheek against his shirt and let myself dwell in the moment. It’s strange, surreal, the softness of his chest, the slow thrum of his pulse against my ear. It’s a rhythm I could listen to forever if I could. But the grief for Kelvin is always there, a shadow lurking at the edge of my consciousness, threatening to swallow me whole.
I can still see Kelvin’s face in my mind’s eye, the pale serenity, the faint, proud smile he gave Darian before he… before he left this world. I shiver involuntarily, and Darian stiffens beneath me, though he still doesn’t speak. I know he can feel me trembling, can feel the tears pooling in my eyes, the ones I haven’t let fall yet.
My wolf stirs deep within me, a faint pulse of something raw and wild. It whispers that I am connected, that I am marked, that I belong here, with him, with this life that Kelvin ensured we could still have. But it is a reminder that life is fragile. That love comes with pain. That happiness is always, always tied to loss.
I close my eyes tighter, pressing myself closer, inhaling the faint scent of him. My tears slip freely now, tiny rivulets that soak into his shirt. I don’t care. I don’t want to hold them back. I want to mourn Kelvin here, on his chest, in the only safe space I can find tonight.
“I can’t… I can’t believe he…” My voice catches. The words feel inadequate, meaningless, but I can’t stop. “Darian…he saved us. He saved you. He saved me.”
A soft rustle. Darian shifts slightly beneath me, not speaking, just… present. That’s enough. I don’t want more than this right now. I just want the warmth, the heartbeat, the presence. I just want to be near him, to feel as if holding onto him can keep the world from shattering entirely.
His hands rest lightly on my back. Not demanding. Not touching in a way that breaks the fragile boundary between us. Just… reassurance. Silent acknowledgment. And I let myself lean into it, letting the raw, messy mix of relief and sorrow and guilt wash over me like a tide.
Kelvin’s sacrifice has left a hole in our lives, in Darian’s heart, in mine. But here, in this quiet moment, I can breathe, just a little. I can let myself feel peace, small and fleeting though it is. The weight of grief is still there, yes, but it is balanced by the warmth of Darian’s body beneath me, by the simple fact that he is alive.
I shift slightly, pressing my hands to his shirt, memorizing the rise and fall of his chest, the feel of the muscles beneath. My mind drifts to the other night, to the tension and desire and unspoken things that exist between us. But tonight, those feelings are muted. Muted by grief, by exhaustion, by the need for something quieter.
Something still.
I close my eyes again and let myself dwell entirely in the moment, in the simple act of being here, alive, with him. My breathing slows, matching his. My wolf, restless beneath the surface, settles slightly, sensing that this is a space of protection, of safety, of fragile peace.
I don’t need to think. I don’t need to plan. I don’t need to worry about prophecies or sacrifices or the future that looms beyond these walls. Right now, all that exists is the warmth beneath me, the steady rhythm of life beneath my ear, and the knowledge that Darian is alive because of Kelvin, and because of him, I can still hope.
And yet… the ache of loss lingers. It is a reminder that happiness is not free. That love is not free. That every heartbeat we cherish comes with the shadow of what has been lost.
I let my fingers trace the curve of his shoulder, the line of his collarbone beneath the soft fabric of his shirt. Each detail is etched into my memory. I want to remember everything. I want to carry it with me forever.
I don’t speak. I don’t move. I just lie there, listening to the subtle creaks of the house, the whisper of the night outside, the slow, steady rise and fall of Darian’s chest. And I allow myself to feel the peace, fragile though it is, let it seep into my bones.
For a long time, I simply rest there, my head pressed to his chest, letting the grief, the relief, and the love coexist in quiet chaos. I feel the weight of Kelvin’s absence, yes, but I also feel the promise of life. The possibility of happiness. And I cling to it, trembling, fragile, alive.
I press my lips lightly to the fabric of his shirt, a silent thanks to the universe, to Kelvin, to Darian. For life. For love. For this moment.
The room is quiet, but it is not empty. It is filled with everything we have survived, everything we have lost, and everything that still exists between us. And I rest there, allowing myself to be small, to be fragile, to be alive.
The night stretches before us, endless and forgiving, and I finally let go, if only for a little while.
Because tonight, I can breathe.
Because tonight, he is alive.
Because tonight, for the first time in so long, I feel peace.