Chapter 32 Into her silence
DARIAN
It’s been weeks since that conversation with my father.
Weeks since he stood in my room and reminded me, again, that my life isn’t mine.
Since then, I’ve done what was expected of me.
I smiled in public. Took Adira to the autumn gala. Held her hand through the pack walk last weekend. She wore red, of course. The color of power. Of union. Of bloodlines.
She kissed me on the cheek in front of the pack members, and I let her.
The moment was captured, posted, shared across our territories. My father showed it to me the next morning over breakfast with the smug satisfaction of a man who believes his plan is unfolding perfectly.
“You’re making me proud, son,” he said.
I didn’t respond.
I haven’t responded to much lately.
The weight of pretending is a quiet kind of violence. One that doesn’t leave bruises, but eats at you slowly from the inside. And the worst part is that no one sees it.
I haven’t stepped foot in Iris’s room since that night.
I thought if I kept my distance, if I starved myself of her scent, her voice, her eyes, I’d forget. Or rather, it would be easier to move on with Adira.
But I was wrong.
Distance doesn’t numb the bond. It sharpens it.
My wolf paces constantly now. At night, he scratches at the surface of my skin like he’s trying to break through. He whines when I look at Adira. Growls when she touches me.
And the worst of it? The ache.
It’s not physical. Not really. But it simmers in my bones like hunger, like thirst, like something primal screaming to be filled.
I’m restless. Hollow. My room feels colder. My mind is louder. Nothing fits.
She’s everywhere.
In the color of the leaves outside. In the scent of chamomile I caught on someone’s scarf last week. In the way my hand still twitches sometimes, as if it’s searching for hers.
I avoid Adrian now. Every time he’s near, there’s a chance I’ll catch her scent lingering on him, soft, warm, maddening. And if I do, everything I’ve fought to bury will claw its way back to the surface.
The ache in my chest, the pull in my gut, the way my wolf stirs just at the thought of her. Being around him is dangerous because he carries pieces of her without even knowing it. And I don’t trust myself not to chase the scent like a starving beast.
Adira doesn’t know. She’s been… sweet. Unbearably so. Laughing at my half-hearted jokes. Making excuses to see me. Dropping by my training sessions with water and soft smiles. Always trying. Always hoping.
And I?
I’m a coward.
I play along. Nod. Smile. Touch her waist when we’re being watched. Dance with her when I’m told to. Pretend the chill in my chest isn’t the absence of the one thing I actually want.
Iris.
Gods, Iris.
If she knew how many nights I’ve stood in the hallway outside her door, fists clenched, breathing like I’ve run a marathon just to stop myself from knocking…
If she knew that sometimes I wake up with her name on my tongue and have to bite it down before anyone hears me…
Would it matter?
Would it change anything?
Would she hate me more for staying away or for ever coming close in the first place?
There’s a knock on my door, pulling me from the spiral. I don’t answer right away. I know it’s probably Adira. Or my father. Or worse, someone with another schedule to follow.
“Come in,” I say eventually.
But the door doesn’t open.
It was just a delivery. A message slipped under the door. I rise, walk over, and pick it up. A note from the event coordinator. Another function this weekend. Another photo-op.
Adira will wear blue this time. I’m expected to match.
I crumple the note in my fist.
I’m so tired of blue.
So tired of red.
So tired of everything that doesn’t taste like her.
I sit back down on the edge of my bed, elbows on my knees, hands over my face. I let out a long, trembling breath.
How long can I keep this up?
How long before I lose the last sliver of myself I’ve been clinging to?
And tonight, I break.
I shouldn't be here.
I know that with every fiber of logic I have left. But logic is a dying voice beneath the pounding of my pulse and the clawing ache in my chest.
I’ve done everything right.
Gained my father’s smug approval. I’ve been a dutiful son. The future king. I’ve kept Iris out of my space, out of my reach, and yet, every night, her absence gnaws at me like hunger.
The night air is cool as I slip into her building’s hallway. Silent. Swift. A shadow in the dark. I shouldn’t know her routines by heart, but I do. I shouldn't know when her roommate is gone. I shouldn't know that she sleeps with the window slightly cracked, or that she keeps a small night light near her dresser.
But I do.
I move through the quiet apartment like a ghost, until I reach her door. It’s unlocked. I ease it open slowly, quietly. The hinges creak the barest amount, and I wince, pausing to make sure she doesn't stir.
She doesn’t.
Her room smells like vanilla and something soft, feminine. It hits me like a blow to the chest. My wolf perks up immediately, pushing against my ribs, restless and wild. My throat tightens.
She’s curled on her side beneath the covers, her long lashes casting shadows on her cheeks, her lips slightly parted. Peaceful. Innocent.
Untouched.
I step inside. The door clicks shut behind me.
I tell myself it’s just for a moment. I just need to see her. Breathe her in. Just long enough to quiet the beast inside me so I can go back to being who I’m supposed to be. The obedient son. The responsible heir. The soon-to-be mated.
I sit on the edge of her bed slowly, careful not to wake her.
She doesn’t stir still.
My eyes drink her in, like a dying man. The slope of her shoulder, the fall of her hair across the pillow. I reach out, hesitate, then brush a strand of hair gently behind her ear. My fingers graze her skin and lightning shoots through me. My breath catches. My wolf growls in satisfaction.
This is madness.
I should go.
I should run from this room and slam the door on this temptation once and for all. But I sit there, mesmerized. I’ve missed her. I’ve missed this. This silence that only she can give me. This feeling of being near someone who never wanted anything but me, not the prince, not the name, not the title. Just me.
And now she’s slipping through my fingers, and I hate it. I hate every damn second of it.
I lean forward, bracing my hands on the bed. Close enough to feel the soft rhythm of her breath. I don’t touch her again, but gods, I want to. Just one last time. Just to remember.
I whisper her name.
It’s stupid. Reckless. But I whisper it anyway, and it hangs in the air between us like a confession.
And then…
Her lashes flutter.
My heart stops.
Her eyes open slowly, groggy and unfocused at first. But then they find me. Lock on me.
Shit.