Chapter 22
Richard
I didn’t want to be here.
Simon glanced at the scan and frowned. “You’re stabilizing. Whatever you’re doing–keep doing it.”
“She’s staying in the lounge,” I said.
“That’s not close enough.” he replied. “You need her in your room.”
I stiffened. “That’s not appropriate.”
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“Then she sleeps on the couch,” he said, unfazed. “I don’t care how you arrange it–but I assure you it’s medically necessary.”
I ran a hand over my face. “This can’t get out.”
Simon’s voice dropped. “Then keep it quiet. But Richard–don’t ignore what’s working.“.
My wolf was getting harder to control. Every night she wasn’t near me, it got worse–Storm snarling just under my skin, restless and angry. Sleep was pointless, and my focus, what little I had left, was constantly fraying. I snapped at a junior Alpha during council prep for repeating himself, and barely kept it together during the strategy meeting.
Beta cornered me after the third incident, concern etched in every line of his face. “You’re running too hot,” he said. “You need rest.”
“It’s nothing I can’t manage,” I muttered, brushing past him before I could admit he was right. I needed her closer.
Amelia
Richard looked worse with each passing day. The shadows under his eyes deepened, his shoulders stayed tense like he was permanently bracing for a blow, and his patience wore thinner with every meeting. I tried to keep my distance–we both needed space–but fate had other plans.
We were assigned overlapping logistics shifts, specifically Alpha arrival coordination. It meant long hours in lobbies, syncing timelines, constant communication, and even longer silences. And of course–at the suggestion of Simon–I began sleeping in his room. For Richard’s health, nothing more.
I came back to the room late. Only his Richard’s lamp was still on, the rest of the room dim. He sat there typing, posture tight. I dropped my bag and turned toward the couch.
“You’re freezing,” he said, voice quiet but not unkind, still not looking up from his screen. He stood slowly, as though every movement was calculated, and crossed the room with a blanket in hand. When he reached me, he hesitated for just a moment–then extended it, his eyes flicking to my face for the briefest second.
I reached for it, and our hands met. Not just brushed–met. His fingers closed around mine, warm and solid, and something shifted in the air between us. It was barely a second, but it hit me like a current. I drew in a sharp breath and pulled back.
Thanks,” I said softly, and that was the end of it. He returned to his work without another word.
Richard
I didn’t plan to touch her, but that didn’t stop it from happening, and that was just the first time. One night, while reaching across the side table, my fingers grazed her shoulder where her shirt had slipped down,
Her skin was warm, and for a split second I forgot to breathe. She gasped quietly, and I pulled back.
“Sorry,” I said, the word rough and too soft for how much I meant it.
She didn’t answer. Just pulled the blanket around her shoulders and stared ahead like she could pretend nothing had happened. But we both knew it had.
The silence that followed wasn’t empty–it was tense, coiled, and alive,
Later that week, she brought me tea. No explanation, no comment. Just the quiet shuffle of her footsteps as she approached, the soft
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Chapter 22
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clink of ceramic against the desk. She set it down beside my laptop with careful precision, not rushing away like she sometimes did. Instead, she stood there, silent, her presence warm and steady beside me.
I looked up–just for a second–and she looked right back. Not shy. Not uncertain. Just… watching me.
When I reached for the cup, my fingers grazed hers again. This time it wasn’t accidental. Neither of us pulled away.
I could feel her breath hitch. Mine was already caught somewhere in my throat.
For a heartbeat, we were locked there in something that wasn’t friendship or professionalism or even tension–it was something else entirely. Something real and raw and terrifying.
Then she broke it, stepped back just enough to create space again. But the space felt different now. Charged.
“Do you regret hiring me?” she asked, barely above a whisper.
The question hit harder than it should have. I didn’t look at her. I didn’t trust myself to.
“Never,” I said, and that was the truth.
Amelia
The next few days blurred into a cycle of meetings and new assignments. I was moved to Alpha security transport, stepping in for someone who’d abruptly left. It was fine–mostly organizational work, reviewing credentials, adjusting schedules, running checks.
Then, during a midday briefing, Emma mentioned a name.
Jason,” she said, then paused. The room shifted.
She cleared her throat quickly, her eyes flicking around the room before settling back on the group. “He’s no longer with us,” she said, and though her voice stayed steady, there was something tight in it. “You won’t need to worry about any involvement from him moving forward. His clearance has been revoked, and we’re handling the transition internally.”
Her tone left no room for follow–up, but it said plenty. The silence that followed was thick and a little too long before she moved on to the next item on the agenda. I didn’t lift my eyes from the screen, but my mind was already spinning. Jason’s name wasn’t just a personnel issue–it was a threat, a reminder, a puzzle piece that didn’t fit neatly into the official story. I logged the red flag quietly and kept my mouth shut.
After my shift, I walked straight toward Richard’s room. The lights were low, the quiet hum of the lamp buzzing faintly from the far side of the room.
I sank onto the couch like my body had decided for me, the weight of the day dragging me down. Still in my work clothes, one shoe kicked off, the other half on, phone slipping from my hand to the cushion beside me I told myself it was just for a minute. Just until I could breathe again.
My mind felt foggy, distant, half–asleep, and then actually asleep.
I was just going to rest for a minute.
What I didn’t know was that Richard was watching.
Richard
She looked so small, curled up like that. It felt wrong, seeing her there, shivering slightly, breathing soft and uneven. Simon had said she should be in the suite, but maybe not like this. On a couch that clearly wasn’t designed for comfort. She wasn’t sleeping well, that much was obvious. I shouldn’t have moved her–but watching her like that, I couldn’t not
I moved carefully Lifted her gently, held her for just a moment too long, then carried her to my bed. She didn’t wake. I pulled a spare blanket over her, and as I tucked it around her shoulders, her hand brushed mine.
That one touch stayed with me.
The next morning. I walked into the healer’s office with a weak excuse about strain in my
“You’re stabilizing faster than expected,” he said slowly, tapping the screen. “I thought your system would stay volatile for at least another
week.”
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Chapter 22
I didn’t respond. I just stared at the scan until he turned back toward me.
“Has anything changed?” he asked, his tone deliberately casual.
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“She’s staying in my suite now,” I said. “We’re not—nothing’s happening. She’s just… there. On the couch, usually. Sometimes in my bed.”
The healer nodded like he already knew. “You don’t need to explain it to me. Your readings are what they are. Whatever this bond is doing to you–it’s stabilizing things. You shouldn’t be apart from her for long periods, not at this stage. It’s too dangerous.”
“Don’t say anything,” I told him. “I know you know what she is to me.”
He studied me for a moment, then nodded again, more slowly this time. “It’s not my business to interfere. But if she’s what I think she is, then you already know how rare this is. How much worse it could’ve been.”
“I know,” I said. And I did.
“Stay near her. Let her stay near you. Don’t keep pushing her away. You might not get that many more chances to pull her back.”
I left without another word.
But that night, she slept in my bed.
We didn’t talk much as we moved through our usual end–of–day routines, but something about the quiet felt different–softer, less guarded. I finished responding to a message on my phone, and when I looked up, she was just… watching me again. Like she had something to say but wasn’t sure how to start.
You don’t have to keep carrying all of it alone, you know,” she said eventually. Her voice wasn’t accusatory. Just tired. Honest.
I looked at her for a long moment. “It’s not your burden to carry.”
“Maybe not,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t help. If being near you makes things easier—if it makes the pain even a little less— I’ll do whatever I need to do.”
My throat tightened, and I had to look away. That was the thing about Amelia. She didn’t offer lightly. When she said something, she
meant it.
“I won’t ask that of you,” I said quietly.
“You don’t have to. I’m already here.”
She crawled under the blanket without another word. And I didn’t sleep on the far side of the bed.
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