Chapter 4 Chapter four

Chapter Four

A CONFLICTED HEART

~Ignas Pov~

...The Skull Pack

I'd gone cold the instant I ducked into the healer's tent. Lykon sprawled on the cot, his face pale and slick with sweat. The head wound had opened again and seeped through the bandages we'd wrapped with such care. One of the healers knelt beside him, her hands shaking as she jammed clothes against the gash hard, trying to staunch the flow.

"What?" I wanted to know, my voice shrill with panic as I bounded to his side.

The healer's terrified eyes flew toward me, wide. "His injury. It opened again, spilling fresh blood. For no apparent reason."

"Move," I growled, dropping into a kneel beside him. My hands replaced hers, splayed against his wound. They shook somewhat as they pressed against bloody hair, but I wrestled them under control for the moment.

"Get more clothes," I barked. "Bring the salve and clean water now!"

The tent exploded into a frenzy as the healers scurried around to do my bidding. Roy was beside me moments later, his face grave.

"Ignis," he said quietly, "we have to stabilize him, or-"

"Don't," I said, cutting him off, my voice shaking. "Don't say it."

Roy's jaw snapped shut, but he said nothing more. The only other sound was that of rain pattering off pavement and tile. It seemed louder. We worked silently cleaning the wound, compressing, and re-bandaging with new wrappings. My mind was clouded with terror and guilt. How does this happen? He'd been so stable.

Time blended and blurred in a blur of activity. By the time we were done, Lykon lay still, his breathing shallow but regular. The healers moved to clean the bloodstained cot, but my eyes never strayed from his face.

"Is he…?" I couldn't bring myself to finish the question.

“He's alive," Roy said, almost in a whisper, drying his hands on a clean rag. "But he fell into a coma. The body struggles to heal and recover."

He turned into silence, his face heavy with unspoken words of disappointment.

I slumped against a chair beside Lykon's cot, worn out after a sleepless night without hope.

A coma,

A death sentence was what reverberated in my mind.

The days tumbled by into weeks and a whole, endless sameness-day broke, wake beside him; check on Lykon, aid the healers, clean and rub Lykon's body so his limbs don't turn rigid; sit and watch, waiting for the sequence of the day to show anything out of kilter.

Couldn't leave him. Wouldn't.

Every time I saw him lying there, not responding, my chest would ache with guilt. The thought that kept playing in my mind was what had happened that day: the things I could have done differently. If only I had run a little faster, been strong enough, more observant-perhaps he would not lie there.

What an inconvenience it was, just to think that one day he would wake up with feelings of his pack having abandoned him, and that very wolves who once called him brother, family because of me, had turned against his blood and I'd taken his everything without anything being able to be returned with life.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, in the dead of one night, my voice no louder than the crackling fire in the corner of the tent. I leaned forward, brushing a strand of hair from his face. His skin was cool against my fingertips, and our bond hummed faintly, the distant beat of a pulse. "I'm so sorry, Lykon."

It was Roy who eventually broke the silence.

“Ignis," he said that afternoon when the healers were working on Lykon, pulling me aside. His face was lined with concern as his eyes searched mine. "We need to talk."

I crossed my arms over my chest, steeling myself. "What is it?”

"The pack is growing restless," he said baldly. "They begin to question why we do not move on. The war is at an end. The enemy routed across the plains. The land is safe now, yet we sit waiting for…"

He nodded toward Lykon's tent.

"Waiting for him to wake up," I concluded with an unrelenting voice.

Roy nodded, cautioning. "They ask questions, Ignis. What's going on, why did you stop the war, and why are we not yet returning home? And some have already. suspicions."

I straightened up. "Suspect what?”

Roy hesitated. "They've noticed how much time you've been spending with him. They're wondering why you've put so much effort into saving someone who, to them, is still the enemy."

I turned away, my chest tightening. "He's not the enemy," I said softly.

"I know that," Roy said softly. "But they don't. You need to address this, Ignis. You need to tell them the truth."

The word seemed to hang in the air, heavy and unavoidable, between us.

I stood before the gathered sea of faces full of uncertainty and curiosity. The tension was high, with every pair of eyes fixed on me as I took a deep breath and started to speak.

“You're wondering why we are still here,” I said as my voice seemed steady while storms raged inside. You were wondering why I stopped the war and spared the general; why delayed our return back to our pack.

Of course, a murmur rioted the crowd but none interrupted.

“I'll tell you why," I finally said, my voice going on. "Lykon isn't just any old enemy general. He's." I swallowed the words tumbling inside my throat. "He's my mate."

Gasps after gasp and then a deafening silence.

I pressed on, unintimidated by their display. "He saved my life. In the middle of a battle, he could have killed me, but instead, he protected me. And now, he's lying in that tent because of it."

The faces of the pack ran across the spectrum of shock to confusion to… something softer. I saw their understanding in some of those eyes, even approval. But I also saw doubt.

"This doesn't change who I am," I replied firmly. "I'm still your leader. My loyalty is to you, to this pack. But I won't abandon him. Not after all he's done.”

One of the older wolves stepped forward, breaking the silence. "Alpha," she said softly, the rise and fall of her words infusing warmth. "It's been so very long since we've seen you like this. If he makes you happy… maybe it's time for you to move on."

Those words gutted me, and the words would not come.

The pack was pretty cool with that decision, and we began to prepare, leaving for home. This weight in my chest just, for whatever reason, did not want to budge.

As I walked back to the healer's tent, my mind began to wander to times long since passed. I thought of how I had built this pack from nothing, gathering in rogues and outcasts to make a family of my own. I'd poured everything into leading them, into protecting them. But now, for the first time, I felt. Lost.

When I entered the tent, the sight of Lykon took my breath, as it always did. His features were sharp and striking, even in repose. The faint stubble on his jaw, the curve of his lips, the strong line of his nose-he was beautiful, in a way that was almost not fair.

My hand rose of its own accord to touch his cheek. It was warm, and the bond flared softly within me, like a fire from afar.

"You're so beautiful," I breathed, my voice little more than a whisper.

Appalled that the words had escaped me, I jerked my hand back as though it had been burned, the flush surging in my face, buried there behind my hands in horror.

What was I doing? How could I think such things?

Guilt clawed at me, sharp and relentless. I felt as though I were betraying my first mate, the man who loved me and fought by my side, who gave his life for this pack.

I let out a heavy sigh, my h

eart aching from it all.

“What am I doing?" I whispered the question stuck in the stillness of the room.