29. The Weight Of Goodbye
29
THE WEIGHT OF GOODBYE
~NYX~
“ T here’s no way I'm struggling into this non-concealing piece for no one to be here,” I complain with my hands on my hips.
The bedroom feels impossibly large tonight, shadows stretching across the plush carpet like grasping fingers.
Moonlight filters through gauzy curtains, casting everything in shades of silver and blue that only heighten the surreal quality of these final hours.
I stand in the doorway, uncertainty making my feet feel heavy as lead. The shadows in my mind hum with gentle melancholy, their song carrying notes of farewell rather than their usual warnings. They recognize the weight of this moment—the last night of freedom before sterile halls reclaim their prize.
Dante lies on the bed, back pressed on the mountain of pillows at the headboard. His hands are behind his head, flexing his arms in their tempting position while he lies beneath a single blanket that surely covers his nakedness. His usual confident smirk is firmly in place though it doesn't quite reach his eyes.
The heaviness of defeat rings through the house this evening, as palpable as the silence that surrounded our final meal together. Each bite tasted like ash, conversation dying beneath the weight of what tomorrow brings.
"Come here, little Goddess," he calls softly, arms opening in invitation.
The gentleness in his voice breaks something inside me. Tears spring unbidden to my eyes, blurring my vision as I cross the room on trembling legs. The plush carpet feels impossibly soft beneath my feet—such stark contrast to the cold concrete floors that await me.
I crawl onto the bed, the mattress dipping beneath my weight. Dante's arms wrap around me immediately, pulling me against his chest with careful tenderness that only makes the tears fall faster.
"Don't cry, little Goddess," he whispers, his lips brushing my temple. "A star of the night shouldn't be shedding tears. You're always supposed to shine, no matter the circumstance."
A sob tears from my throat, raw and painful.
"I hate this," I manage between gasping breaths. "I hate that I barely got to know any of you. That everything's being stripped away before it could truly begin."
The shadows weave through my consciousness with mournful harmony, their song carrying notes of profound loss. They've returned in full force, preparing for the battles ahead.
Battles we both suspect might be our last.
"I'm so sorry," I whisper, fingers clutching at his shirt. "I never meant to mark Atlas. Never wanted to leave any of you with scars like Kieran carried. I didn't mean to set up more pain and heartbreak."
"Shhh," Dante soothes, his hand stroking my back in gentle circles. "That mark is different. It's proof of connection freely given, not manipulation or betrayal. Atlas wears it with pride."
Fresh tears spill at his words.
"But I'm still leaving. Still breaking whatever we started to build."
"No." The word emerges fierce and certain. "You're protecting our pack the only way available. Sacrificing your freedom to save Vale's life. That's not betrayal…that's loyalty beyond measure."
His fingers thread through my hair, the touch impossibly gentle despite the steel in his voice as he continues.
"And we're going to come back for you. We're going to fight every fucker who tries to stop us from saving you. This isn't the end, you hear me? It's just the beginning, and they're going to see the full extent of our wrath when we take back what's ours to claim."
The conviction in his tone steals my breath.
I want to argue, to point out the impossibility of fighting an organization as vast and powerful as Ravenscroft. But something in me recognizes the truth in his words—the absolute certainty that transcends mere promise.
These alphas don't make idle threats or empty declarations. When they say they'll come for me, they mean it with every fiber of their being.
"I'm scared," I admit in a barely audible whisper. "Not of returning...but of hope. Of believing in rescue only to have that hope stripped away day by day in those sterile halls."
Dante's arms tighten fractionally.
"Then let us carry that hope for you. Let us shoulder the weight while you focus on survival. We'll move heaven and earth to reach you—just hold on until we do."
"I never thought I'd find this," I whisper, voice thick with emotion. "Never imagined alphas could be like you all are. That pack bonds could feel like...like coming home rather than chains to be feared."
"You did find us though," Dante murmurs. "Found your way through hell itself to reach us. And we're not letting you go without one hell of a fight."
His certainty wraps around me like armor, offering protection against darker thoughts that threaten to overwhelm me. The shadows weave through his words with harmonic approval, their song carrying notes of destiny fulfilled rather than thwarted.
"You know," Dante murmurs against my hair, his voice carrying forced lightness, "I demand a rematch when you return. Need to see if you can still toss me across the room like that."
A watery laugh escapes between sobs. "Only if we get more cute stuffies to cushion your fall."
"Deal." His chest rumbles with gentle amusement. "I'll get you a whole room full. Stack them floor to ceiling until you can barely walk through the door. Create the ultimate landing zone for whenever you feel like throwing any of us around."
His hand continues its soothing path along my spine as he presses a gentle kiss to my temple. The gesture carries such tenderness it only makes fresh tears spill.
"You know what's funny?" he whispers after a moment of quiet. "I took so long to really open up to you. Kept thinking you'd be gone before I got the chance – that you'd find another group of alphas who had their shit together better than we do."
The admission catches me off guard, making me lift my head to meet his gaze. "Why would you think that?"
He's quiet for a long moment, fingers absent-mindedly playing with strands of my hair as he gathers thoughts.
"When I lost my hearing," he begins slowly, "it messed with my head in ways I didn't expect. The physical adjustment was one thing – learning to read lips, relying more on other senses, adapting to the implant's limitations. But the mental toll?" He shakes his head slightly. "That hit harder."
I stay quiet, giving him space to continue at his own pace. The shadows weave through the moment with gentle curiosity, their song carrying notes of understanding rather than their usual caution.
"I developed all this anxiety about being... less than. About not being enough." His voice drops lower, weighted with old pain. "Started thinking no omega would want an alpha who couldn't hear them properly. Who might miss important cues or fail to respond fast enough in emergencies."
My heart clenches at the vulnerability in his tone. "Dante..."
"It seems ridiculous now," he continues with slight self-deprecation. "All that worry about being perfect for some hypothetical omega, when real connection isn't about perfection at all."
His thumb brushes fresh tears from my cheek as he adds:
"You showed us that. Showed me that. Your strength isn't in spite of what you've endured…it's because of it. Every scar and traumatic moment of survival has shaped you into a blessing for us and a threat to them."
The shadows hum with approval at his words, their harmony carrying notes of profound truth.
"Look at what you're doing right now," he continues, voice thick with emotion. "Sacrificing your freedom to save Vale. That's not weakness or submission – that's strength beyond measure. The kind of loyalty that can't be forced or programmed."
His arms tighten fractionally around me, as if physical contact might somehow prevent tomorrow from arriving.
"We're so blessed to have you in our lives," he whispers. "To witness your courage, your resilience, your capacity for care despite everything you've endured. Which is exactly why you can't lose hope in us. We won't let you down. Not like this. Not ever."
Fresh tears spill at his words, but these carry a different weight than earlier sorrow. These speak of connection that transcends mere designation dynamics – of understanding found in shared vulnerability and mutual support.
His forehead rests against mine as emotion threatens to choke his words.
"So don't you dare think for one second that we're letting you go without the fight of our lives. Don't let them convince you that you're alone, forgotten, or unworthy of rescue."
The conviction in his voice steals my breath completely.
"Because you've carved a place in this pack that no one else could ever fill. You've awakened parts of us we thought were permanently lost to trauma and time. That kind of connection? It doesn't just disappear because some asshole in an expensive suit thinks he can force it."
"I'll remember," I whisper, the words emerging thick with tears. "I'll hold onto every moment, every shared laugh, every quiet understanding like a precious treasure."
"Good girl," he murmurs, the praise sending warmth through my chest despite the circumstances. "And we'll remember too. Every smile lights up the whole room. Every challenge that pushes us to be better. Every moment of trust you've shown despite having every reason not to."
His fingers comb gently through my hair as he adds:
"We'll remember that you chose us. That you saw past our damage and designation to who we really are. That you offered connection based on understanding rather than mere biology or social expectation."
Fresh tears spill, but these carry notes of gratitude rather than grief. These speak of bonds formed through genuine care rather than clinical necessity or designation dynamics.
"Rest now," he urges softly, tucking my head beneath his chin. "Tomorrow comes soon enough. Tonight just let me hold you, let me memorize everything about how you feel in my arms."
I wish sleeping was that simple.