Chapter 45
Aiden
Back pressed against the door, I breathe, but each inhale comes out uneven. I try to slow them, but even with my eyes shut, they stay short and unsteady. Then I hear it—Julian’s soft cries spilling from inside. Each one cuts through me like a blade, slow and poisoned.
I should go back in. Hold him. Tell him it’s fine, that somehow we’ll make it work, that I’ll find a way to make us right again. But we’re not fine, and I don’t know how we could ever be like we were.
I push off from the door and force my legs to move, heading for the edge of the field I’d been clearing before Julian came running outside, a mess of blonde hair and scared, bright blue eyes.
I didn’t expect him to find me.
I should’ve known he would. Julian’s never been the type to give up on anything he cares about. I should’ve known it’d be the same with us, with our bond. But I still wasn’t ready for it.
The shock of finding him kneeling on the borders of the property had left me paralysed. I’d watched him sway, looking like he’d fall apart right there, and I had no choice but to catch him.
At that point, there was no fighting my instincts. My mate was sick, fading, and he needed me. Jewels needed me.
I picked him up, brought him to the house, and cleaned him up before I even thought about it.
While I wiped down his damp body, I tried not to panic when I realised just how bad it was.
He was skin and bones. He lost all his muscle, weight, colour.
His cheeks were hollow, and heavy bags sagged under his puffy eyes.
I barely recognised him.
I couldn’t feel Alex, Max says nervously with a low whine that reverberates through us both.
I jolt. He’s been less than vocal since we left. He was hurt too, but he didn’t want to leave, not when we had a mate to consider now. But he knew why I had to.
That was before I saw him, he growls. He doesn’t look good, Aiden … and I can’t feel Alex.
Don’t worry. I bet he’s fine, I say trying to calm him, but he fades with a curse before I can say anymore.
I sigh as I pick up my axe and head back to the tree I was cutting down.
Sanctuary is the last word I ever thought I’d use to describe this place, but that’s what it is. My sanctuary.
The first time I “lost it,” I didn’t know what the hell to do.
I was on edge, I was scared of everything, and every bit of terror twisted itself into violence.
My parents didn’t know what was wrong with me, let alone how to deal with me.
They wanted to be there for me, kind of, but when I attacked every person who inched near me for an entire month, they started backing away too.
When it only got worse, I’d done the only thing I thought I could at the time. I ran.
I didn’t want to burden my parents because, back then, I was still na?ve enough to think their love for me hadn’t changed, but it had. They got their son back, but he came with red eyes and uncontrollable rage.
I somehow found my way straight back to the place where my dad first rescued me and put my torment to an end.
He’d killed them all, left behind a bloody mess, and that was exactly what I’d stumbled back on to.
Ruins of an old mill with dried blood pooled in the corners and splattered across the walls.
It’d been like a match to fuel. The memories came crashing back, suffocating me with all the anger and fear that had been waiting to be released since the day they first took me. And for once, I let it out. I’d thrown the first punch, broke something, and that was all it took.
I started breaking everything—anything I could reach—and by the end, nothing was left but debris and cracked foundations.
Destroying the place that had destroyed me was a cure of sorts.
It didn’t erase the rage, but it dulled it.
So I went home, locked the rest of it away behind my stone walls, and for the first time in months, I felt peace.
That’s how it started. Whenever something would push me back to my past, I would come back and take my anger out on what remained.
It worked—until there was nothing left to break.
That’s when I started building, and somehow, that worked too.
It became routine—I’d stay secluded, work through my issues, then go back home.
But this time was different. Worse—because there was Julian.
I thought I could outwork it. Keep busy and it would simmer down, but no matter what I did, nothing faded. The pain just dug deeper and promised to keep going until I found him again.
The moment I saw him, it finally stopped.
After so long apart, seeing him had cleared that darkness in an instant. I knew then that he was the only way I’d get better this time.
It was just my luck that my cure was the reason I was here in the first place.
Grabbing my axe from the floor, I breathe deep before I let it fall.
The moment I open the door, Julian lifts his head from between his bent knees. His reddened eyes meet mine and I catch his mournful expression before I look away.
At least he isn’t crying anymore. Seeing Julian in tears had a way of weakening my defences until it was like they’d never been there at all.
Shutting the door, I lock the darkness of the night outside and cage us in together. His gaze follows every move I make, sharp and unrelenting, while silence hangs between us.
I need a break from it already. I quickly grab some clothes and shut the bathroom door behind me.
The door’s latch barely clicks into place before agony screeches through my body. My chest seizes, my heart clamped in a vice that makes Max howl miserably. The world sways as I try to think past the pain that is horribly familiar—too familiar.
I wrench the door open with trembling hands and sag as relief floods me, just like the very first day we found out we were mates and realised we couldn’t stand even a wall between us.
Julian clings to the bed frame, panting. He shakes, slowly sinking back down with a sigh of relief. I take a single step forward. I want to touch him, to comfort him, but there’s an ocean between us and I don’t know how to cross it.
“Aiden,” he whispers. I’m already turning away.
I slip back into the bathroom, leaving the door slightly ajar like we used to, and somehow that hurts more than anything else.
I fight the urge to go to him, undressing instead before stepping under the shower’s spray. I let out an exhausted breath as the steaming hot water slides down my back, relaxing my shoulders in whatever small way it can.
We can’t be apart, again. How far we’d come just to fall …
With our bond in the state it is, it only makes sense that we’re slipping back to square one, but that doesn’t make it any less devastating.
I scrub myself clean, using more force than usual as if that might help, but it doesn’t.
It just leaves me with too-raw skin that chafes as I pull my clothes on.
Julian’s in the same place I left him when I step out.
His eyes find me immediately. I glance over him, linger on his jutting bones, before I head towards the small kitchen.
Seeing him so weak is its own form of torture. Worse when I know it’s my fault.
Things went to shit and I ran. I left him alone, and look what he’d become.
I shouldn’t have gone—shouldn’t have stayed away for so long. I wouldn’t have if I’d known it would pull him apart like this, but I was only thinking of myself, and now Julian is …
I make him another sandwich. Two, actually. It’s all I can make with what’s here, but it’ll do.
He takes it without a word when I hand it to him, chewing it slowly before gulping down the water I hold out for him. I watch to make sure he finishes everything while he stares at the floor blankly, then turn to dump the plate in the sink.
Then, there’s only silence.
Never in my life have I been in a room with Julian and had it be quiet. Even when we hated each other, we had too many jabs to get in to sit in tense silence. But we stew in it now. And after we mated, it’d only been pleasure and open comfort.
This is new—different. I hate it.
Should we try talking? Maybe, but we tried that earlier, and it didn’t end well. Besides, it’s late, I’m tired, always fucking tired these days, and Julian needs the rest.
I glance towards the only bed and freeze when I see Julian curled up there. It’d never stopped me before but now, staring at the space beside him, I hesitate.
Julian and I had never slept apart. Not until I left, and I don’t even know if that counts since I’ve barely slept with my night terrors keeping me company.
The only time I got any was when my body succumbed to exhaustion, and even then, it wasn’t rest. Now he’s here, and I want nothing more than to have him in my arms again. But I can’t.
Crossing the room, I stop at the couch where I make my makeshift bed. I turn off the light and lie down in the unwelcoming space.
“You can sleep here,” he whispers, the hope as clear as the fear in his voice, and it breaks something in me. We fought a lot over the months—sometimes for days—but every night we still slept together. Always.
“I’m fine,” I mumble, feeling my body tighten everywhere as the lie scrapes out of me. I dig my nails into my skin to smother the ache in my chest with a different kind of pain.
“Please,” he breathes, so softly I almost miss it—but I can hear his heart hammering. It sounds just like mine.
“Good night, Julian.” I force myself to say. Then I lie still and pretend I don’t hear the quiet sobs that follow.
I blink my eyes open. Even that small movement taking effort with how heavy my exhausted mind is as it slowly wakes.
Sunlight slinks through from above, warming my skin—and I realise that I slept through the night. Which doesn’t make sense ’cause I never do. Not unless—
Skin shifts against mine, and I freeze before I risk glancing down.