Chapter 28
Cillian
I stand at the mirror, adjusting the collar of my uniform, my fingers working through the familiar motions while my mind drifts elsewhere.
The pale stranger staring back at me looks better than he did a week ago—the shadows beneath my eyes have lightened, and my skin has lost that gray undertone of near-death.
For the first time since the doctor’s compound, I’ve managed to stay out of bed for more than an hour without feeling like my lungs are collapsing.
Progress, however incremental.
My fingers brush against the scar forming beneath my shirt, a raised line of puckered flesh that pulls uncomfortably when I move too quickly.
“You look better.”
I don’t startle at Logan’s voice from the doorway. I felt his approach through what remains of our bond—a subtle warming, like sunlight breaking through clouds. Once, that connection was as natural as breathing. Now it flickers like a candle in a draft, unreliable but persistent.
“Better than what?” I ask, turning to face him. “A corpse? The bar was admittedly low.”
Logan leans against the doorframe, golden eyes assessing me with the clinical precision I’ve come to expect.
He’s dressed like a courtier—crisp white shirt, tailored pants, polished boots.
Ever the prince, even in exile. The bruising around his eyes has faded to a sickly yellow, and his nose, while still swollen, looks less like he lost a fight with a brick wall.
“Better than yesterday,” he says, stepping into the room without waiting for an invitation. “Maya would have made a good medic.”
“Unlike the butcher who set your nose all those years ago?” I can’t help the small jab, a habit born from years of being the only person who could speak to him this way. “And reattached your ear.”
A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “Careful. I might start thinking you care.”
“Professional interest only,” I reply, turning back to the mirror to finish with my collar. “Your face is a tactical asset. We can’t afford to have it permanently rearranged.”
Logan moves to the window, looking out at the manicured gardens below. The summer palace sprawls around us, a gilded cage that’s both sanctuary and prison. We’re safe here, for now, but also trapped—dependent on the Queen Mother’s goodwill and resources, subject to her rules and surveillance.
“Have you seen Poe?” Logan asks, his tone deliberately casual in a way that immediately puts me on alert.
“Not since yesterday,” I answer truthfully. “Why?”
“He didn’t come back last night.” Logan’s reflection in the window shows a tightness around his eyes that belies his neutral tone. “His bed wasn’t slept in.”
I consider this information, turning it over in my mind like a puzzle piece that doesn’t quite fit. Poe disappearing isn’t unusual, but not telling Logan is new. A deviation from established patterns that feels significant.
“Maybe he slept in the guard house,” I suggest.
Logan’s jaw tightens, confirming my suspicion that this isn’t just about Poe’s whereabouts. “This isn’t the time for distractions. We need to be focused, unified.”
“Says the man who spent yesterday afternoon building block castles with a four-year-old,” I counter, unable to resist the opening.
“Four and three-quarters,” Logan corrects automatically, then catches himself with a flash of irritation. “That’s different. Elise is family. And Maya—“ He stops abruptly, as if realizing he’s revealed more than intended.
“Ah,” I say, understanding dawning. “So this is about Maya.”
“This is about the pack,” Logan snaps, turning from the window to face me directly. “About loyalty and priorities. About the fact that we’re preparing for war, and Poe is off doing gods know what without bothering to inform me.”
The frustration in his voice is genuine, but so is the uncertainty beneath it, a new development for Logan, who has always projected absolute confidence even when he felt none. I’ve never before seen him question himself, his methods, his right to command absolute loyalty.
“The pack isn’t what it used to be,” I observe, keeping my tone neutral despite the weight of the words. “We’re all adjusting to...new dynamics.”
Logan’s golden eyes narrow, catching the deliberate understatement. “Is that what we’re calling it now? New dynamics?”
“Would you prefer ‘the consequences of forcing a bond on an unwilling Omega’?” I ask, the words sharper than intended. “Or perhaps ‘the inevitable result of making unilateral decisions that affect us all’?”
The silence that follows is heavy, charged with years of unspoken truths and recent wounds still raw enough to bleed. Logan doesn’t flinch from my gaze, but I see the impact of my words in the slight tightening of his shoulders, the barely perceptible shift in his stance.
“Our pack has become a group of lone wolves,” he says finally, bitterness edging his voice. “Everyone making their own decisions, following their own priorities. This isn’t how it’s supposed to work.”
I finish with my collar, smoothing the fabric with deliberate care. “What did you expect?” I ask, my voice quiet but clear in the still room. “You split us down the middle with your decisions. You created these fractures yourself.”
Logan’s expression hardens, pride and temper flaring in those golden eyes. For a moment, I think he’ll lash out—assert his dominance, remind me of my place, fall back on the Alpha authority that has always been his default when challenged.
But he doesn’t. Instead, he exhales slowly, a deliberate release of tension that speaks of control I didn’t know he possessed.
“I did what I thought was necessary at the time,” he says, his voice carefully measured.
“And now?” I press, pushing against boundaries I once would have respected without question. “What’s necessary now, Logan? More secrets? More unilateral decisions? More forcing people into roles they didn’t choose?”
The question hangs between us, weighted with implications neither of us is ready to fully acknowledge. Logan studies me, his gaze searching for something—understanding, perhaps, or the unwavering loyalty I once offered without hesitation.
“I’m trying,” he says finally, the admission clearly costing him. “To be better. To listen. To consider what others want, not just what I think they need.”
The sincerity in his voice catches me off guard. This isn’t the Logan I’ve known for years—the commanding Alpha who expected obedience as his due. This is someone new, someone still forming, someone struggling to reconcile the leader he was trained to be with the man he wants to become.
“I know,” I acknowledge, softening my tone slightly. “But trying isn’t the same as succeeding. And some wounds don’t heal just because you’ve stopped making them worse.”
Logan flinches at that, a barely perceptible reaction that most would miss. But I’ve spent years studying him, learning to read the microexpressions that betray his thoughts when his words reveal nothing.
“Maya said something similar,” he admits, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. The casual intimacy of the gesture—Logan making himself at home in my space—feels both familiar and strange, a reminder of what we once were to each other. What we might still be, if circumstances were different.
“She’s perceptive,” I say, turning to face him fully. “And she’s had more practice than most at recognizing when someone’s actions don’t match their words.”
Logan’s expression darkens at the implied criticism. “The Enclave, you mean. Or the doctor.”
“Both,” I confirm. “Her entire life has been a lesson in how those with power use pretty words to justify ugly actions. You can’t blame her for being skeptical of your sudden change of heart.”
“It’s not sudden,” Logan argues, a flash of the old defensiveness surfacing. “And it’s not just about her. It’s about all of us. About what kind of Alpha I want to be. What kind of king.”
I study him, trying to gauge the sincerity behind the words. Logan has always been skilled at presenting the version of himself most likely to achieve his objectives. It’s what makes him such an effective politician, such a dangerous opponent.
And such a complicated friend.
“What kind of Alpha do you want to be?” I ask, genuinely curious about his answer.
Logan looks away, his gaze fixing on some middle distance as he considers the question. “One who leads through respect, not fear,” he says finally. “One who earns loyalty rather than demanding it. One who protects without controlling.”
Noble aspirations, especially for someone raised as he was—taught from birth that Alphas command, Omegas submit, and the natural order of things is as immutable as the rising sun. The fact that he’s questioning these fundamental beliefs at all is remarkable.
Whether he can actually change them is another matter entirely.
“And Maya?” I press, watching his reaction carefully. “What kind of Alpha do you want to be to her?”
His jaw tightens, emotion flickering across his features too quickly to identify.
“The same kind of Alpha I should have been to you.”
Logan leans forward, closing the distance between us with deliberate slowness, giving me time to pull away if I want to. His golden eyes hold mine, searching for permission or rejection, for some sign of what I’ll allow.
I should move back. Should reject this intimacy that feels far more dangerous than the sex we’ve already shared. But I remain frozen, caught in the gravity of his gaze as he draws closer.
“I’ve never been good at putting others before myself,” he whispers, his breath warm against my lips. “But I’m trying to learn.”
Then his mouth is on mine, gentle in a way I wouldn’t have thought him capable of. Not demanding or possessive, but questioning—a request rather than a claim.
I respond before I can overthink it, returning the kiss with a hesitance that quickly gives way to something warmer.
His hand cups the back of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair as the kiss deepens.
There’s a tenderness in his touch that makes my chest ache, a vulnerability I’ve never felt from Logan before.
It’s too much—this closeness, this connection that feels nothing like the physical release we’ve shared in the past. My heart hammers against my ribs, panic mingling with desire as I pull back, breaking the kiss abruptly.
Logan doesn’t chase me, doesn’t try to recapture my mouth with his. Instead, he studies my face with those perceptive golden eyes, reading the confusion and fear I can’t quite mask.
“Too much?” he asks quietly.
I nod, unable to find words for the turmoil inside me. Sex with Logan is one thing—a physical need, a biological imperative I can rationalize away. But this—this gentleness, this care—feels like something I can’t so easily dismiss.
“I understand,” he says, and I think he actually might. “It’s different, isn’t it? When it’s not just about bodies.”
“I didn’t expect—“ I start, then stop, unsure how to continue. Didn’t expect what? His tenderness? My response to it? The way kissing him felt more intimate than anything we’ve done before?
“Neither did I,” Logan admits, a rueful smile touching his lips. “For what it’s worth, it scares me too.”
That confession—so at odds with the confident Alpha I thought I knew—catches me off guard. “You? Scared?”
“Terrified,” he confirms, his voice dropping lower. “Of how much I want this. Of how much it would hurt to lose it.”
I should offer reassurance, should meet his vulnerability with my own. But the words stick in my throat, old fears and fresh doubts tangling into silence. Instead, I shift away slightly, putting physical distance between us to match the emotional walls I’m struggling to maintain.
“I should check on Maya,” I say, the excuse flimsy but necessary. “Make sure she’s settling in alright.”
Logan nods, accepting the deflection without comment. “Of course. I need to track down Poe.”
I rise from the bed, ignoring the stab of guilt at the carefully neutral expression that has replaced the openness in his eyes. This is for the best, I tell myself. We’re in the middle of a rebellion, balancing on the knife’s edge of survival. Now isn’t the time for... whatever this is becoming.
“Cillian,” Logan calls as I reach the door. I pause but don’t turn, afraid of what I might see in his face—or worse, what he might see in mine. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For trying,” he says simply. “Even when I don’t deserve it.”
I nod once, not trusting my voice, and slip out into the hallway. Only when the door closes behind me do I allow myself to lean against the wall, pulse racing as I try to make sense of what just happened.
Of what I feel.
Sex with Logan is easy to understand—physical need, primal connection, biological compatibility. But a kiss that makes my chest ache? Tenderness where I expected possession? These I have no framework for, no defenses against.
And that terrifies me far more than any Alpha’s rage ever could.