Chapter 10 Elias
Elias
Elias doesn’t remember the ride.
Gideon must have put him in his vehicle, fastened his seatbelt, parked in the lot—maybe even guided him into the near-empty waiting room.
At some point, a nurse asks him the usual questions about Isaac. He answers automatically—date of birth, general health, no substances. Isaac never touched the stuff. Claimed he was high on life.
Such a doofus.
The words feel stuck in his throat, garbled behind the roaring thought that Isaac is behind those doors, and he’s not in there with him.
He’s brought back to the present with a question that feels like a bucket of cold water.
“Mr. Durand, would you like me to call your Pack Alpha?” she asks gently.
Elias opens his mouth to say no—because the last thing he wants is O’Daire here, knowing this—but he realizes O’Daire isn’t their Pack Alpha, and that’s why they’re here in the first place.
Thankfully, Gideon has already reached the same conclusion. “For fuck’s sake. Are we done here?” He doesn’t wait for her to answer before helping Elias to his feet and setting them into motion.
“I can’t understand how Finn stands this bureaucracy shit—” Gideon mutters, hitting the red button to open the door to the pit area.
It smells like antiseptic and fear.
He can hear Coop’s fingers tap quietly at his laptop and beside him, Lorna’s gloves rustling against the fabric on the gurney that still smells faintly sterile.
Elias isn’t paying any attention to them. Instead, his eyes are drawn to the medical bay where a doctor in scrubs is giving orders to two nurses. There are three fresh bags on the IV stand, and his mate is buried under tubes and wires while they attach him to monitors.
The world presses in. His stomach flips like it’s looking for a way out, and his legs feel too weak to hold him up.
That’s not Isaac. Not like this. His Isaac is loud. Unapologetic. Sticky with jam at 3 AM. Bright-eyed, barefoot, and singing off-key. The chaos and color of their life. And now he’s pale under hospital lights, jaw slack, hand motionless against the sheets.
There’s a terrible wrongness to it.
Elias can’t help the whine that slips out on a flood of terrified tar-black tea and sour lemon.
“Finn is the best of the best,” Gideon murmurs, unable to keep the pride out of his voice. “Isaac is in good hands.”
The words don’t ease the burning sense of fear, making Elias’s heart pound, adding to the feeling of dizziness. He feels like a rope burned down to the last thread.
What if he frays and Isaac unravels, too?
Thoughts of life without Isaac flash through his brain like a horror flick, causing the world to tilt on its axis, and Elias goes with it.
Gideon curses and grabs him before his knees buckle, an arm strong around his waist. “Can I get some fucking help over here?”
Elias tries to blink away the dark spots crowding his vision, his desperate, pleading whisper echoing in his ears. “Isaac.”
It’s the last thing he hears before he wakes up on his own gurney that’s pushed up against Isaac’s. Elias’s hand has found its way to Isaac’s across the tiny distance, fingers wrapped around his wrist as his mate’s pulse flutters under Elias’s fingertips.
It’s not like the movies. There’s no moment of blissful confusion, no gentle return to awareness.
The moment Elias’s eyes open, he remembers that despite the reassurances, Isaac still lies beside him, unconscious.
“Elias?” a voice asks from the other side of a blue curtain. “It’s Finn Merritt. May I come in?”
For a moment, Elias considers not answering—pretending for another few minutes that he doesn’t have to hear what the doctor has to say.
The curtain slides open before Elias can decide, revealing the doctor from earlier.
They’re the same age, Elias thinks, except the doctor moves with a quiet authority Elias could never hope to achieve, no matter his age.
Now that he’s not on his way to being unconscious, Elias recognizes the doctor instantly: Gideon’s mate, the sharp one with a kind smile and a quick tongue. He’d been a regular at Quest for back office lunches, always bringing quiet confidence that worked to settle his quixotic mate.
“Sorry,” Finn says, gesturing to the monitor still blinking behind Elias. “You’re lit up like a Christmas tree. Figured you were awake.” He offers a wry smile—gentle, but not condescending. “You’ve been out for several hours. I wanted to check how you’re feeling.”
“Like shit,” Elias says, the words like sandpaper in his throat.
Finn gives a slow nod, as if that’s the only answer he expected.
“Understandably. Any more dizziness? Nausea? Pain?”
Elias runs a mental inventory, trying not to glance at Isaac—because looking means feeling, and feeling means falling apart.
“Headache and nausea mostly,” he admits. “And…this weight in my chest that won’t let up.”
Finn’s expression sharpens with concern, but he doesn’t crowd him.
“No dizziness?”
“No. And sorry about earlier.”
“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Finn says. “You were in exactly the right place when it hit.”
He pulls up the nearest chair and sits, exhaling like someone who’s about to walk into a fire on purpose. The smile is gone. “I won’t sugarcoat this, Elias. Gideon said you prefer straight facts.”
Elias wants to scoff and roll his eyes. No, Gideon prefers straight facts. Elias has always preferred a gentler edge to hard truths.
He braces himself and gives a single dip of his chin anyway.
“You and your mate have Rejected Bond Syndrome.”
“Gideon said that at Quest. What does that mean?”
“Without throwing too much medical jargon at you,” Finn begins, “it happens when a mate bond forms—usually through scent or physical contact—but one member of the bond rejects it.”
“A bond can form just like that?” Elias asks, incredulous.
“Well, it’s more complicated than that. There are many biological factors in play. But it’s about intense attraction and compatibility.”
“Attraction? Compatibility? He’s like this because they’re compatible?” Elias knows he sounds disbelieving. “Lots of people are attracted to each other. They don’t form an instant bond.”
“No, you’re right about that,” Finn agrees. “But in my professional opinion, what you’re experiencing isn’t just strong compatibility. It’s a fated bond. That’s why you’re both reacting the way you are.”
“Fated?” Elias repeats, aiming for skepticism, but it slips out like a prayer.
He remembers the exact moment he’d set eyes on Isaac.
There’d been attraction in spades, for sure—but also a level of attachment like nothing he’d ever experienced.
Isaac had gone from frightened to relieved, recognizing Elias immediately as someone he could trust. They’d moved everything from Elias’s apartment into Isaac’s a week later.
It felt then—and still does—like they were meant to be together forever. Izzy and Eli.
“Yes,” Finn replies, softer now. “I think you already know what that means? If a fated mate bond goes to plan without feelings of rejection, there is still some urgency. The desire for proximity, to settle the bond as soon as possible. Mental as much as physical distance can feel like you’re missing something, but it’s tolerable. ”
Finn sounds like he knows from experience, and any other time, Elias might have been brave enough to ask him why.
“A rejected fated bond can cause a long list of symptoms—headaches, nausea, vertigo, and especially emotional dysregulation.”
“Why is Isaac like this? Why is it worse for him than for me?” Elias squeezes Isaac’s limp hand, willing him to squeeze back.
Was Isaac’s bond with O’Daire extra special? Were the two of them better suited than Elias and O’Daire? Why wasn’t Elias unconscious, too?
“I believe it is because Isaac is an omega,” Finn says gently. “I’m sure you know how exceptional they are. How intensely they move through life. They’re just more.”
Elias swallows hard. He’s always believed Isaac was exceptional because he was Isaac. Smart and soft. Chaotic and gentle. The idea that biology might explain even a piece of him feels almost like an insult.
“He’s not exceptional because he’s an omega,” Elias bites out. “He just is.”
“Agreed,” Finn says, tilting his head in a gesture that reminds Elias of Gideon. “But in this case, biology matters. The same bond that overwhelmed you hit him harder, deeper. His reaction isn’t just emotional—it’s neurological.”
Elias goes still.
“He’ll be sicker longer,” Finn continues. “With a broader range of complications. Where you had a headache, his brain showed inflammation. Where you were nauseous, his body purged itself entirely. Where you felt dizzy, he seized.”
“But it’s temporary, right? You’re treating him. He’ll get better. I already feel bet—” He cuts himself off. Even he doesn’t believe that lie.
Finn leans forward, elbows braced on his knees. “We’re treating his symptoms. Medically, we’re doing everything we can.”
“There’s a ‘but’ coming.”
Finn hesitates, finally showing uncertainty.
“There is. Our research shows that some symptoms may never fully resolve. Weres—especially omegas—who experience a rejected bond often live with the consequences for life.”
Elias’s chest tightens.
“For life?”
“Yes.” Finn meets his eyes. “Where you might feel like something is missing, omegas experience cognitive decline. Mood dysregulation. Depression. Anxiety. Chronic pain. Infertility. In severe cases—suicidal ideation.” He lists them like diagnoses, but to Elias, they sound like a life sentence.
“Without a fully formed bond, he’ll suffer with all of that for the rest of his life?” Elias whispers.
“There is a lot we can do for him. Medication, hormone treatment, and counseling. Even electroconvulsive therapy has been effective in improving quality of life.”
“He won’t be the same,” Elias finally gets out past the lump in his throat.
“No.” Finn doesn’t pull his punches with platitudes or reassurances.