Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Anne
I’m in the kitchen making coffee, moving on autopilot after another sleepless night, when there’s a knock on the apartment door.
Kain is still on the couch, curled on his side under the blanket. He hasn’t moved since I got up an hour ago.
I open the door to find the Alpha standing there, holding a small medical case.
“Dairus,” I say, surprised.
“Anne.” He looks past me into the living room. “Is he alright?”
“I think so. Come in.”
Darius enters, and I close the door behind him. The sound makes Kain stir on the couch. He sits up slowly, wincing, and I notice how pale he looks. How the shadows under his eyes have deepened overnight.
“Darius.” Kain’s voice is rough, and I notice the way his shoulders stiffen. “What are you doing here?”
“Brought you something.” Darius sets the case on the coffee table and opens it, revealing several syringes filled with clear liquid. “Healers from various packs have been working on this for years. It’s a medical breakthrough; it supercharges a wolf’s healing abilities and completely numbs pain.”
I move closer, curious.
“We think it may counteract the effects of the poison and give you some more time,” Darius continues. “Can’t guarantee it, but it’s worth trying. It might have side effects of its own, though.”
Kain stares at the syringes warily. “What kind of side effects?”
“They haven’t figured them out yet.” Darius pulls out one of the syringes. “But considering you were strong enough to tear reinforced, silver chains out of the wall in the dungeon while you were half-dead from poison, I think you can handle it.”
My wolf bristles at the casual mention of Kain being chained up. I know logically that it was necessary—he was a threat, a captured operative sent to harm Violet—but hearing it stated so matter-of-factly makes protectiveness flare in my chest.
Kain’s jaw tightens, and his eyes flash gold. “That was from desperation at the thought of my mate being hurt.”
I go still. What is he talking about? When was I hurt?
The tension in the room is thick enough to cut. But before I can say anything, Darius holds up the syringe. “Are you going to take this or not?”
Kain extends his arm silently.
Darius swabs the inside of his elbow with an alcohol wipe, then administers the injection. Kain doesn’t flinch, just watches the clear liquid disappear into his vein.
“You’ll need another dose every eight hours,” Darius says, closing the case with the remaining syringes still inside. “I’ll show Anne how to administer them.”
He stands and heads toward the kitchen. I follow, my bare feet silent on the hardwood floor.
Darius opens my refrigerator and places the case on the top shelf, positioning it carefully next to the milk.
“Like I said, every eight hours,” he repeats, turning to face me. “The syringes are pre-measured. Just swab the injection site with alcohol first, find a vein in his arm, and push the plunger slowly. It’s simple.”
I nod, but something else is nagging me. The words come out before I can stop them. “You used me against him?”
Darius’s expression doesn’t change. “Yes.”
“How?” I demand. “What did you do?”
Darius shrugs. “I told him you were being interrogated because we knew you were his accomplice.” He doesn’t sound like he feels guilty at all. “I had guards play recordings of screams at intervals for a couple of days and let him think it was you, to really sell it.”
“What?” The blood drains from my face. “You let him think you were torturing me?”
“I did.”
“How could you—” I stop, trying to control the anger rising in my chest. “You used a mate bond to your advantage?”
“And it worked.” Darius crosses his arms. “He broke, didn’t he?”
“That doesn’t make it okay!”
“Doesn’t it?” Darius’s voice is calm, infuriatingly reasonable. “Tell me, Anne. What would have been the better option? Torturing him physically, beyond the silver chains? Beating him until he talked? Because those were my choices.”
I open my mouth to argue, but the words die in my throat. He’s right. I hate that he’s right.
“He’s a trained operative,” Darius continues. “Conditioned to withstand physical torture. I needed leverage, and you were it. I’m not proud of it, but I’m not apologizing for it, either.”
“He’s my mate,” I say quietly.
“And Violet is mine.” Darius’s eyes flash gold. “He was a threat to her, so yes, I used the best tool I had to break him. You.”
Darius takes a step, then pauses.
“Every eight hours,” he repeats. “We don’t know how long the effects last, and we can’t risk the poison regaining ground. So, don’t miss a dose.”
“I won’t.”
He leaves, and I’m alone with my thoughts and my churning stomach and the knowledge that Kain broke because of me. He only gave up information when he believed I was suffering.
I pour myself another cup of coffee and head to the living room. Kain has already collapsed back onto the couch, his eyes closed, his breathing steady.
I grab a book from the side table and curl up in the armchair next to him, trying to focus on the words on the page.
But my mind keeps drifting back to what Darius said: that Kain ripped his chains out of the wall. And that eventually, Kain gave in—not for himself, but for me, thinking I was being tortured. Doesn’t that mean something? Doesn’t that mean he really does love me?
I shake my head, forcing the thought away. It doesn’t matter. Love doesn’t erase betrayal. Love doesn’t make the lies okay.
But the thought persists, eating at me as I turn pages without reading them.
He broke his chains when he thought I was in danger. He was dying, yet his instinct was to try to fight to protect me.
Everything he does comes back to me somehow. Even the terrible things.
I’m still thinking about it when my eyes start to drift closed, the book slipping from my fingers to rest on my lap.
I don’t know when I fall asleep, but a loud crash jolts me awake.
I’m on my feet instantly, my book hitting the floor. The light in the living room is dim; I must have been asleep for a few hours, based on the angle of the sunlight through the window.
“Kain?”
I hear a groan from the other side of the couch. I rush around it and find him on the floor, his hands gripping his head.
“What happened?” I drop to my knees beside him. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” His voice is strained, and sweat has soaked through his shirt. When I touch his arm, his skin is fever hot.
“You’re not fine! You’re—”
“My vision went black,” he admits grudgingly. “I was heading to the bathroom and lost my balance.”
“Let me help you—”
“No.” He pushes my hand away, struggling to get his feet under him. “I’m alright. You can…go back to what you were doing.”
“Kain, you can barely stand!”
He finally makes it upright, one hand braced against the wall for support. His jaw is clenched, and I can see the effort it is taking him to stay on his feet.
“I’m just going to the bathroom,” he says through gritted teeth. “Please, Anne. Let me do this myself.”
Every instinct is screaming at me to help him, to support his weight, to do something. But the stubborn set of his shoulders tells me he won’t accept it.
“Fine,” I say reluctantly. “But I’m staying right here until you come back out.”
He doesn’t argue, just makes his slow, unsteady way to the bathroom. The door closes behind him, and I lean against the wall, listening.
The sound of water running. A thump as if he has braced himself against the sink. Heavy breathing.
I count to sixty before the door opens again. He looks marginally better—he has splashed water on his face, at least—but the fever flush is still high on his cheeks.
“See?” He doesn’t quite meet my eyes. “Fine.”
He’s not fine, but I let it go. For now.
“I’m making dinner,” I say instead of arguing. “Soup. You should eat something.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“I don’t care. You need to eat.”
I don’t wait for his response. I head directly to the kitchen and start pulling out ingredients for chicken soup. Simple, easy to digest, hard to refuse.
Twenty minutes later, I set two bowls on the coffee table. Kain is back on the couch, looking even worse than before, if that’s possible. But he sits up when I hand him a spoon.
“Thanks,” he mutters.
We eat in silence. I watch him out of the corner of my eye, noting how his hand trembles slightly as he lifts the spoon. How he’s forcing down each mouthful.
He’s halfway through the bowl when he suddenly goes still. “Anne…”
He doesn’t finish the sentence. The spoon clatters to the floor as he lurches forward, one hand clamped over his mouth.
I grab the bowl just in time as he vomits all over the coffee table. But what comes up isn’t soup.
It’s blood. Black, thick, and wrong.
“Oh my god!” I set the bowl aside, moving toward him. “Kain—”
“I’m okay.” But his entire body is shaking. “These are probably the…side effects Darius mentioned.”
“Let me help—”
“No.” He stands abruptly, swaying slightly. “I’m fine.”
Again, he’s not fine. His face is flushed, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. As I watch, he stumbles toward the bathroom.
I follow, ignoring his protests.
He makes it to the toilet just in time, dropping to his knees and vomiting violently. Another bout of black blood.
My heart is pounding in my chest, my own skin clammy from terror. I kneel beside him, placing my hand on his back.
“Don’t.” He pushes me away weakly. “Don’t touch me.”
“Kain, you need—”
He coughs, and more of that black liquid pours out. I hope it’s the poison. It has to be the poison being forced out of his system by the medicine, right?
“Please,” I say desperately. “Let me help you.”
“No.” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, still refusing to look at me. “Just…go away, Anne.”
The words sting, but I refuse to move. I can’t.
He heaves again, but nothing comes up this time. Just dry, clearly painful retching that makes his whole body convulse.
I grab a washcloth from the cabinet, run it under cold water, and press it to the back of his neck.
“I said, don’t!” He jerks away from me and nearly falls over. “Please. Just leave me alone.”
“Why?” My voice breaks. “Why won’t you let me help you?”
“Because—” He stops, breathing hard. His hands are white where they grip the edge of the toilet.
Another wave hits him. More black liquid. Less this time but still horrifying to watch.
I reach for him again, and this time he doesn’t have the strength to push me away. I support his weight, feeling how hot his skin is even through his shirt.
“You’re burning up,” I say.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine! You’re clearly struggling, and you won’t even let me—”
“I don’t want you to watch me die!” The words explode out of him, raw and desperate. He finally looks at me, and his eyes are wet. “I don’t want you to lose me a second time, Anne. I don’t want you to have to go through that again.”
The confession hangs between us, devastating in its honesty.
“Once was enough,” he continues, his voice dry.
“You think pushing me away protects me?” My voice shakes. “You think knowing you’re suffering alone is somehow better?”
“Yes.” The word is simple. Final. “It’s the only choice I have left that might save you from more pain.”
“That’s not your choice to make!”
“Yes it is.” He turns away from me, but he’s shaking too hard to hold himself upright. “You’re the most important thing to me, Anne. I can’t bear to see you in pain because of me.”
I stare at him, this stubborn, broken man who is still trying to protect me even as he’s dying. And it feels like my chest cracks open.
“You’re right; I already lost you once,” I say quietly. “That’s why I can’t leave you alone.”
“Anne—”
“No.” I cut him off. “You don’t get to decide this. You don’t get to push me away because you think it’s noble or protective or whatever you’ve convinced yourself this is.”
He slumps against the toilet, too exhausted to argue anymore.
“I’m here,” I say firmly. “Whether you like it or not. Whether you think you deserve it or not. I’m here.”
He looks at me for a long moment, a raw and vulnerable quality in his expression.
“Fine,” he whispers finally.
I grab the cool washcloth and press it to his forehead. His hand comes up to cover mine, holding it there.
“Thank you,” he breathes.
I don’t respond. But I stay there, monitoring his fever, watching for any sign that the medicine is working or that the poison is winning.
I look at my watch. Seven more hours until the next dose.
Seven hours that suddenly feel like an eternity.