Cilian stared at Ren for a moment, then a slow, crooked smile spread across his face. He didn’t let go. Instead, he pulled Ren closer until Ren was forced to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Don’t go far," Cilian murmured, his eyelids drooping as the exhaustion finally took over. "The Mordecais... They’ll try to take you from me."

Ren couldn’t exactly understand where Cilian’s obsession and protectiveness were coming from, and he certainly couldn’t get used to it, so he tried to push Cilian’s buttons a bit.

"Then let them try," Ren hissed, leaning in close. "Maybe they’ll be more merciful than you."

Cilian let out a soft, airy laugh that ended in a wince. "You don’t mean that. Vampires don’t want your heart, Ren. They want your blood."

Ren rolled his eyes aside, knowing that was the basic knowledge of vampires anyway.

"And this particular selfish set of ’em don’t want to settle for your blood and plan to tear you apart to find a ledger that may not even exist." He pulled Ren’s hand to his chest, right over his heart.

Through the bandages and the ruined shirt, Ren could feel the frantic, uneven thudding of Cilian’s pulse. It was the heart of a monster, but it was beating for him.

"I don’t want any of that, Ren. So don’t be like this."

Ren looked at the expression on Cilian’s face and thought comically, It’s a monster pointing out another monster.

He didn’t know which one of them was worse. The Alpha who destroyed his family and massacred his family before his eyes, or the blood-sucking vampires that planned to suck out not just his blood but every single piece of knowledge flowing through his head.

At the end of the day, no side was good, and they were all dangerous.

He decided to stick to the side he was more familiar with. After all, they say, Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t.

"Stay," Cilian said, his voice losing its singing quality and becoming a raw, low rasp mixed with pain. "Just for now. While I sleep. If you leave... I’ll definitely know."

Ren looked at his hand on Cilian’s chest. He looked at the man who had turned his life into a tragedy just because...

He stayed, not because he wanted to, but because the mansion suddenly felt like the only place where he wasn’t being hunted by snipers and ghosts.

Cilian’s grip eventually loosened as he drifted into a shallow, fitful sleep, but even then, his fingers remained curled near Ren’s sleeve. Ren sat there in the quiet of the afternoon, watching the man who had destroyed everything he loved, and let out a low huff.

What was he even doing now?

Ren leaned back slightly, his eyes narrowing as he studied Cilian’s face. Without the fox-like grin and the mocking glint in his eyes, Cilian looked almost human. The fever was blooming across his cheekbones, and a thin sheen of sweat made his skin glisten. He looked vulnerable, yet Ren knew better. This was a man who had taken a sniper’s round and managed to return fire with a steady hand.

Ren reached out, his hand hovering just inches above Cilian’s throat. It would be so easy. A firm squeeze, a pillow over the face—he could end the nightmare right here, but he dismissed the temptation.

Then, he shifted his gaze to his own hand, still resting on Cilian’s chest. He could feel the heat of the wound through the bandages, a pulsing warmth that felt like it was trying to seep into his own skin. He felt a wave of nausea. He was becoming a part of this house, a part of Cilian’s world, whether he liked it or not. 𝚏𝕣𝕖𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚋𝚗𝐨𝐯𝕖𝕝.𝕔𝐨𝕞

As the afternoon light began to stretch across the floor, Cilian stirred. He didn’t wake, but a low groan escaped his lips, and his head thrashed once against the silk pillow.

"Don’t..." Cilian mumbled, his voice thick and distorted by the fever. "Ren... keep him away..."

Ren froze. Keep who away? He leaned in closer, his heart skipping a beat. Was it an accomplice?

"Who, Cilian? Keep who away?" Ren whispered, desperate to catch a name, a clue, anything that could explain the blood on the Vane family’s hands.

Cilian’s brow furrowed, his fingers tightening on Ren’s sleeve until the fabric strained, but he uttered no more words as his breathing became even more ragged and he drifted off into sleep again.

Ren’s mind began racing. He hadn’t heard anything tangible, but just those three words were enough to get him guessing a lot of existing and non-existing theories.

This was driving him crazy.

Ren looked at the door. He could try to slip away now, to find traces of Toby’s whereabouts for a start, or to search for the damn book himself. But as he looked back at Cilian, he saw the way the Alpha’s hand was trembling in his sleep, clutching to his sleeve and not letting go.

He couldn’t leave.

So, he stayed on the edge of the bed, a silent sentinel in a house built on lies.

He watched the sun move across the wall, waiting for the monster to wake up, and wondering if he would ever have the courage to ask the question again—and if he really wanted to know the answer.

At that moment, he slapped his cheek. Of course, he wanted to know the answer. What was with this sentimental nonsense all of a sudden? His father would probably be rolling in his grave—no, he didn’t have a grave—his soul would be disturbed to see how weak-willed he had become after all that training to still his heart and not let his Omega body and heart weigh him down.

So, instead of sitting there and letting all sorts of weird thoughts fill his head, he decided to do something else.

And so, he began to take off Cilian’s shirt. The slap on his cheek still stung, but he considered it a reality wake-up call. This way, he won’t think meaningless nonsense.

Since Cilian was wounded, Ren had to be extra careful. And thus, it took minutes of agonizingly slow movement, but finally, the Alpha’s hand slumped onto the silk duvet with his tattered and bloody shirt successfully stripped away.