The scent of blood hung thick in the air.
Darius paced outside the healer's quarters, his heart thundering in his chest like a war drum. He'd fought countless battles, stared down death with a grin—but nothing had ever terrified him like this. Mariam's screams had started hours ago, and they hadn't stopped. Each cry felt like a blade carving into his chest.
Inside, the midwives moved frantically, their whispers sharp, their faces pale. Mariam lay drenched in sweat, her dark curls matted to her forehead, her once-glowing skin now ghostly. Her eyes, heavy with pain, locked onto the healer as she gritted her teeth against another contraction.
"She's losing too much blood," one of the midwives hissed, pressing cloth after cloth between Mariam's legs, all soaked crimson within seconds.
"She's too weak to push," the healer said grimly. "We need to get the baby out now."
Mariam reached out blindly, her hand grasping air until someone—Aurora—pressed it between her own. Her voice was barely a whisper. "Is... is he here?"
Aurora nodded, tears spilling down her cheeks. "He's just outside, love. He hasn't left."
Mariam tried to smile, but it was all agony. "Tell him... tell him I'm not afraid."
The baby's wail pierced the air moments later.
A girl.
But no one rejoiced.
Mariam was fading fast.
The healer shouted commands, desperate spells were muttered under breath, and pressure was applied to the bleeding—but nothing worked. Her body trembled violently, and her eyes fluttered open once more.
"Mariam," Aurora sobbed, clutching her friend's hand. "Stay with me. Stay, please."
Mariam's lips moved soundlessly before she fell still.
Silence.
Then the door creaked open, and Darius appeared in the doorway, his face already twisted with dread. His eyes fell on the tiny bundle swaddled in white... and then on Mariam.
He didn't ask. He knew.
He staggered back as if struck, eyes locked on the lifeless body of his mate. The grief came fast—howling, guttural, uncontainable. A warrior fell to his knees that day. A father refused to look at his child.
And a pack mourned the death of its Beta's mate.
"No, no—Mariam, stay with me!" Darius dropped to his knees beside her, scooping her into his arms, his voice trembling with panic. Her skin was cold. Too cold.
Her lashes fluttered weakly, and she tried to focus on him, a faint smile tugging at her bloodless lips. "You're... here..."
"I'm right here," he whispered, brushing the sweat-soaked hair from her face. "You're not going anywhere, do you hear me? You fight, Mariam. You fight. Don't you dare leave me."
But her breathing was shallow. Her heartbeat faltered beneath his touch.
Darius pressed his forehead to hers, clutching her as if he could will his strength into her. "You promised me forever," he growled, his voice breaking. "You don't get to walk away now. Our baby needs you. I need you. Please, Mariam... please."
Her lips parted, as if to speak, but no sound came.
Then her body went still.
"No... no!" Darius let out a ragged howl, the kind that shattered bones and echoed across the land. It wasn't just grief—it was agony. Rage. The sound of a soul being torn apart.
He held her tighter, rocking back and forth, blinded by tears, unaware of the crying infant just feet away. The world had narrowed to this one moment, to the cold weight of his mate in his arms.
And for the first time in his life, Darius Black, the feared Beta of the Golden Moon Pack, was utterly helpless.
Christopher and Aurora stood frozen in the doorway, their eyes locked on the wreckage that once was Darius.
He knelt on the bloodstained floor, cradling Mariam's lifeless body, rocking her gently as though he could coax her soul back into her with the motion. His cries were not human—they were primal, shattering, the sound of a bond violently severed.
Aurora took a step forward, her hand trembling at her side. "Darius..." she whispered.
But he didn't hear her.
He didn't hear anything.
She moved closer, her heart cracking with every breath he took, every sob that tore from his throat. "Darius, please—"
"Don't touch her," he growled without looking up, his voice low and shaking with rage and heartbreak. "Don't you dare."
Aurora stumbled back a step, stricken.
"I wasn't—" her voice cracked. She turned her face away, but the tears came anyway. Her breath hitched. And then she broke.
She collapsed to her knees right there in the doorway, sobbing into her hands. The sound of her grief joined his, two heartaches echoing in a room that already felt like a tomb.
Christopher stepped forward, torn between his mate and his best friend, the weight of both crushing him. He placed a hand on Aurora's shoulder, grounding her, then looked down at Darius with hollow eyes.
"You don't have to do this alone," he said, voice low and steady, even as it wavered at the edges. "We loved her too."
But Darius didn't speak. Didn't move. He just held Mariam tighter, as if the universe had made a mistake and he could hold her soul in place long enough to undo it.
Eventually, Christopher bent down to help Aurora to her feet. She resisted at first, reaching out once more—but Darius had vanished into his grief, unreachable.
They stood in silence for a long moment, the baby's soft cries barely audible beneath the depression and sorrow that threatened to drown them all.
And then, with aching hearts, they left him there—alone with his mate's body and the shattered pieces of the man he used to be. he needed to have this moment to grief.
Cressida's first cries echoed through the birthing chamber, but Darius heard nothing. Or rather, he refused to hear it—the wailing of a child that had taken everything from him. His hands, once steady from countless battles, trembled as he stared at Mariam's lifeless body, her golden hair matted with sweat and blood. Her skin was already growing cold.
The midwives whispered. One reached for the infant, swaddled her quickly, and tried to offer her to him.
"Beta... your daughter..."