-Elias Grayson:
I leaned back in my chair, the faint scent of leather and his strong pheromones and perfume lingering from our earlier conversation, feeling a strange mix of curiosity and hesitation. My books were scattered on the desk in front of me, but my attention wasn't on them. I kept glancing at Sebastian, who was sitting quietly next to me on the desk, his long hair falling over his sharp features, hiding most of his face. His towering presence filled the room, but he didn't seem threatening—just incredibly shy, almost like he didn't know how to exist in such a normal space.
"Sebastian," I finally asked, trying to keep my voice casual even though my pulse was racing, "It's okay if you don't want to tell me. You don't have to."
He froze, shifting his weight, hands tightening slightly at his sides. His eyes flicked up toward mine for a brief moment before dropping back to the floor. The silence stretched between us, heavy and tense.
"I…" he started, then faltered, swallowing hard. I could see the muscles in his jaw working, the way he was forcing himself to speak. "I… I'm… an Enigma."
I blinked, stunned, my mind struggling to process what he had just said. "An… Enigma?" My voice was soft, almost uncertain, but my shock was plain in my tone.
He nodded, barely looking at me, his hands fidgeting with the edge of his jacket. "Yes… I am." His voice was quiet, hesitant, almost apologetic, as if he feared my reaction. Almost like he's ashamed of what he is.
How? Why would he feel apologetic about his rank when I'm sure every single person out there would die to be this strong? Why does he look like he's scared? Would I not want to talk to him after knowing his rank?
I mean, don't get me wrong, his scent scared my inner wolf at first, but when I got to know him better today, he proved to me and to my inner wolf and to me and to me that there is nothing to be scared of.
Before I could respond, there was a loud knock at my door—urgent, insistent. "Sir! Sir! Your father—" the maid's voice called out, but I didn't wait to hear more.
I jumped to my feet, my heart hammering, and sprinted down the hall without a word, leaving Sebastian frozen for a moment. He just stood there, towering and silent, watching me leave, which somehow made me feel oddly reassured despite the chaos in my chest.
I burst into my father's room and froze. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, his body bent forward, coughing violently. Each cough shook him, rattling through the room like thunder. My stomach lurched, and I could see dark streaks at the corners of his mouth.
"Dad!" I shouted, rushing to his side and grabbing his shoulders. "Dad, what's going on?"
"I'm… fine, Eli," he rasped between hacks, trying to wave me off. But the weak cough that followed sprayed droplets of blood onto the sheets, and my heart nearly stopped.
I dropped to my knees beside him, panic clawing at my chest. "No! You're not fine! Look at you! You're bleeding!" I grabbed his arms, trying to steady him, desperate to take away the pain with my hands alone.
A doctor suddenly appeared, moving swiftly. "Elias, step back, please. We need to stabilize the alpha first. You can be right here, but give us room to work."
I shook my head, refusing to let go. "I'm not stepping back! He's my dad! I'm staying here!"
Then Marcus appeared from the doorway, tall and commanding, and stepped beside me. He reached out, putting a hand on my shoulder and giving me a firm, grounding squeeze. "Eli… It's okay. We've got him. He's going to be fine. Trust me. Stay calm, focus on him, not the panic."
I swallowed hard, my hands hovering helplessly over my father's shoulders. His chest heaved violently with each painful breath. Another cough wracked his body, and more blood flecked the sheets. What is going on? Why does my father look like he... Looks like he's dying?
"Dad, stay with me!" I pleaded, my voice breaking. "You can't leave me! Not now, not ever!"
The doctor's voice cut through, calm but urgent. "Elias, please. Step aside. We need to stabilize him before anything else. You can watch, but you must let us work."
I nodded shakily, my eyes never leaving him. Marcus remained at my side, silently offering support, his massive hand still on my shoulder. Even as my world felt like it was collapsing, I could feel Sebastian quietly walking in the room, freezing when he saw my father's state, then he silently walked toward me and stood by my side without making a sound.
I sat closer to my dad and whispered, barely audible, "I've got you, Dad. Just stay with me… please stay." I refuse to live without my dad; I just simply cannot.
Through the blur of tears, I realized something odd—despite the fear, the pain, the chaos, there was a strange calm. My father was fighting, Marcus and his family were here, and my mom is here for both my dad and me. He's going to be okay. He has to.
I didn't know what the coming hours would hold, but I knew one thing: I wasn't leaving my father's side. Not now. Not ever.
-
I sat rigidly on the edge of the bed, my hands clenched so tightly I thought I might break my own fingers. The doctors moved around my father with urgent precision, their voices calm and professional, but every sound—the beeping of monitors, the soft rustle of medical equipment—was amplified in my ears. My chest felt impossibly tight, and my vision blurred as tears streamed down my face. I couldn't look away; I couldn't even think of blinking. My dad—my dad, the strongest man I knew—was lying there, his body shaking with each cough, blood flecking the sheets, and I was powerless.
Sebastian left minutes ago when his dad asked him to go check on my mom because she couldn't see dad in this state, but I felt his presence before I even noticed him stepping into the room. The door opened slowly, his massive frame filling the space, but he paused, looking around with a cautious worry. His eyes landed on my father, and they squinted in worry. I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he froze for a moment, unsure.
"Dad… what is happening? Why is nobody telling us what's going on?" Sebastian asked softly, almost whispering, his deep voice low and uncertain.
My father's hand shot up weakly toward Sebastian's shoulder, gripping him lightly with what little strength he had left. "Nothing… nothing, don't worry. He's going to be fine. Go… go sit next to Elias. Support him."
Sebastian hesitated for a heartbeat, then obeyed, walking carefully to the chair beside me and sitting down without a word. Just his presence there, silent and patient, was enough. I didn't even look at him; I couldn't. My focus was entirely on my father, whose body was being prodded and examined by the doctors as if they were trying to piece together a puzzle that I couldn't even begin to understand.
I glanced around the room briefly, seeing my mother walking in and getting seated nearby, her hand clasped over her mouth as tears streaked down her cheeks. Next to her, Celeste, Sebastian's mother, had her hand resting gently on my mother's arm, trying to offer comfort, though her own eyes glistened with worry. The room felt impossibly heavy, filled with unspoken fear, love, and helplessness.
The doctors continued their work, moving with efficiency, but the tension in the room was palpable. I couldn't focus on anything else, my mind cycling through images of my father—strong, capable, always in control—and now vulnerable and weak, a human being under siege by something I didn't even know the name of.
Finally, when the doctors had done everything they could for the moment, I rose unsteadily to my feet, pacing a short circle before stopping and glaring at my mother. "You're going to tell me what the fuck is going on with my dad right now. Why is everyone hiding this from me? Why is he… why does he look like he's dying?" My voice broke, desperation leaking into every syllable.
My mother's hands shook as she looked up at me, tears streaming freely now. "Elias… your father has been sick for a long time. He never told you because he didn't want you to worry, not now, not ever. He… he wanted you to live your life without this shadow over you."
I stared at her blankly, my knees threatening to buckle. "He's… he's sick? Sick how? Is he… is he getting better?" My voice was barely above a whisper, and I could feel my heart hammering against my ribs like a drum.
My gaze darted to the doctor, who stood silently, watching me. The expression on his face froze my blood in place—the subtle tightness around his eyes, the slight downward curve of his mouth. There was no hope there. None at all.
I felt my world tilt and collapse simultaneously. My knees gave way, and I sank back into the chair, staring at nothing. My father—the man who had been my rock, my anchor, my safe harbor—was dying. The truth, so simple and brutal, slammed into me harder than any physical blow ever could.
The tears came freely now, blurring my vision completely. I couldn't focus on anything except the terrifying reality that the strongest man I knew, my father, was slipping away before my eyes.
All at once, my whole world crumbled, leaving me hollow, lost, and desperate for something—anything—to stop the inevitable.