The Constant Aching (Demetrius POV)
The hour was late. The Citadel was silent, wrapped in the cool embrace of a northern night. I stood alone in the private war room, the black marble cold beneath my boots. The King mask felt heavy, stiff, and utterly necessary.
I hated silence. Silence meant weakness. Silence meant the enemies—outside the walls and inside them, could breathe.
But the silence did not bring peace. It only made the aching louder.
The pain was a constant, low burn that lived just beneath my ribs. Tonight, after a full day of pointless court rituals and endless strategic meetings, the burn had spiked. It felt like tiny, sharp embers scattered through my blood, demanding my full attention.
Keep it down. Keep it contained.
I gripped the edge of the large oak table. It was the only way to anchor myself. The pain had been a part of me for years now, a slow, patient erosion of my body. It was the price of the crown, and the price of the secret I carried. It was the reason I could never afford to be weak. It was why I needed victory before I became useless.
I focused on the reconnaissance report. The logging mill.
Esmeralda's target.
I read the detailed analysis of the supply route. The terrain was brutal, the defense minimal. It was a risky, brilliant move. It would save months of grinding warfare at the main front.
She is insolent, she is feral, and she is absolutely right.
I threw the report onto the table in disgust.
She had stood in the Gavel Chamber yesterday, wearing that expensive green silk, and had played the Luna perfectly by refusing to play it at all. She had dismissed Selene Voss with a single, sharp maneuver, sacrificing elegance for ruthless efficiency. It was a move I would have made.
That realization enraged me. She was supposed to be a tool, predictable and disposable. Not a sharp, defiant mirror of my own mind.
Mate Bond.
The word was a curse. Every time I thought of her, the Mate Bond—that fierce, primal heat, slammed into the pain in my chest. It was a cruel biological joke. The universe had tied the most powerful Alpha in the Lycan world to the weakest, dirtiest omega in the slums. It was a bond I had to deny, suppress, and ultimately break.
I was a King first. I was a man who needed to live long enough to win this war. And she was a danger to both goals.
The low, familiar ache suddenly tore through my side like a flash of lightning. I gasped, leaning heavily against the table. My vision blurred. This wasn't the usual dull burn; this was a crippling, full-scale assault.
Not now. I do not have time for this weakness.
I fought for control, locking down my inner Lycan, refusing to let the pain show. I focused on the stone of the floor, the edge of the wood, anything but the fire tearing me apart from the inside.
I need victory. I need to guide the troops. I need the canyon path.
My mind was screaming for one thing, one person. The Mate Bond, usually a source of painful tension, was now screaming a different kind of demand: Proximity. Relief. Her.
I clenched my fists until my nails bit into my palms. Never.
Then I felt it.
It wasn't a sudden cessation of pain. It was a quietness. A sudden, terrifying dullness in the constant, spiking fire. The agony that had seized me a moment ago retreated to a low throb—the manageable, everyday burn.
I pulled back from the table, breathing hard. I felt confused, disoriented. The pain should only get worse when I fight the Mate Bond, not better.
I looked around the room. The scent of ink, ozone, and my own suppressed rage was heavy. But beneath all that, faint, like a ghost, was her scent.
Esmeralda.
She had stood right here for the strategy session two days ago. She had been close, leaning over the maps, her scent a distracting whisper of earth and something uniquely wild.
And I realized: when she was here, talking strategy, challenging me, even defying me... the internal fire had been quiet. It had been subdued.
I walked to the table where we had stood, leaning in to inhale the faint, lingering trace of her presence. The throbbing ache in my side seemed to flatten out. It didn't heal me, but it muffled the screaming.
What in the hell is this?
The Mate Bond was supposed to be a curse, a vulnerability that Rhys and the elders had warned me against. It was supposed to force me to give her a piece of my strength. But here, now, when I was closest to death, it was acting like a strange, painful sedative.
I started to shake, fueled not by pain, but by the horrific implication of this discovery.
I need her.
I needed her not just for her mind, not just for the canyon path, but for this agonizing, slow decay inside me. The only thing that eased my burden was the very person I had publicly rejected and privately planned to dispose of.
The need made her infinitely more dangerous. If she knew this, she would have leverage to ruin everything. She would have the power to stop me from winning the war, to stop me from saving the Lycan race.
I stood up straight, forcing the last of the pain into a cold box in my mind. The hatred for her was replaced by a deep, cold fear, not of her betrayal, but of my own necessary dependency.
I turned quickly and strode to the internal communication desk, snatching up the receiver.
"Rhys," I snapped, my voice harsh and demanding.
"Your Majesty. I am here." His voice was immediate, disciplined.
"The Beta in charge of the Luna's security detail," I ordered. "Transfer him to the northern border immediately. You will replace him with your own personal man. Someone you trust absolutely."
Rhys paused, a flicker of surprise in his voice. "Commander Finn is a man of honor, Your Majesty. Why the sudden transfer?"
"Finn is predictable. She needs a threat," I bit out, keeping my tone perfectly cold, perfectly King-like. I could not tell Rhys the truth. Rhys would kill her immediately if he knew she was the only thing keeping me functional.
"Rhys, listen to me. She must be watched. Every breath, every movement. She is essential to the immediate strategy. Do not let her leave the Royal Wing without a full escort. She is not to be harmed, but she is also not to be touched. Do you understand that order clearly?"
"I understand, Your Majesty. She is a necessary asset." Rhys's voice was now back to its chillingly neutral tone.
An asset. Yes. A fragile, defiant, fiercely intelligent omega who was tied to my soul and, impossibly, tied to my survival.
I hung up the phone without another word. I walked back to the table, staring down at the map, seeing not canyons, but a golden cage. I had thought I was the one setting the trap.
I was beginning to realize I was trapped inside it with her. And the th
ought filled me with an utterly paralyzing fear.