By the ti Ronan returned to the wolf clan estate, it was dark. Riven had fallen asleep sowhere along the trail back, his head gently resting against Ronan’s chest, arms limp at his sides. He looked peaceful—far too peaceful for soone who had nearly walked into a battlefield just that morning.
Ronan dismounted carefully, mindful of the sleeping form in front of him. The guards at the estate opened the gates with lowered gazes, instantly sensing the weight of the mont. Ronan carried Riven in his arms like sothing sacred.
His steps were quiet, heavy with unspoken emotion, as he crossed the threshold of the estate and made his way upstairs, past servants who bowed with hushed reverence.
But the quiet didn’t last.
An hour later, the door burst open without a knock.
Soren stood in the doorway, hair wind-tossed from his own journey back, eyes sharp. "He’s here?" he asked coldly, even though the sight of Riven sleeping answered the question.
Ronan scowled. "He’s resting. You could’ve had the decency to wait outside."
Soren ignored him. He stepped into the room and, without permission or apology, walked to the other side of the bed and climbed in beside Riven. "I’m not losing," he muttered under his breath, one hand brushing Riven’s hair gently. "You got your alone ti. Now it’s mine."
Ronan gritted his teeth but didn’t speak. If he argued, he’d wake Riven. And for once, he agreed—their mate needed rest, not bickering.
That night, the two most powerful n of their ti lay on either side of the sa person, unable to sleep.
Morning ca.
Riven didn’t stir.
The sun had already bathed the room in light. Birds chirped outside. But Riven didn’t so much as twitch under the sheets. Ronan was the first to sit up. "Riven?" he called softly, placing a hand on his mate’s cheek.
Still no response.
Soren shot upright a second later, alarm flashing across his face. "What’s wrong with him?"
"He’s just asleep," Ronan muttered, brushing Riven’s forehead again. "He’s... Warm."
"Too warm," Soren replied quickly, now leaning in, pressing his ear to Riven’s chest, then his hand. "His breathing’s too shallow. What the hell did you do to him?!"
"I didn’t do anything!" Ronan barked, standing. "He was with you at the border! Maybe you pushed him too far!"
Soren growled. "He wouldn’t have had to if you kept your damned borders in order!"
They stood over Riven, eyes blazing, pride clashing again—but this ti, it was laced with genuine fear.
Ronan clenched his fists. "Enough."
He took a breath, then turned to the door and called out, "Troy!"
Troy skidded in monts later, still half-dressed, a slice of bread in his mouth. "Sir?"
"Summon Eli. Now."
The seriousness in Ronan’s tone made Troy straighten like a soldier. "Right away!" He bolted without another word, toast in hand.
Back inside, Soren had pulled Riven into his lap, tucking the blankets around him. "His pulse is weak."
"I know," Ronan said softly, kneeling beside the bed again. "He wasn’t supposed to leave. He should have been on bed rest, why did you take him..."
There was no venom now. Just shared guilt.
Soren’s jaw tightened, and his grip on Riven’s shoulders softened. "He looked so alive yesterday."
"He always does," Ronan replied. "Even when he’s falling apart."
They both sat in silence for a few long monts, their hands hovering over Riven like a prayer.
It was a strange image—Alpha and Master, enemies, united by worry and affection for the sa person.
Just then, Riven groaned lightly.
Their heads snapped toward him.
"Riven?" They said at the sa ti.
Riven’s brow furrowed slightly, and he whispered sothing incoherent before slipping back into unconsciousness.
"Eli better hurry," Soren muttered.
"He will," Ronan replied, voice low. "And if not... We’ll find soone who can."
They didn’t say it aloud, but they both knew one thing for certain:
If anything happened to Riven, no amount of armies, power, or pride would save the world from their wrath.
Eli burst into the room, dical bag swinging at his side. His eyes imdiately found the still form of Riven lying on the bed, cradled between two of the most dangerous n in the region. Ronan looked grim, his eyes sharp and unreadable. Soren looked no better—tense, jaw clenched, one protective arm still around Riven as if daring anyone to pry him away.
The pressure in the room was suffocating.
Eli slowed his pace, straightening up, trying to put on his professional face despite the storm brewing inside. He bowed his head slightly. "Let examine him."
Ronan’s eyes didn’t move from Riven’s face. "You’ll tell us everything."
Soren didn’t speak, but his gaze was enough to kill a man.
Eli hesitated before trying to force a smile. "Of course, but I... I’ll need a little space. You both are making it hard for to breathe, let alone work."
They stared at him.
"Soren. Ronan. Please."
The room was still for a mont too long before Ronan finally stood. He looked at Soren, and after a heavy silence, the leopard shifter slowly pulled away from Riven and followed Ronan out the door. The mont it clicked shut behind them, Eli exhaled shakily and practically fell to his knees at the bedside.
"Riven," he whispered, brushing the hair from his friend’s clammy forehead. His skin felt far too warm. Sothing wasn’t right. Eli quickly checked the pulse at Riven’s wrist—weak. Then he moved to the neck, pressing carefully.
His heart stopped for a second. The pulse was there—but it was barely anything.
"Oh gods..."
"Riven!" Eli snapped, voice rising. He tried to stay calm, but the tremor betrayed him. "Riven, co on, wake up. Please..." Shaking him did not work when those two tried it, and it did not work when Eli did. It was an impulsive move. Eli quickly cald himself down, he was a healer.
Eli took a deep breath, trying not to panic. "Okay... okay... Maybe he’s not in pain. Maybe his body just shut down to protect itself. Right. That can happen. That has to be what this is."
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