Things only got worse after that.

A clear divide had opened up between Dylan and Blake. It was a deep chasm, bottomless and still growing, tearing up the ground between them, making the leap of faith they needed to reach each other look more and more impossible.

The first and most noticeable breach happened the night after their failed attempt to rekindle their relationship. Blake insisted on sleeping on the couch rather than in their bed. Despite the bed being large enough for them both to sleep in without ever having to touch each other, Blake insisted it might be best if he took a night away to give Dylan some space. Dylan didn’t contradict him. Despite feeling the space between them like his own heart was being stretched thin, the idea of Blake in his bed, pressed against him, somehow felt worse.

He felt guilty at the thought. This was his mate, after all. But every time Blake came near him, every time he smiled that polite, plastic smile, every time he touched Dylan in ways that were merely acceptable, part of Dylan’s mind whispered “stranger.”

In the days that followed, Blake and Dylan started spending more time away from each other. And at night, Blake remained on the couch across the room while Dylan slept alone in the bed. When Lily asked, they told her it was because the bed was hurting Blake’s back and he needed to sleep on the couch for a while. She didn’t question it, but he could see the odd, worried looks she sent them when she was deep in thought.

Dylan spent more time with Lily in the days that followed, reverting back to habits he’d developed in Blake’s absence. He walked around the castle with her. He played with her and Remi. He told her stories while they sat on castle balconies, gazing up at the stars. He walked with her and Cynthia through the gardens while Cynthia told her about all the different plants.

Being with his daughter felt like a breath of fresh air, which was a strange turnaround from how he’d been feeling months before. But it was a good change. Being a single father had forced him into his role in a way that had allowed him to slowly grow into it. Whenever she smiled at him and took his hand, he felt a small burst of pride in his chest. He still ached for the days when Blake had been a part of them, but...that ache was growing more and more dull as the days passed.

Where Lily was a breath of fresh air, a taste of how things should be, the air around Blake felt suffocating and choking. Being alone in a room with him started to feel stifling, Dylan’s inner wolf paced anxiously, the pleasantries and stunted small talk grating against his nerves with every passing second.

But still, Dylan persisted. Because he owed Blake that much at least. He owed it to Lily and more importantly, he owed it to himself to try. They all deserved to have things fixed. To have their family whole and back to the way it once was.

Unfortunately, that was easier said than done.

Dylan no longer clung to Blake’s side throughout the day. They had prearranged hours set aside to spend time alone together. They had designated meetings and activities they had both agreed on. Mockeries of dates. They were just ways the two of them could pretend they were doing something positive and to hide the fact that they were both slowly losing hope.

The witches continued their research, offering ideas whenever they could. Arulean and Rajiah were supportive, trying to come up with their own ideas for what could make a mate remember what he’d forgotten. Nothing helped. Their attempts at scenting fell flat, their scents refusing to mix and mingle the way they should. The effort simply left the two of them feeling awkward and uneasy.

So eventually, they both started taking time to themselves. There wasn’t much Dylan could do in his last month of pregnancy, but he did what he could to keep himself busy. He met with Marcus and the other leaders of the security team, talking about security patrol routes and precautions. He couldn’t go on the patrols yet, but he needed to feel useful. He met with Arulean and Rajiah to discuss other shifter and paranormal movements and tensions around the world. He even called Mason, his closest friend from his Navy SEAL team, just to catch up on what had been happening.

He didn’t call his family or Blake’s. He didn’t want the trouble of explaining what had happened. Not yet, anyway.

He busied himself with friends, pack, and family, making himself useful when he could and being far more physically active than he should have been. Several friends chastised him for it, but he stood firm in his resolve. He couldn’t just sit still and wait. He felt the itch of stagnation beneath his skin. If he sat doing nothing for too long, he just ended up thinking too much. And he’d been doing too much thinking for months now.

Like Dylan, Blake was keeping himself busy. Dylan was still drawn to him, like a moth to a flame. His body and mind always seemed to know where Blake was at any given time, even if it was only a vague direction. If he stopped paying attention to what he was doing, he found himself drifting toward him out of habit. But Blake’s voice, which once had been comforting, now just made Dylan’s heart twist and sink into his stomach. He watched him sometimes, talking to others, laughing and joking and looking far more relaxed than he ever did when he interacted with Dylan these days.

Blake tried to sneak time with Lily, but when it became clear Dylan was spending more time with her, Blake simply let it go. He drifted away from them both. Eventually, Lily stopped asking about him and stopped insisting they spent time together.

“He doesn’t feel like Papa,” she confided in Dylan one night, when he had her perched on the bed in front of him while he brushed and braided her hair. It wasn’t as neat as Blake used to do it, but he was getting better. “I don’t like it...I want Papa back.”

“I know,” Dylan had said, an understanding smile on his lips and sorrow in his heart. “Me, too.”

Perhaps the only thing that hurt worse than his own rejection from his mate was seeing the heartbroken looks Lily would give her alpha father, followed quickly by the way she would lift her chin proudly and resolutely steel her soft face as she turned back to Dylan.

A child should never have to deal with their father forgetting them. An omega should never have to feel the heartbreak of their alpha forgetting them. Yet here they were, stuck in that reality.

As the heartache lost its sharp edge, and the dull ache in his chest became bearable and familiar, it gave way to another emotion Dylan had been repressing: anger. Without his guilt and sorrow and the determination to keep it down, his irritation and frustration began to grow.

He found his hackles rising whenever Blake came back to their room late and slipped into what had become his permanent bed on the couch without a word. He found a growl in his throat whenever he watched Blake laugh with others. Every polite word exchanged in small talk grated on his nerves. Every question about Lily and Dylan’s health left an irritating itch beneath his skin. Every time he saw that smile, so plastic and fake, he wanted to lash out at Blake. Every time he saw those blue eyes on him, filled with pity and generosity, like Dylan was nothing more than an obligation and an inconvenience, he felt his inner wolf raging.

He was not to be pitied. He didn’t want it. He was stronger than that.

So, he smiled back, the feeling strained and tense. His words were clipped and sharp, bitterness burning in his tone like bile in the back of his throat, but he kept things civil. An argument was the last thing they needed. They needed mutual compassion and understanding to be able to move forward. They needed to mend, not break.

Unfortunately, not everything can be fixed, and the stitches holding them together were unraveling at the seams.

* * *

It wasn’t unusual for Blake to be late to their daily meetings. It had become more and more frequent, as well as the occasional cancellation. Blake’s regrets for cancelling were always brought to Dylan through some third-party messenger. Blake was busy with the witches, with the security system, he got caught up helping someone else, or he was with Arulean and lost track of time. The excuses were endless.

What worried Dylan the most was how relief simmered beneath his irritation whenever Blake didn’t show up.

Still, they had to keep pushing, had to keep being together, if they wanted to stand a chance at breaking the enchantment that suppressed Blake’s memory. And that meant doing things that were uncomfortable for them both. That meant dealing with the awkward conversations and hesitant touches so that in the long run, they would stop being awkward and unpleasant.

It quickly became clear Blake was trying to weasel his way out of it, and wasn’t taking it seriously anymore. Dylan could see it in his eyes when they were together. The patience that usually clung to Blake was wearing thin. He was losing hope, and with it, he was losing his desire to reclaim who he was.

And that made Dylan irrationally and uncontrollably mad.

He sat in the small sitting room they had started claiming as their own. It was empty and the air smelled stale from lack of use. He sat at the small two-person table near the window. The chessboard was set up in front of him, the pieces immaculate and beautiful. He leaned forward, one elbow on the table, chin in his palm, his other hand resting over his stomach and he glared out the window.

It was a nice day, slightly cloudy but with the sun shining brightly overhead. Several members of the pack were out and about, dotting the lawn that stretched away outside the castle. People were smiling and laughing, enjoying the peace that being at the Shadow Pack offered them. Dylan glared at them, feeling stagnant and still within the confines of this pristine room. He hated it. Hated this room. Hated chess. Hated waiting. He hated everything at this point.

He grunted, teeth clenched as he pushed back from the table. He climbed to his feet awkwardly, purposely knocking down several chess pieces as he stepped away from the board. He crossed the room with new purpose, threw open the door, and stormed out into the hallway.

Stomping was difficult; his walk was more of a waddle these days. But he did so with conviction, purpose, and a glare that sent people scurrying out of his way. One hand was on his stomach, out of habit, and the other was curled into a fist at his side.

It didn’t take long for him to find Blake. He was still inextricably drawn to him. He felt the pull of the bond they shared, even if it was now cold, blank, and vacant as a frozen tundra. He hated leaning into it, opening it up, reaching through only to get frost bite on his mental fingers. But he did so anyway, following the subtle tug toward where his amnesiac alpha was.

He had to climb the stairs, which took time, but was fueled by an indignant energy that burned through him. He refused to be trapped in an elevator. He moved through the halls with a single-minded purpose, ignoring those who called out to him and ignoring the curious stares he got in his wake.

He heard Blake before he saw him. Heard him talking and laughing with several other men. When Dylan rounded the corner, he found them standing outside the security control room. Two men Dylan recognized but didn’t know their names, both of whom often worked security detail with Blake. Blake’s back was to him, but the two other men froze, eyes widening as they caught sight of him.

Dylan stopped, and waited, watching as Blake’s chest expanded with a deep inhale, body going rigid. He turned slowly, that familiar, fake smile Dylan hated stretching his lips thin.

“Dylan! What a surprise,” he said, voice as strained as his smile. “Is it that time already? I didn’t realize I was late…”

“Can I speak to you?”

Blake blinked, his smile fading in the wake of Dylan’s clipped words. Dylan clenched his jaw until his temples ached. It took everything he had to keep control over his emotions while he was in front of others, but Dylan had never been good at hiding his thoughts. The two men behind Blake exchanged looks, brows furrowed and awkward frowns on their faces.

“I…” Whatever Blake had been about to say died on his lips. It started with his usual casual tone, light and airy and crafted to put people at ease. He stopped himself, however, taking in Dylan again with a more calculated gaze. Finally, he sighed, running his hands through his hair. “Yeah, let’s just…” He nodded down the hall, gesturing with a thumb over his shoulder.

Dylan nodded curtly and followed him past the security room, where the other two men were already escaping through the door, shying away from Dylan’s simmering rage. Blake walked ahead of him, hands in his pockets and posture stiff, but the attempt at nonchalance was there.

Blake opened a door further down the hall, and held it open for Dylan to enter ahead of him. He did, face firmly set in a scowl. The room was another sitting room, one of many that adorned the castle. This one was far more lived in than the one they’d been using on the first floor of the castle. The furniture looked more comfortable, and the decorations looked more cozy and less ornate. There were toys and scraps of books and papers here and there that spoke of children often using the room.

It was still a room, however. A sitting room used for civil conversations and easy communication. Dylan wasn’t here for a civil conversation, however. He was here to speak his mind. And while the room was more comforting than the one he had previously been in, it was still a room with four walls, and Dylan felt trapped.

He paused just inside, taking the whole room in before his eyes snapped to focus on the balcony doors on the opposite wall. He made a beeline for them, weaving around furniture as well as he could given his condition. After a brief struggle to unlock the doors, he threw them open, stepping out onto a wide, rounded balcony overlooking the back of grounds.

He stepped across it, hands reaching out to grasp the stone railing, fingers curling into it, and letting the cool stone ground him. He leaned into it, closing his eyes for a moment and simply breathing in the fresh air, letting the crisp wind roll across him, soothe him, and ready him.

“Dylan, what’s this all about?” Blake’s voice cut through his peace. It lacked his usual calm and lightheartedness, and was replaced by exhaustion and exasperation.

Dylan felt his blood boil as he whipped around.

Blake stood in the open doorway to the balcony, leaning up against the doorframe. His body sagged, but his posture spoke of ease. His hands were in his pockets, weight shifted to the hip pressed against the door frame, head lolling to the side to rest against it, and his eyes were focused on Dylan. His gaze held no humor, no warmth, and gone was the aura of ease that usually rolled off him in waves relaxing those around him.

He just stared at Dylan, lines evident around his eyes and mouth. Tired, exhausted, and irritated.

Dylan’s back straightened as a flare of defensiveness raced down his spine. “You were late,” he said, words clipped and voice heated, accusing, unyielding. “We had a meeting, and you were late.”

Blake sighed, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead only for it to fall straight back across it again when he looked down and to the side. He didn’t try to defend himself, so Dylan pushed on.

“Were you even planning on showing up, or were you going to skip it entirely and blame forgetfulness later?”

Blake lifted his chin just a fraction, gazing sidelong at Dylan. His lips pursed into a thin line, not quite a frown but close enough. His eyes narrowed just slightly as his brows furrowed.

Dylan’s grip on the stone railing tightened, his other arm resting subconsciously across his stomach. It was a protective movement. Of both himself and his son. Jaw clenched, breathing heavily through his nose, Dylan forced the words out into the open. “You’re avoiding me. You’ve been avoiding me.”

He watched as Blake’s chest and shoulders rose and fell with a sigh. As his body sagged, the frown and the furrow in his brows lessened, replaced once again by that deep seated exhaustion. Dylan wasn’t sure he’d ever seen him look so tired. “Yes.”

Dylan blinked. The wind picked up, moving across the open field and past the castle. He felt it play with the longer strands of hair at his nape. He saw it tug at Blake’s fringe. He heard it rustle the leaves of the trees that bordered the fields around the castle. He felt it on his skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He felt it steal his breath away as he tried to process Blake’s response.

It was a simple word of agreement. No defense. No fancy explanation. Just straight, simple honesty. There was weight in that one word, and as he said it, Dylan could see that weight lift from Blake’s shoulders.

He hadn’t been expecting an agreement so soon. He had anticipated having to fight Blake for the truth. It made it seem like he was giving up, and that only made Dylan more angry.

He felt his brows pinch, eyes narrowing as his lips pursed into a small frown. “Do you even care?” he snapped, feeling fire crawl up from the twisting pit of his stomach, licking at his heart and burning his throat. “Don’t you want this to work? Don’t you want to go back to normal?” He hated the desperation he could feel squeezing his chest.

Blake’s eyes narrowed, and he turned away, lips pressing into a frown. He wouldn’t look at Dylan, gaze firmly fixed on the distant trees. “I’m trying.” he said, voice strained and hard.

“You’re not…”

“You can’t force me to love you.” He didn’t shout, nor did he even raise his voice. But his words were hard, firm, and clipped enough Dylan felt as if he’d been slapped.

His own voice died in his throat, and he inhaled sharply through his nose, body tensing and recoiling. His eyes widened as he stared at Blake, barely daring to move, let alone breathe.

It was very rare Blake used his alpha voice against Dylan. In fact, at this moment, he was having a hard time recalling any example of when he had. Not like this. Not to cut him off and cut him deep. Not in a way that wasn’t layered with affection, protectiveness, and worry. Not in a way that was meant to silence him completely.

Dylan gaped at him, and Blake’s eyes narrowed, lips pursed into a deep frown that pulled his entire expression down. Slowly, he turned his head, gaze sliding away from the distant trees to pin Dylan with eyes like ice. Hard, unyielding, and cold. Dylan had never seen that gaze aimed at him, and he felt a shiver run through him. Some of his fire dampened in the wake of the aura Blake was emitting, and Dylan had to fight the urge to cower.

Instead, he stood firm, wary but unyielding, chin held high even as his lip quivered and his knuckles turned white from his grip on the stone railing. Several beats of silence passed before Dylan found his voice. “You already love me,” he said, voice quiet to keep it from shaking, but no less intense. He said it with conviction, with none of the shaky desperation and worry he felt in his heart, because it had to be true. It had to be.

Blake scoffed, a huff of an exhale that bordered on an incredulous laugh. He shook his head, lips curling into a sardonic smile for just a moment. He pushed off the doorframe, stepping across the balcony in just a few long strides. Dylan watched him warily. He came to the railing, standing several feet away from Dylan, bending forward to place his forearms on the stone and clasping his hands together. His eyes remained hard, but they were again focused way off in the distance.

“You’re not trying either,” he finally said, voice softer, having lost some of it’s edge, but there was an accusation there. A frustration that made Dylan bristle.

“I am, too!”

Blake glanced at him sideways, brows furrowing and lips pursing before he turned away again. “Maybe. Maybe the problem is you’re trying too hard. Or you’re not trying in the right way.”

Dylan exhaled sharply, a short and bitter laugh that escaped past his lips. He crossed his arms over his chest, shoulders hiked up high as he leaned his hips back against the railing. “How am I not trying in the right way? How the hell is there a wrong way?”

“You’re doing this out of obligation, just like I am.” His voice was tired and strangely blank, matter-of-fact in a way that had irritation rippling over Dylan’s skin like goosebumps.

“I’m doing this,” he bit out, fingers curling into tight fists, blunt nails digging into his palms as he grit his teeth, “because I want my mate back. I’ve been perfectly patient with you. I’ve been kind to you.”

“You’re not as kind and understanding as you want to be.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Blake’s eyes flickered to Dylan’s, still strangely devoid of any emotion, “that you’re not as perfectly patient as you claim to be. You’ve been trying to hide how you feel, but you wear your heart on your sleeve.”

Dylan clenched his jaw, feeling the strain of the moment as a persistent tick in his temple. “You have no idea how I feel.”

“Yes, I do…”

“No, you don’t!” Dylan threw his hands in the air, one fist falling back down to his side and the other falling to grip the railing as he turned to face Blake. He glared, scowl on his face as he growled out the words, “You don’t know the first thing about me. You’ve forgotten everything about me. So don’t claim that you know how I feel!”

Blake watched him, something shifting behind his eyes even as his expression remained impassive. Then he straightened, pulling up to his full height. He held Dylan’s gaze, and Dylan refused to look away. He refused to back down, even as Blake’s alpha aura started to press on him, his scent strong and bitter.

“I don’t need to remember you to read you,” he said, voice like ice. “You blame me for something I can’t control.”

“I don’t!”

“You do. I can feel it. I can see it.” His lip curled in a way that wasn’t unlike a smile but looked far too much like a grimace. “It doesn’t exactly make you easy to be around.”

Dylan’s heart squeezed and his stomach clenched painfully. His insides felt like they were twisting, clenching, rolling. A knot formed inside him that was hard to pinpoint, and his free hand went to his stomach once again, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “No,” he said firmly. He refused to believe Blake avoiding him was his own fault. “I don’t…”

“You do.” Blake snapped, and Dylan felt himself tense as he recoiled. Blake never used that tone with him. They’d only gotten into a few real fights in their entire lives, the most recent being before they left to rescue Rajiah and Remi. Dylan didn’t like it. He didn’t come here to fight. Right?

He’d come here to understand. He’d come here to confront Blake. He’d come here because he couldn’t hold back what he was feeling anymore. He came here because he was mad. Maybe he did come here to fight.

“You blame me,” Blake continued. “I can see the accusation in your eyes every time you push your luck and I pull away. It’s not comforting or understanding. It’s blame. You blame me…you’re mad at me for something that isn’t my fault…”

“It is!” His voice came out far louder than he expected it to, but he didn’t care. If Blake wanted to push this, then fine. He took a step forward, lifting his chin and meeting Blake’s glare with his own. “It is your fault. All of this,” he made a vague and grand gesture, waving between them. “It’s your fault.”

Blake’s eyes narrowed, frown deepening as something menacing and angry flashed behind his eyes. “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask to forget. I didn’t ask for a witch to curse me…”

“It’s still your fault.” Dylan took another step forward, and another, stopping only when he was right in front of Blake. He jabbed a finger at him, stabbing him roughly in the chest until he stumbled backwards and even then, Dylan took a step forward to follow him. “You were the one that dove in front of the spell. It wasn’t meant for you. You didn’t think about the consequences. You didn’t think about me.” Dylan heard his voice crack, a burning behind his eyes, but he ignored it, wrapping his arms around himself, around his stomach. His shoulders hunched as he curled in on himself. His heart hurt, his chest hurt, his stomach hurt. Everything hurt. There was the deep-seated ache of loss, but there was also something else. Something sharper and more immediate.

“Dylan...” Blake said, voice far too soft as he held his hands out, uncertain. Dylan hated it. He hated the false concern.

He took a step back, pulling from Blake’s hovering touch, shooting him a glare. “You didn’t even know what that spell would do. You could have died. I thought you had died, Blake. Seeing you die pushed me into premature labor and we nearly lost our son!”

Something flickered across Blake’s expression, something hurt, worried and surprised at the same time. Dylan didn’t focus on it. He couldn’t. He didn’t care. It was pouring out of him now. Everything he’d bottled up. All the anger, rage and hurt he’d bottled up and pushed aside in an attempt to be the perfect omega for his mate. The perfect husband. He couldn’t stop it. He didn’t want to stop it. He always knew he would never be the perfect, docile, understanding, soft omega. Why start now?

“You dove in front of that spell without any idea what it would do. You didn’t think about me or our family.”

“Dylan…” Blake stepped forward, hand outstretched, reaching for him.

Dylan pulled away, stumbling backwards until his back hit the railing. “Don’t touch me.” He growled, hackles rising, his inner wolf on edge. He was breathing heavily, pushing past the pain that was sharp in his gut. His knees felt weak.

Blake froze, but he didn’t move back. He looked like he wanted to, but he hesitated, conflicting emotions contorting his expression.

Dylan glared at him from where he was half hunched, curled around himself protectively. “Did you ever stop to consider what I’ve been through?” He growled from between clenched teeth. He leaned heavily into the stone railing, one hand curling tight to the stone while his knees wobbled. “While you got to continue to live your life guilt free, I’ve been alone. You left me alone. I nearly had a miscarriage, and I was alone. I had to take care of our daughter alone, even after I told you I didn’t think I was a good father. I’ve been struggling with…with this…” He gestured to his stomach, trying to straighten but grunting in pain when another stab of pain shot through him. “Alone. I’ve had to be here, pretending like I’m fine, pretending like I’m happy and hopeful and just…fine…while you look at me like a stranger, touch me like a stranger.”

“Dylan,” Blake’s voice sounded strained. There were lines around his eyes and a furrow to his brows. He was frowning, but it was no longer one of irritation and anger. He felt guilty. He felt bad. And while Dylan enjoyed that look, it didn’t make him feel as good as he’d hoped it would. “Are you alright?” He tried to edge a little closer, lowering himself and trying to make himself look smaller as he tried to get a better look at Dylan. “You look a little…and your scent…”

Dylan tried to pull away from him again, but the first step caused another wave of pain, so instead he pinned Blake with a scowl. “You may not feel our connection anymore, but I do. It’s cold, barren, and empty.” There was venom in his voice, dripping with acid and sharp with a bite to it. “I have to suffer through this every day, while pretending to be your patient little omega waiting for you to come home, while you get to ignore me, guilt free. You’re not guilt free, Blake. This is your fault…Agh!”

He clenched his jaw, nearly biting his tongue in an attempt to cut off his cry of pain. He groaned, low and strained, as he finally lost the battle and slumped to the ground, landing on his knees. One hand was still on the railing as he leaned against it, his other hand clenched tight around his stomach. His vision became unfocused, and he had to blink rapidly in an attempt to keep it clear.

“…Dylan? Dylan!”

A face swirled in his vision. Blake’s face. Blurry around the edges until Dylan finally managed to focus on him. On his sharp, beautiful features. On those beautiful, irritating eyes. He hated them. He loved them. Hands were touching his shoulders, his upper arms. The touch was warm, but felt distant.

“What’s happening? What’s wrong?” Blake sounded frantic, worried, and on the verge of panic. Distantly, Dylan was pleased to hear his mate finally acting like he cared. Even more distantly, he realized he should probably be feeling the same. But there was a strange disconnect between his body and his mind. His mind was pulling back, protecting itself from the pain. “Dylan!”

He licked his lips, head lolling to the side to rest on the railing. His other hand slid down to his stomach as well, holding on tight. His tongue felt thick and sluggish, mouth impossibly dry. “It’s…It’s time.”

And as he said it, he knew he was right. It was his instincts kicking in. Labor, his mind whispered. He was going into labor. Labor for male omegas was always more painful than it was for females, but he’d been through pregnancy before, and it had never been this bad with Lily. Painful, yes, but not bad enough to bring him to his knees and cause him to disassociate.

Something was wrong, and that knowledge was enough to break through the hazy state his mind had retreated into, sending a shiver of adrenaline and fear down his spine.

“Time?” Blake was asking.

Dylan reached out, hand shaking as he grabbed the front of Blake’s shirt, fingers curling into it with desperation. “The baby,” he whispered, voice cracking as another wave of pain rolled through him. He stared up at Blake, eyes wide and full of fear. “I think something’s wrong.”

Blake held his gaze for a moment, his own eyes widening as they searched Dylan’s. He saw fear run through him, and although Blake still didn’t remember him, at least he cared, just a little. And in that moment, it was enough. “What do I…”

“Get help,” Dylan bit out, hunching over as pain ripped through him, stomach twisting and the child inside him turning. “Please.”

Blake’s hands on Dylan’s shoulders squeezed, reluctant to let go, but then he was on his feet, sprinting back into the sitting room. Dylan heard him shouting, heard the door to the hallway being thrown open, heard the cries for help.

He stayed where he was, curled into himself on the balcony, jaw clenched tight in an attempt to hold back the screams he could feel tearing at his throat.

He didn’t succeed, and they slipped past his lips, torn and broken.

* * *

The hours passed in a haze. He felt like he was drifting in and out of consciousness. He didn’t know how long it took before they came for him and he didn’t know who Blake managed to find. He just remembered hands and bodies, and distant voices that didn’t quite form words in his brain. He remembered the strange weightless sensation of being carried. He remembered being placed on a bed and being touched by cool, comforting hands, being surrounded by soft, comforting voices before drifting off again.

Every time he rose back to consciousness, he was in a room that was far too white. It added to the haze surrounding him. His eyes struggled to focus, but it was hard. Everything was too hard. He remembered Rajiah. He remembered Jesse. He remembered Karen. He remembered several other faces that passed by and hovered at the edges of his vision, whispering soothing words that meant nothing to him.

He remembered being surrounded by soothing scents. Betas and witches with scents like clean sheets and fresh cut grass and the ocean on a clear summer day. He remembered the vague smell of smoldering herbs, different from the ones that had been burning in the room the day he and Blake attempted to physically rebuild their bond, but soothing all the same.

But most of all he remembered the pain. It came in waves, and each set of waves crashed through him at intervals that got shorter and shorter. He would wake up in those moments, body clenching and convulsing, shouts and cries being ripped from his throat. Hands remained on him and words surrounded him in an attempt to soothe. And once the wave passed, he would fall back into a distant doze.

He remembered the soft glow of magic during those welcome breaks, soothing his muscles and easing away the echoes of the pain. He remembered opening his eyes at some point to see Remi staring at him, a small smile on his face as his small, chubby hand lay on Dylan’s stomach. He vaguely remembered the boy speaking, but he didn’t remember what he said. He had a feeling it was hopeful. He fell back into unconsciousness thinking about the odd connection his newborn son would have to the young dragon boy.

As the contractions came faster, closer together, he had less time to sleep in between. He remembered frantic movement around the room, the quick, clipped words that clashed with the low, soothing ones. He remembered the cool cloth on his forehead. He remembered the hands that kept him from thrashing around too much.

He remembered Blake, hazy and distorted in his memory, to the point where he wondered if it had even been real. But his scent had been there. Warm and comforting, despite it still not quite being the same as it once was. He remembered Blake’s voice whispering to him, though the words were lost. He remembered holding Blake’s hand as the pain crashed over him, squeezing it until he was certain it would break. And yet the alpha didn’t let go.

* * *

He ended up needing a C-section. He wasn’t surprised, and by the time they told him, he simply wanted the ordeal to be over with. He barely remembered the operation, as they had given him enough medication to keep him numb. When he came to, he was still in the room that was far too white. He remembered thinking it would look identical to a hospital room had it not been for the walls, architecture, and decor that still looked far too much like a castle.

He didn’t think he’d ever actually been to the medical wing of the Shadow Pack compound.

Rajiah was there, waiting for him to wake up. As soon as he opened his eyes, Rajiah called for the doctors, shifters with medical degrees who lived among the pack, and they checked Dylan’s vitals.

Not long after he was cleared as stable by the medics, Rajiah brought him his son.

He looked so small and vulnerable in Rajiah’s arms, asleep and bundled up, with a small, feathery mop of dark hair on his head. For a moment, Dylan didn’t want to take him. He didn’t think he was worthy of holding him. He wasn’t a good father. He sometimes questioned if he was even a good man. Above all, his son looked far too innocent to be tainted by his shameful touch.

But then Rajiah was settling the swaddled bundle in his arms, and Dylan felt his breath leave his lungs. A warmth bloomed in him, spreading out through his limbs, untangling the knot in his chest and unraveling the twisted mess of his insides. All his worries and all his anxieties seemed to melt away in the wake of the emotions he felt looking down at his newborn son in his arms.

He’d felt the same thing when he held Lily for the first time, and he felt it again now: an awe at holding something so beautiful and precious that he’d created, an overwhelming desire to protect, a happiness that he didn’t think could be matched.

And in that moment, nothing else mattered.

It didn’t matter that he didn’t have a mate. It didn’t matter that he’d fought with Blake. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t sure how they’d be able to put the pieces of themselves back together.

It didn’t matter, because Dylan had something else to live for. Something far more important than himself.

* * *

During the recovery that followed, Dylan was visited by what felt like the whole pack, familiar and unfamiliar faces alike. His friends came by and sat with him. Rajiah rarely left his side. Arulean came to congratulate him. Marcus and Lucy came by, Lucy’s eyes shining as she held her own belly. The witches came regularly, checking on him and his health, but also to marvel at what they called the miracle baby.

After all, his son should have died twice over, they told him. When he first started to miscarry all those months ago, it had only been the strangeness of Remi’s dragon magic that had saved his unborn son and kept his body from rejecting him. And now, when Dylan’s childbirth had been such a difficult one. Difficult and with several complications. It was only through the efforts of magic and science working together and quick thinking on the part of everyone, that they’d been able to save them both.

It came as a surprise to hear he’d almost died, but at the same time, it wasn’t. He had, after all, lived through it.

His room in the medical wing was full of flowers and gifts. People came and went, to see him and his baby. Lily stayed with him as much as she was allowed, obsessed and excited, fawning over her new baby brother. At night, she curled up with Dylan and the baby on the bed, and while he missed Blake’s presence, he found the ache didn’t hurt as much as it once had.

Acceptance was a powerful thing.

* * *

Blake avoided Dylan’s room, and Dylan found he was dreading the man’s appearance rather than hoping for it.

He thought he saw him pass by in the hall once. There were several people in his room, surrounding his bed and fawning over his son. Lily was telling them her plans as an older sister, and everyone was humoring her. Dylan couldn’t say what made him look up. It was just a sudden urge, something that inexplicably drew his attention to the hallway. When he looked up, he saw a figure disappearing from view and had the distinct impression of white blond hair.

He had dreams about Blake, too. In his dreams, the alpha came to his room at night, hovering near the bed and looking over Dylan and their children while the moonlight filtered through the windows and softened his expression. In those dreams, he would reach out, running his knuckles gently down Dylan’s face as his eyelids fluttered closed once again.

In the morning, he would wake with a ghostly sensation on his cheek and uncertainty in his heart, making him wonder if it had actually been a dream.

But in the light of day, Blake never made an appearance. Dylan asked about him once, but Rajiah skirted around the question, giving him an apologetic smile and worried glances. He took that as a sign and stopped asking.

His son was a quiet thing. Certainly quieter than Lily had been. He watched everything with wide, round eyes that were the same crystal blue as Blake’s. His hair was darker than Lily’s, and Dylan hoped it would turn a redder shade as he grew, mirroring Dylan’s own copper hair.

The most curious thing, however, was the strange birthmark on the baby’s chest, directly over his heart. It was oddly shaped and the skin was darker than the rest, though still smooth. The doctors said there was nothing wrong with him, that it was just a birthmark, so Dylan set his budding trepidation aside.

The child often looked inquisitive, curious, and seemed content to observe everything around him. He loved the attention when people came to visit, but none so much as with Remi. He stared openly whenever the dragon boy was in the room, and next to nothing could take his attention away from him. Remi, likewise, was absolutely taken with the child, smiling, watching and asking his parents when he would be old enough to play.

Next to Remi, his newborn son was completely smitten with Lily. Watching them interact brought warmth to his heart, easing away the numbness and the ache that had long since taken root.

For the first time in months, Dylan thought everything might actually be okay.

* * *

Blake found him alone several days later. The late afternoon sun was on the horizon, shining through the window and casting the room in warm orange hues. Dylan had finally managed to find a moment of peace where he had no visitors, no doctors, Lily was off playing with Remi, and he was left alone to simply enjoy a moment to himself with his son.

He knew the moment Blake was in the doorway. It was an instinctual thing. The same instinct that always allowed him to know where ever Blake was, despite not actually knowing and despite their mateship bond being cold and silent.

One moment he was simply staring down at the sleeping face of his child, bundled in his arms, and the next he was looking up, finding he wasn’t at all surprised to see Blake standing in the doorway, hands in his pockets, face holding a flurry of melancholy expressions.

Dylan sighed, gesturing wordlessly to the chair next to his bed. Blake tilted his head just a fraction, a small sheepish smile gracing the corner of his lips as he stepped into the room. His movements were slow, deliberate, and uncertain. It was enough to put Dylan on edge, but he found it no longer hurt. It caused an ache deep inside him to throb slightly, but the pain was dim and numbed, nowhere near as sharp as it once was.

Blake sat in the chair, leaning forward until his elbows rested on his knees. His hands were clasped in front of him, fingers intertwining, loosening, and weaving together again. He cracked his knuckles until he couldn’t anymore, and his eyes were fixed firmly on the bed, brows pinched, and lips pursed into a small frown.

Silence pressed into the room, thick and suffocating. It wasn’t the silence Dylan had been enjoying moments before. This one was tense and oppressive, but he knew this was something that had been a long time coming.

They had both made their feelings clear: Blake didn’t love him, and Dylan’s insistence that he should, the pressure that he should, was making it even harder for Blake to give him a chance. And Dylan...Dylan blamed him. Dylan was mad at him. He hesitated to say he hated him, because he didn’t. He didn’t think he could ever hate Blake. But he hated what he’d done, and he hated how it had broken them apart. And that hate, that anger, that frustration, was a festering seed that had grown and morphed into a tangled web that was hard to cut down.

There in the silence that pressed between them, Dylan could feel the distance. All the cracks that had built up between them, that were holding on by a thread and threatening to shatter what they once were, had finally broken.

It wasn’t a loud, shattering break. There wasn’t a loud bang that caused the earth to fall away beneath his feet. It wasn’t his heart being ripped out of his chest and it wasn’t his world crumbling to dust around him.

He realized it had happened slowly. Piece by cracked and broken piece had fallen out of what they once were, drifting quietly to the ground. And he’d been picking up each piece and putting it back in place, desperately trying to get them to stick and stay. But he couldn’t do it alone and in his own frustration, he’d put them back a little too forcefully. Until what they once were was only an illusion, a shattered memory of the past.

He didn’t have the energy to keep up the illusion anymore and judging from the look on his face, neither did Blake.

Still, there was one thing Dylan needed to say. One last thing he felt he needed Blake’s approval on. Perhaps not for the man he was now, but in honor of the man he once was.

“Adrien.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Blake lift his head, tilting it to the side in the way he did when he was confused. Dylan kept his eyes on the child in his arms, fingers gently moving the blanket away from his face, lax with sleep.

“What?”

“For a name.” He looked up at Blake then, meeting his eyes and smiling despite the ache in his chest. It wasn’t a happy smile, but it was genuine. “What’d you think about Adrien?”

Blake’s gaze slid from Dylan to the baby, expression softening considerably. “I...I like it. I think it’s fitting.”

Dylan nodded. “Adrien it is, then. I’ll tell them to put it on his birth certificate.”

“You waited to ask me?”

Dylan shrugged, keeping his eyes down. “You’re his father, too. Even if you don’t remember us.”

“I didn’t think I deserved a say.”

“You have no missing memories of him. You have a clean slate. I won’t be the one who takes his father away from him.” There was a long silence, both of them resting their eyes on the innocent child in Dylan’s arms, neither of them willing to broach the real reason why Blake was here. “Do you want to hold him?”

“I held him a few times in the nursery,” he said, hesitantly, but he didn’t hesitate when Dylan held Adrien out to him, nor did he hesitate to cradle the sleeping child to his chest. Dylan watched him. He watched the way he looked at their son. Watched the way his eyes softened and his smile looked more peaceful. He tried to imagine a reality where Blake remembered, where they were together through this, where this was a happy moment and not one of goodbye.

“I’m leaving with the witches tomorrow,” Blake said softly, voice pushing through the silence.

Dylan waited, holding his breath, but the pain didn’t come. He only felt a grim and melancholy acceptance. He let his breath out in a sigh. “I know.”

Blake looked up then, brows pinching. “You knew?”

Dylan shrugged, leaning back against the pillows propped up behind him. He offered Blake a small, sad smile. “No one actually told me, but I know you better than you think I do. I’m not surprised you’re leaving.”

Blake looked down, lips pursed. He no longer looked at peace. He looked at war with himself. But despite his internal struggle, there was a flare of determination. Of stubbornness that Dylan knew all too well. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, barely a whisper into the room.

“I am, too.” Dylan said.

And they said no more. They sat in silence that wasn’t nearly as tense as before, but still heavy with unspoken goodbyes. Still, there was a strange lightness brought on by acceptance. They sat while Blake held Adrien. A few people walked by, but left again after a brief peek into the room. Dylan dozed, in and out of consciousness.

Then, after several hours had passed, Blake handed Adrien back to Dylan. They exchanged small smiles. Awkward. Sad. Tense. But ultimately, understanding. And then Blake stood and walked out of the room.

Dylan ached, but the pain was no longer sharp. His eyes burned, but he didn’t cry. Even when he felt like crumbling, all it took was one look at baby Adrien in his arms for his chest to swell with strength. He was tired of living in his memories. He was tired of trying to force himself into a space where he didn’t fit. He was tired of his life stalling, holding out in the hope that it would right itself.

Dylan had never been a patient man, and he was tired of waiting. Tired of sitting around. Tired of being idle. It was time to move forward. To move on. If Blake returned to him, so be it, but if he didn’t...that was just something Dylan would have to accept. He couldn’t waste his life, his children’s lives, waiting around for something that might never happen.

He wasn’t giving up on Blake, but he needed to move forward on his own.

“Have you thought of a name?” Rajiah asked later that night when he came to visit, taking a seat next to Dylan. Remi and Lily played on the floor across the room.

“Adrien.”

“Adrien,” Rajiah echoed, feeling the name on his tongue. “I like it.”

“Me too.”

There was a long pause before Rajiah said hesitantly, “Blake is leaving tomorrow.”

“I know.”

“We’re not giving up on him. He’s not giving up. He just thinks he needs more space.”

“I know.”

“How’re you feeling?”

“I feel...” Dylan paused, staring distantly out the window. How did he feel? Numb, mostly. It hurt, but not as much as he expected. Mostly he felt...stronger. Determined. He wanted to get back to himself. To stop being the person he thought he needed to be, doing what was expected of him, what he thought Blake wanted. He just wanted...to be himself again. And he’d always been strong, resilient, and a soldier marching forward. “I feel like it’s time I got a haircut.”