[ZAIRE]
[Three weeks later]
It was always easy to run from everything.
From what life brought, the horrors of a future no one properly understood.
From a crown that came with so much burned.
From a mate bond that was intended to last forever.
But even then, no one had told the werewolf prince that just a day after the official mourning period was over, he would be at the infirmary, with a sword lodged in his abdomen, bleeding out like this was what the fates had wanted for him.
"Y… You can't be here, Kalkan. You need to leave. I did this, not you," a bleeding Nour coughed up as the physicians tried to save him.
He had refused to be bitten by Zaire so his healing could be faster. And he had refused to use Alanor's magical connection to him to fix himself up.
He had declined every ounce of help possible, and right now, even as he was bleeding out, he was refusing his mate's company. That was the kind of shit that Zaire was not going to stand for.
