Alpha Kael's dangerous Obsession Chapter 67 – The Fracture Between Them

Chapter 67 – The Fracture Between Them

POV: Kael

By the ti I was steady enough to walk without the room shifting under , I had already made up my mind about one thing.

I wasn’t waiting.

Not for the healers to clear . Not for the elders to decide what ca next. Not for anyone to tell what I should or shouldn’t do.

The pain was still there, sitting deep and sharp enough to remind exactly how close it had been, but it wasn’t enough to stop . I had felt worse and kept moving. This wasn’t any different.

What stayed with wasn’t the injury.

It was the bond.

Even now, it wasn’t fully open, not the way it used to be, but it wasn’t silent either. It sat there, restrained, controlled, like sothing both of us were holding back on purpose.

But earlier, right before everything went dark, I had felt it.

Just for a second. Just enough to know.

She had been there. She had felt it and she hadn’t used it.

That was the only thing that mattered.

I didn’t bother calling anyone when I stepped out of the dical wing. No one tried to stop . If they noticed, they chose not to interfere, which told everything I needed to know about the current state of the fortress.

No one was sure where to stand anymore.

Good.

They would figure it out later. Right now, I had sothing else to deal with.

I didn’t need to ask where she was. Even like this, the bond still pulled just enough to guide , and I followed it without slowing down.

By the ti I reached her door, I didn’t stop to think.

I opened it and went in.

Liora looked up imdiately, like she had been expecting sothing, but whatever she thought it would be, it wasn’t this.

I crossed the room before she could say anything.

There was no hesitation, no careful pause to read her expression or asure the mont. I reached her and pulled her into without asking, my arms tightening around her before she had the chance to react properly.

For a second, her body went still in my hold, like she hadn’t caught up to what was happening yet.

I didn’t let go.

"You didn’t do it," I said, my voice lower than I expected, rough in a way that had nothing to do with the injury. "You didn’t use it."

I felt the shift in her imdiately not resistance, not exactly, more like sothing inside her paused.

I exhaled slowly, tightening my hold just slightly, not enough to hurt her, just enough to make it clear I wasn’t letting go yet.

"Thank you," I added, quieter this ti.

That wasn’t sothing I said often, not like this, not without a reason that mattered.

She didn’t respond right away. I could feel it in the way her breathing changed slightly, like she was trying to figure out what to do with this, with , with the fact that I wasn’t angry.

I pulled back just enough to look at her, but I didn’t step away completely.

"You knew I’d recover," I said, holding her gaze. "You trusted that I would."

Her brows pulled together slightly, not in confusion, but like she wasn’t sure she agreed with that.

"I didn’t know," she said.

Honest.

I nodded once.

"But you didn’t act like you had to fix it," I replied. "That’s the difference."

Her gaze shifted for a second, like she was thinking through that, and I could see the conflict there. Not because she didn’t understand what I ant, but because she did.

"I made a decision," she said.

"I know," I answered.

There was no edge in it. No challenge. Just acknowledgnt.

I studied her for a second longer, taking in the way she held herself, the control in it, the restraint that hadn’t been there before.

"You’re counting," I said.

She didn’t deny it.

"Yes."

That sat heavier than it should have, I know she has two chances left and she had chosen not to use one of them on .

I let out a slow breath, not because I didn’t expect it, but because hearing it made it real in a different way.

"That’s why you didn’t co," I said.

She held my gaze this ti.

"I couldn’t waste it," she replied.

Direct, no apology, no attempt to soften it. I nodded slowly.

"That’s not wasting it," I said.

Her expression shifted slightly at that, like she hadn’t expected to say it that way.

"If you had used it without thinking," I continued, "that would have been a mistake."

She didn’t respond, but I could see it in her face that she was listening, actually listening, not just waiting to respond.

I stepped back slightly this ti, giving her space but not creating distance.

"You’re learning to choose," I said. "Not just react."

"That doesn’t make it easier," she replied.

"It’s not supposed to," I said.

That landed between us, not heavy, but real.

For a mont, neither of us spoke. Then I looked at her again, more carefully this ti.

"You felt how bad it was," I said.

She didn’t answer imdiately.

"I felt enough," she said finally.

"That’s not what I asked."

Her jaw tightened slightly, and for a second, it looked like she might deflect it, but then she didn’t.

"It was bad," she admitted.

I held her gaze.

"And you still didn’t use it."

"Yes."

No hesitation. That answer mattered more than anything else she could have said.

I nodded once.

"Good."

That word ca out without effort, but I ant it. She frowned slightly at that, like she still didn’t fully understand why I wasn’t reacting differently.

"You could have died," she said.

"I didn’t," I replied simply.

"That’s not the point."

"It is," I said, not harshly, but firmly enough that she didn’t interrupt again. "Because if you had used it and it didn’t fix everything, then what?"

She didn’t answer.

"And the next ti?" I continued. "Or the ti after that?"

Her silence told she had already thought about it.

I exhaled slowly, then ran a hand through my hair, more out of habit than frustration.

"You’re thinking ahead now," I said.

"I have to," she replied.

"I know."

That wasn’t sothing I argued with but there was sothing else underneath it, sothing she hadn’t said.

I looked at her again, more carefully this ti.

"And you’ve already decided sothing else too," I added.

She didn’t ask what I ant.

She knew.

"If it cos down to it..." I said, my voice quieter now, more controlled, "you won’t use it."

That wasn’t frad as a question. It didn’t need to be. Her gaze stayed on mine, steady, but she didn’t answer.

That silence told enough.

I nodded once, slower this ti.

"Alright," I said.

There was no anger in it. No disappointnt. Just acceptance of what was already there.

I stepped back fully now, creating a bit more space between us.

"You’re choosing your life," I said. "And the child."

"Yes."

That ca easier. Clearer. I watched her for a second, then nodded again.

"Good," I repeated.

This ti, she didn’t question it. I turned slightly, glancing toward the door before looking back at her one last ti.

"This doesn’t change anything else," I said.

She frowned slightly.

"What do you an?"

"I an," I continued, "whatever you’re preparing for, whatever you think you have to face alone... that part isn’t happening the way you think it is."

Her expression tightened slightly, like she didn’t agree.

"You don’t get to decide that," she said.

"Neither do you," I replied.

That stopped her. Not because it was harsh. Because it was true.

We held each other’s gaze for a second longer, neither of us backing down from it, but neither of us pushing further either.

Then I stepped back again, this ti moving toward the door.

"For now," I said, my hand resting briefly on the handle, "keep doing what you’re doing."

A small pause.

"But don’t start thinking you have to carry all of it by yourself."

I opened the door before she could respond, stepping out into the corridor without waiting.

Because if I stayed any longer, the conversation would shift into sothing else.

And right now, that wasn’t what either of us needed.

What mattered was already clear.

She was changing.

And for the first ti, she wasn’t reacting to survive.

She was deciding how.