Traded To The Lycan King by MG Wattsons

I groan as I crawl onto the plush bed, plopping down next to Colette's sleeping body. My tired muscles twitch and tingle through me, from the hair on my head down to my toes. It doesn't matter that I've napped, or that my brother has refused to see me. What matters is my body is finally ready to shut down, and the thought has never felt so alluring.

Colette rustles as she rolls over onto her back, her eyes trained on mine in the low light of the room. I rise onto my elbow, scooting closer with great effort, and she bites her lips in a restrained giggle. My brow arches with a smirk.

"Something you want to say, Luna?" I drop my voice low, reaching out and gently stroking her cheek.

"No, I just..." she pauses, looking at my face before meeting my gaze.

"What?" I ask a concern growing in the pit of my stomach.

"I just love you." The words I have heard so many times feel different.

Maybe it's the heaviness of the days or the fact that this moment has a looming cloud of heartache, but they are weighted. Each one punctuated with the simplicity of the statement, but the inflection of her voice, the sincerity in her eyes. There is no way I can or will ever doubt that she means it. I can see it, feel it.

"That's convenient." I smile, "I just love you, too."

She giggles before she tugs at the blankets under me, prompting me to sit up.

"Do you love me enough to get off the top of the blankets so we can sleep?" She asks with a sweet smile popping on her face to convince me to move, but I see the veiled threat in it.

Colette may ask with her words, but her eyes are informing me I will be moving. I chuckle, rising up and crawling off the blankets before crawling under the silky textured sheets and heavy comforter. "Now come cuddle me," she demands.

My arm is already reaching out for her when she demands her cuddles, and before she can finish her sentence, I scoop her flush to my body. Colette wiggles into me, the back of her head pressing lightly to my lips. Her small body shudders in my arms and she presses into me further, silence coming over us as my eyes drift slowly closed.

"Thank you," she whispers suddenly.

"For what?" I ask, my voice groggy and just above the whisper.

"In your arms, it almost feels like I can pretend." She says.

"Pretend what?" I ask before realizing how dense the question is.

sniffle. My heart falls to my feet and

safe. When you are in my arms, you are safe." I assure her, her breathing hitches. "They are really gone

are dead." She says as if she still can't

for her. "So that you could be here safe in my

but...Is it so wrong to

against her

it makes you self less. Caspian and Melody could be selfless because of

her body now shaking in

is gone. It's how we act, the ways we mirror them and the memories we cherish." She cries, nodding

this?" she asks

too." I remind her and she turns in her arms, facing

it hard?" She whispers, her cheeks glistening with her

very hard," I tell her and she gives me a soft smile that doesn't meet her

sleep." She says through a rising yawn. "Maybe there I can pretend

her to pass out, her muscles relaxing in my arms and her body settling into me with a gentle pressing of working lungs. I stave off my

I don't know what that will look like. I just know that tomorrow I will fight against grief on

shoot out of bed, my heart pounding so violently my chest begs for reprieve. My weary eyes drift over to Colette, who pushes herself up as well, her eyes

one that is full of agony and suffering. I move across the room, slipping into sweatpants before rushing to the door. My hand freezes on

me with sincerity. "Hayes needs you more than I do right

break through the door and sprint through the old pack house, hoping my memory is good enough to deliver me right to his room. But another cry breaks out this time, a softer, more painful whimpering as if

through the

and arm. It doesn't look nearly as raging

I say, shutting the door

of him, his hand injured hand shaking on his knee and his good hand moving just as much. He looks down at the

out a heavy exhale and his chest stutters in breath. It reminds me of when he was little and we would spar. On the rare occasion I would hurt him, he would just look

to comfort someone you can't hug or touch because of an injury. With Colette, a

me. I don't want to be

are you talking about?" I say, trying to keep my