Page 22 of Knot Your Fated M.U.S.E.

More haunted.

We all pretend not to notice. Ignore when we see the way his legs shake when he thinks no one's looking. Overlook how we hear him retching in the bathroom at night when the pain gets too bad to hide.

Pretend we're not watching our brother die by inches.

"Only when I catch a rubber bullet to the skull," I say, managing a grin that feels more like a grimace. "That hurts like a motherfucker."

He's got a towel draped across his lap – the same one I always use after training. Means he knew I'd be here, working out my demons in the only way I know how.

Meaning he was waiting…watching…

Worrying.

I cross to him, deliberately casual, not wanting him to strain himself by getting up. My muscles protest the sudden stillness after such intense activity, but I ignore them.

Physical pain is the easiest kind to bear.

"What's up?" I ask, though I already know.

Can smell the antiseptic on him. See the shadow of a bandage under his sleeve where they must have drawn blood.

Vale shrugs that familiar forced nonchalance that fools exactly none of us.

"Just came from the doc, so..."

My heart clenches.

"Update?"

"Same depressing shit," he says, waving a hand dismissively. "Who gives a fuck?"

But I know what that means. Know what he'snotsaying.

The prognosis is worse.

The options fewer.

The end…closer.

Time, that cruel bastard we've always raced against, is winning.

My throat threatens to close up as I look at him – this man who's been my brother in all but blood for longer than I care to count. This alpha who's saved my life more times than I can remember.

This warrior being brought low by something we can't fight.

Can't shoot.

Can't stab.

Can't beat into submission.

Just a disease, eating him alive from the inside out. Starting with his legs and working its way up, determined to take everything that makes Vale,Vale.

His mobility.

His independence.

His dignity.

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