A Dangerous Obsession
Chapter 72 - 71

Chapter 72: Chapter 71

The darkness was still there.

Thick, suffocating, and endless.

But amidst its heavy weight, a faint sensation began to creep through—a warmth, soft and calming, like a whisper of sunlight breaking through storm clouds. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to anchor me.

I clung to that sensation, letting it guide me toward consciousness. Slowly, the darkness began to recede, peeling away layer by layer, until the faintest traces of light seeped through.

I felt... different. Not better, not worse—just different. My body was heavy, my limbs too sluggish to obey me, and my head pounded with a dull ache. But there was a strange calmness that hadn’t been there before.

It took what felt like an eternity to force my eyes open. The room was dimly lit, the flicker of a single candle casting long, dancing shadows across the walls.

And then I saw him.

The Lycan King sat at the edge of my bed, his towering figure somehow diminished as he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his face buried in his hands. He looked... exhausted. The same person who was always so untouchable, so invincible, now seemed as fragile as I felt.

I wanted to say something. Maybe to ask why he was there, or to tell him to leave, or to demand answers to the thousands of questions swirling in my mind. But when I opened my mouth, no words came out.

My throat was dry, my voice stolen by the fever and pain that had ravaged me for days.

As if sensing my struggle, his head snapped up. His piercing gaze met mine, and for a moment, neither of us said anything.

"You won’t take her from me," he said suddenly, his voice low and rough. It wasn’t directed at me, not really. He spoke the words as if they were someone else in the room, someone unseen.

A single tear slipped down my cheek, the cool trail it left behind in stark contrast to the fever that still burned within me.

I wanted to ask him who he meant, who he thought would take me away. But I couldn’t muster the strength.

Instead, I just lay there, staring at him, while his words echoed in my mind.

It was unheard of. A werewolf without a wolf.

The thought struck me like a physical blow, and I felt another tear slide down my cheek. It wasn’t just my wolf that I’d lost—it was a part of myself, the part that made me me.

A werewolf without a wolf... It was equivalent to a person without a soul. A voice without sound. Music you couldn’t hear.

The concept was absurd, laughable even, like hearing about a dwarf that was somehow a giant. And yet, here I was.

If I survived this—and that was still a big if—I would be an abomination. Not a half-shifter, not an incomplete werewolf. Something worse. An anomaly that shattered the natural balance of the world.

I couldn’t wrap my mind around it. The very idea of existing in such a state was unbearable.

The Lycan King’s voice pulled me from my spiraling thoughts.

"You’ll rest," he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You’ll eat. And you’ll live."

I blinked up at him, confused by the raw determination in his voice.

"Why...?" I managed to croak out, though the word barely made it past my cracked lips.

His expression softened, just slightly, and for a moment, I thought I saw something akin to guilt flicker in his eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his usual unreadable mask.

"Because I said so," he replied simply, his tone as sharp as ever.

It wasn’t the answer I wanted. Hell, it wasn’t even an answer at all. But it was all he gave me, and I didn’t have the strength to push for more.

Another wave of exhaustion washed over me, and I felt my eyelids growing heavy again.

"Rest," he said, and there was a gentleness to his voice now, like a command wrapped in a lullaby.

The word lingered in my mind as the darkness began to creep in once more.

Music.

I heard... Music.

It was faint at first, just a whisper of sound brushing against the edges of my awareness. But as the darkness wrapped around me, the melody grew stronger, richer, until it filled every corner of my mind.

It wasn’t just music—it was beautiful. A song so haunting and delicate that it felt as though it was stitched together from fragments of memories I couldn’t quite grasp. Familiar yet distant, like something I’d heard in another life.

I couldn’t place it, but it tugged at something deep within me, a feeling I hadn’t allowed myself to experience in what felt like forever. It was... comforting.

I became aware of a warmth beneath my head, a soft surface that felt like the most luxurious of pillows. Only, it wasn’t a pillow. It was someone’s thigh.

Someone was sitting there, their hands resting gently on me as they sang the soothing melody.

Her voice wasn’t loud or commanding, but it held a strength that wrapped around me like a protective cocoon. It was the kind of voice you could get lost in, one that could silence the chaos in your mind with just a few notes.

I couldn’t see her clearly—the darkness still lingered, shrouding her face in shadow—but I could feel her presence. It was... kind.

I wanted to look at her, to see the face that matched such a beautiful voice, but my body felt impossibly heavy. My eyelids wouldn’t obey me, and all I could do was lie there, listening to the song that seemed to pour life back into my battered soul.

Who are you?

Her features were just out of reach, blurred and indistinct, but in my mind’s eye, I was certain she would be breathtaking. There was something almost otherworldly about her presence, something too pure for the world I’d known.

I wanted to speak, to ask her who she was and why she was here. But every time I tried, the words dissolved before they could take shape.

So I let myself listen instead.

The song wasn’t in any language I knew, but its meaning was clear. It was a lullaby, a promise of safety and solace.

It was everything I had never known I needed.

And yet, beneath the melody, there was a sadness. A deep, aching sorrow that echoed my own.

Tears slid silently down my face, and I wasn’t sure if they were mine or her’s.

Was this real?

It didn’t feel like a dream, but it also didn’t feel entirely tangible. It was as if I was caught between two worlds, one foot in reality and the other in a place I couldn’t name.

Her fingers brushed against my temple, light as a feather, and for a moment, the pain in my chest eased. The emptiness that had consumed me since I lost my wolf didn’t disappear entirely, but it felt... bearable.

I didn’t know how long I lay there, cradled on her thigh, the song weaving its magic around me. Time didn’t seem to exist in this space. It could have been minutes or hours, and I wouldn’t have known the difference.

All I knew was that I didn’t want it to end.

The melody began to wane, its haunting beauty slipping away as the notes grew fainter, softer—until they were barely a whisper in the air.

"Don’t go," I murmured, my voice trembling, though I wasn’t sure if the words were real or just a desperate echo in my mind.

She didn’t answer, but I could still feel her presence lingering, fragile yet comforting.

Fingers brushed gently through my hair one last time, a fleeting caress that sent a shiver down my spine. Then, slowly, the warmth beneath me started to fade, unraveling like the last tendrils of a dream.

"No," I choked out, panic clawing at my throat. My hands reached out blindly, grasping at the emptiness. "Please... don’t leave me!"

A sob wrenched itself from deep within me, jagged and uncontrollable, tearing through my chest like shattered glass. It came in waves, raw and unrelenting, each one breaking me further. My throat burned, my breaths turned into ragged gasps, and my body trembled as I collapsed under the weight of it all.

"Mother!" I cried, the word erupting from me with a desperation so profound it felt like it might tear me apart. The sound echoed in the emptiness around me, a plea that would never be answered.

"Please, I’m scared," I whispered, my voice cracking as tears streamed down my face. "Mother, I’m scared."

Please take me with you.

The silence that followed was deafening, a cold, unyielding void that pressed down on me like an iron weight. The warmth was gone, and with it, the fragile illusion of safety. I was alone—terrifyingly, suffocatingly alone.