Ashes of Love by Amavi Serin

The night air was thin.

Too thin.

I gripped the balcony railing tighter, trying to ground myself, trying to slow the erratic beat of my heart. But my vision had already begun to blur — soft at the edges, like a fog closing in from the corners of my mind.

Not now.

Not again.

The pendant pressed hard against my chest with each shallow breath. I tried to force the nausea down, tried to breathe like Maerys taught me — steady, slow, in through the nose, out through the mouth. But it wasn't working.

The world was tilting.

No — I was tilting.

My legs gave out before I could stop them.

I crumpled to the cold stone floor, my hands scraping the tiles as I collapsed to one side, my skin clammy and cold.

Not again.

Not in front of him.

He moved fast.

Faster than I'd ever seen him.

One moment I was gasping alone on the balcony, and the next, Kael was crouched beside me, arms already reaching, eyes wide and — gods — filled with something that looked like fear.

"Serenya."

His voice wasn't hard this time.

It was shaken.

I tried to speak, but it came out as a ragged whisper. "I'm fine…"

"You're not," he snapped, but not at me — at himself. At the world. At the gods who were always too late.

His arms slid under me before I could protest, and I felt myself lifted — strong and steady, held like I might break if he breathed wrong.

I hated how good it felt.

I hated how safe I felt.

He brought me inside. Through the glass doors, into the low-lit warmth of the solarium.

He didn't call for a doctor. Didn't shout for help.

He just laid me gently on the couch, removed his jacket, folded it into a pillow, and slid it beneath my head.

Then he knelt beside me.

Like a knight at someone else's altar.

"What is this?" he asked, voice low. "Is this… recurring?"

I didn't want to answer.

But the look in his eyes broke something.

So I nodded.

"It started last year," I whispered. "Stress, they said. Or something deeper. I collapse when it gets too much. Sometimes it passes. Sometimes I faint."

His jaw clenched. "And no one's looked into it?"

"I've been looked at more than you know," I said softly. "But some things… don't show up on scans."

His eyes flicked to my chest — where the pendant would lie hidden.

"I don't need magic to tell me something's wrong," he murmured. "And I'm not letting it happen again under my watch."

I laughed, weakly. "What, is that an Alpha thing? Responsibility complex?"

"No," he said. "That's a me thing."

He was quiet for a moment. Then, unexpectedly, he lifted one hand — paused — then pressed his fingers gently against my wrist.

"Your pulse is stabilizing," he said. "Good."

"You're good at this."

"I've done it before."

"Saved collapsing girls on balconies?"

"...Held people I thought I might lose."

The words hung between us like a ghost.

I looked at him.

He was staring at my face like it mattered.

Like I mattered.

Something in his expression cracked. Just a little.

"Don't scare me like that again," he said.

I blinked. "Did I scare you?"

He looked away, jaw tense. "You don't get to ask that."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't have an answer I like."

When he stood, he hesitated like he wanted to say something more — then turned and walked toward the exit, footsteps softer than I thought a man like him could make.

But just before he crossed the threshold, he paused.

Without looking back, he said quietly, "You're not alone here. Even if you want to be."

And then he was gone.

And for the first time since arriving… I wanted to stay.