Spending time with Brigit, Finn, and the others had helped ease the tension in my chest, their laughter and playful banter a welcome distraction. But even in those lighthearted moments, a persistent thought lingered, gnawing at the edge of my mind. I needed to understand what was happening between Diarmid and me—what it all meant.

Later that evening, I found him in his office. The warm light of a lamp bathed the room in a golden glow, reflecting off the dark wood shelves lined with books. Diarmid sat in a leather armchair near the window, a glass of whiskey resting in his hand. He looked utterly composed, yet the faint furrow in his brow suggested he was lost in thought.

I hesitated at the doorway before stepping in. The soft click of my footsteps on the wooden floor caught his attention, and his blue-grey eyes lifted to meet mine. There was something in his gaze—calm but intense, piercing but unreadable.

“Can we talk?” I asked cautiously, unsure how he would respond.

Diarmid’s expression softened slightly, though his eyes held their usual depth. “Of course,” he said, gesturing toward the chair opposite him.

I sat down, my hands clasped tightly in my lap. For a moment, the words refused to come. Finally, I took a deep breath and began.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “About Jaimes.”

Diarmid didn’t react outwardly, but the subtle shift in his posture told me I had his full attention.

I told him everything. About the way Jaimes had been my first love, the memories we shared, and the heartbreak that followed his death. I spoke of the pain, the anger, and the emptiness I’d carried with me for so long. My voice faltered more than once, but I pushed through, determined to lay it all bare.

When I finished, the silence that followed was heavy but not oppressive. Diarmid’s gaze remained steady on me, thoughtful and unreadable. He took a sip of his whiskey before speaking.

“Arwen,” he began, his voice low and steady, “what you shared with Jaimes was real. I can see it in the way you speak of him, the emotions it still stirs in you.”

I nodded, unsure of what to say.

“But there’s something you need to understand,” he continued, leaning forward slightly. “What you and I share—it’s different. Deeper. It’s not something either of us could have chosen, nor is it something we can ignore. We are soulmates.”

The unfamiliar word hung in the air between us, heavy with meaning. “Soulmates?” I repeated, my brow furrowing.

Diarmid nodded, his eyes holding mine. “It’s an ancient concept among my kind. Soulmates or Erasthai is more than love—it’s a bond that exists at the very core of who we are. It’s as if the universe itself decided that two souls belong together, entwining their destinies in ways we can’t fully comprehend.”

I stared at him, my breath catching. “And you think… we’re this? Erasthai?”

“I don’t think,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a weight that made me shiver. “I know. From the moment I first saw you, something within me recognized you. It’s not just an attraction, Arwen. It’s a connection—an unbreakable thread that pulls us together no matter how much we might resist it.”

His words were overwhelming, and I felt myself leaning back slightly, trying to process the enormity of what he was saying. “How does it… work?” I asked hesitantly.

“It’s instinctive,” he explained. “The bond isn’t something that can be forced or created—it simply is. For Lycans, it’s the most sacred connection we can have. It goes beyond physical attraction or even emotional attachment. It’s as if our souls were crafted to complement one another, to make each other whole.”

“And what happens if… if one of us doesn’t feel the same way?” I asked, my voice trembling slightly.

Diarmid’s expression softened, his gaze almost tender. “The bond is patient,” he said. “It doesn’t demand—it waits. It’s not about forcing feelings or expectations. It’s about growing into what was always meant to be. But…” He paused, his jaw tightening slightly. “Ignoring it can be… painful. For both of us.”

I swallowed hard, my mind reeling. “So you’ve known this all along?”

“Yes,” he admitted. “I knew it the moment I met you. But I also knew that this isn’t something I could rush. I’ve waited centuries, Arwen. Waiting a little longer for you to understand… for you to trust me… is nothing.”

His words settled over me, heavy and unshakable. I searched his face, looking for any sign of doubt, but all I saw was unwavering certainty.

“I’m not asking you to make a decision now,” he said gently. “I just needed you to know. Whatever happens, whatever you feel, I’ll be here. The bond may have chosen us, but it’s your choice whether to embrace it.”

I sat there in silence, the weight of his words sinking into my heart. The pull I felt toward him suddenly made sense, yet it left me more conflicted than ever. But one thing was clear—my world was no longer the same.

The silence that followed Diarmid’s explanation was thick, filled with emotions I couldn’t name. My heart raced as I replayed his words about erasthai, about a bond deeper than anything I’d ever imagined.

But beyond the overwhelming realization, there was something else—something I couldn’t keep bottled up anymore. I needed to tell him.

“I…” My voice faltered, and I glanced away, my fingers fidgeting with the hem of my sweater. The warm glow of the lamp cast shadows around us, making the moment feel even more intimate. “I felt the pull too. Ever since I first saw you… at the university, and then again at the café.”

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I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, and I dared a glance at him. Diarmid was watching me intently, his blue-grey eyes unwavering. The weight of his gaze made my words stumble even more.

“You’ve… you’ve never left my mind,” I continued, my voice barely above a whisper. My chest felt tight, and my words tumbled out in a rush, desperate to escape before I lost my nerve. “I mean—I don’t know how to explain it, but you… you’re always there.”

His lips quirked upward, the faintest hint of a smirk pulling at the corners. It wasn’t mocking—it was amused, tender even. The subtle expression made my stomach flip, and I realized too late how awkwardly I must’ve sounded.

“And I mean—” I stammered, my hands gesturing vaguely as if that would help me articulate the storm of emotions swirling inside me. “It’s not just the pull. It’s… it’s you. The way you… the way you’re just… you!”

I groaned inwardly, mortified by my incoherence. But Diarmid didn’t interrupt. He didn’t laugh. Instead, his smirk deepened ever so slightly, his head tilting as if he found my struggle endearing.

“Arwen,” he said, his voice low and smooth, a hint of amusement lacing his tone. “You’re adorable when you’re flustered.”

I froze, my eyes widening as his words sank in. “Adorable?” I squeaked, my face burning with embarrassment.

His smirk turned into a full, heart-stopping smile, one that made his already striking features even more captivating. “Yes,” he said simply, his tone teasing but gentle. “Absolutely adorable.”

I opened my mouth to retort, to argue, but no words came out. Instead, I buried my face in my hands, muttering something unintelligible that might’ve been a plea for the ground to swallow me whole.

Diarmid’s soft chuckle filled the room, warm and unguarded, and I peeked at him through my fingers. His expression wasn’t just playful—it was fond, as though he found every awkward word and movement utterly charming.

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” he said, his voice softer now, serious. “But I’m glad you told me.”

I lowered my hands slowly, my heart still pounding. “You are?”

“Of course,” he said, leaning forward slightly, his gaze locking with mine. “It means everything to me, Arwen. Hearing you say it… it means everything.”

The sincerity in his voice melted some of my embarrassment, though my cheeks still burned. I nodded, unable to find the words to respond, but the look in his eyes said he understood.

And for the first time, I allowed myself to believe that maybe—just maybe—this bond wasn’t as overwhelming as it seemed. Maybe, with him, it was something I could embrace.

Diarmid leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving mine. The soft flicker of the lamp cast golden highlights on his sharp features, and the weight of the moment pressed against my chest in the most intoxicating way.

“Come here,” he said gently, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down my spine.

I hesitated, my heart thundering in my chest. But there was no mistaking the warmth in his expression, the unspoken reassurance that I could trust him. Slowly, I stepped closer until I was standing just before him. He reached out, his hands brushing my hips as he guided me onto his lap.

The intimacy of the position made my breath hitch, but his touch was careful, his grip firm yet gentle. I perched there nervously, my hands awkwardly resting against his chest as I tried to steady my breathing. His heart beat steadily beneath my palms, a soothing rhythm that contrasted with the chaos inside me.

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice impossibly soft.

I met his gaze, and the intensity in his blue-grey eyes made the rest of the world fade away. Slowly, as if not to startle me, he tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering against my cheek.

“You don’t have to be nervous with me,” he said, his thumb brushing along my jaw. “I’ll never rush you.”

His words melted some of my tension, and I nodded slightly, my lips parting as I tried to speak. But before I could say anything, he leaned in, his movements deliberate, giving me the chance to pull away if I wanted to.

I didn’t.

His lips brushed mine, soft and unhurried, a whisper of a kiss that sent a spark coursing through me. My hands slid up to his shoulders instinctively, clinging to him as he deepened the kiss, his mouth moving against mine with a tenderness that left me breathless.

Diarmid’s hands skimmed along my back, pulling me closer, and I melted into him, all thoughts slipping away except for the way he felt—strong and steady beneath me, his warmth seeping into my skin. His tongue flicked against my bottom lip, and a soft gasp escaped me, granting him entry.

The kiss turned hungrier, his grip tightening as if he couldn’t get enough. His hands roamed, tracing the curve of my waist, anchoring me to him as our breaths mingled. My fingers threaded through his dark hair, tugging gently, and a low growl rumbled from his chest, the sound reverberating through me.

He broke the kiss only to trail his lips along my jawline, down to the sensitive spot just beneath my ear. “Arwen,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion and desire.

I shivered, my name on his lips igniting something primal and undeniable within me. His teeth grazed my skin, teasing, and a soft moan escaped before I could stop it. He chuckled, the sound rich and pleased, his hands sliding beneath the hem of my sweater to brush against bare skin. The contrast of his calloused fingers and the gentle caress sent a thrill coursing through me.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered, his lips grazing my neck. “If this is too much, tell me.”

But I didn’t want him to stop. I shook my head, my hands tightening their hold on him. “Don’t,” I whispered, my voice trembling but certain.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to meet my gaze, searching for any sign of hesitation. When he found none, his lips crashed into mine again, the kiss demanding and all-consuming.

The shadows shifted, deep and oppressive, cloaking the figure that stood motionless on the edge of a deserted rooftop. The wind howled around him, whipping his dark coat and hair, but he remained unfazed, a statue carved from anguish and resolve. His crimson eyes glowed against the blackness, twin embers burning with emotion too raw to contain.

Pain etched itself across his sharp features, a storm raging within as he stared into the distance. His gaze was locked on a faint glow in the horizon—the faint pulse of life he had sought for so long. But now, as he felt her presence—so close yet impossibly far—a sharp pang pierced his chest.

"I might be too late," he murmured, his voice hoarse, trembling with the weight of the realization.

His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles whitening as he fought against the unbearable truth. He had waited, wandered through countless nights and endless corridors of time, and now, when the threads of fate finally brought him close, the possibility of failure loomed large.

His crimson eyes darkened, the light within them flickering like a dying flame. The shadows seemed to respond, twisting and coiling around him, as if feeding on his despair.

The world around him felt eerily silent, save for the distant rhythm of beating hearts. The sound was faint, yet he could isolate hers from the rest, the melody of her life calling to him like a siren. But another presence surrounded it—a protector, someone who had stepped into the space where he should have been.

The shadowed figure’s face twisted, the contours of agony deepening. His voice was barely audible, a whisper lost to the wind. “Arwen…”

The shadows thickened as he stepped back into their embrace, his form dissolving into the void. Yet, the embers in his eyes burned brighter, a vow searing itself into his soul.

"I won’t lose her."