CHAPTER 199: THE CRACKS BETWEEN US

Josie

Varen’s grip on my arm was firm—almost bruising—as he dragged me down the narrow corridor. His silence burned louder than his voice ever could. The further we went, the more the noise of the others faded, until the only thing I could hear was the echo of my heartbeat and his harsh breathing.

The door to his room slammed shut behind us, the sound cracking through the air like a gunshot. Before I could even take another breath, he spun me around and pinned me against the wall. The impact forced a sharp exhale out of me, and his eyes—dark, molten, unreadable—held mine hostage.

"Talk," he said, his voice gravelly, low, dangerous.

I blinked at him, a hint of a smile tugging at my lips despite the tension. "You know, I actually like it when you get possessive."

His jaw flexed. "I’m not being possessive."

"Really?" I tilted my head, letting the smirk bloom fully now. "Because it feels like you are. You’ve got me pinned to a wall, breathing like you just ran through a battlefield."

He shoved himself back suddenly, as if my words had burned him. "Don’t delude yourself, Josie. I’m not one of your little games."

I straightened, brushing imaginary dust off my arm where he’d gripped me, watching him stalk across the room to his desk. His movements were sharp, mechanical—like he needed something to do with his hands, something to stop him from saying what he really wanted to.

"You always act like this," I said softly, watching him pretend to busy himself with the papers scattered across his desk. "Whenever you don’t want to admit what you’re feeling."

He froze mid-motion, his shoulders stiff. "There’s nothing to admit."

"Right," I muttered, moving closer until I was right beside the desk. I leaned against it, folding my arms. "You just happened to drag me halfway across the house and slam me against a wall for no reason. Got it."

His eyes darted up to meet mine. There was so much unspoken in that single glance—frustration, guilt, longing, fear. And still, he tried to bury it under his mask.

"I’m not doing this with you," he said through clenched teeth.

"I understand," I said calmly, even though my chest felt tight. "You’re confused. I can see it. You’re angry—at me, at yourself, maybe even at them. You’ve been treating me like a problem since I came back."

"Because you are one," he snapped, the words slipping out before he could catch them.

That one stung more than I wanted to admit. I took a breath, swallowing the pain that tried to rise to the surface. "You really think that, Varen?"

He turned his gaze away, focusing on the edge of the desk as though it might save him. "Since you came back," he muttered, his voice low, "everything feels... different. Like nothing makes sense anymore. You—" He cut himself off, grinding his jaw. "Forget it."

I moved closer, placing my hand flat on the desk beside his. "No. Say it."

He looked at me then—really looked at me. His eyes were dark and conflicted, and I could see the storm building behind them.

"You make me feel small," he finally said, the words barely above a whisper but heavy enough to knock the air from my lungs. "You came back from death, Josie. You’ve done things none of us can explain. And I—" His voice broke, a rare thing for him. "I can’t stand next to you without feeling like I’m standing in someone else’s shadow."

The room went silent.

I didn’t expect honesty. Not from Varen. Not from the man who carried his pain in silence and his pride like armor.

"Varen..." I breathed, moving closer. "I never meant to make you feel that way."

He gave a bitter laugh. "Intent doesn’t matter, Josie. You shine whether you want to or not. And the rest of us—" He shook his head. "We just orbit around you."

"I’m sorry," I whispered, meaning it more than he could ever know.

He looked up at me then, and for a moment, everything else faded. His anger, my guilt, the noise of the pack outside—it all melted away under the quiet, charged air between us. His gaze fell to my lips, lingering, and my pulse quickened.

I didn’t know who leaned in first, but the space between us vanished in a heartbeat. His breath brushed against my skin, his hand hovering just above my hip.

"Varen..." I murmured.

He didn’t answer, but his eyes said everything. He wanted to close that final inch between us. He wanted to forget the world outside.

But before it could happen, his expression shifted—hardening again as his head tilted slightly, his eyes glazing over.

Someone was reaching him through the mindlink.

He stepped back abruptly, breaking the moment as he pressed a hand to his temple. His jaw tightened. "Are you planning a party with my brother?" he asked suddenly, his voice sharp again.

I blinked. "What?"

He turned to me fully now, anger simmering just beneath his calm tone. "Answer me, Josie. Are you?"

"Yes," I said after a moment. "I was. I thought it would lift everyone’s spirits. After everything we’ve been through—"

"Nothing’s going to be right," he cut in, his voice dropping lower. "You can’t fix what’s broken with decorations and wine."

I frowned. "That’s not what I’m trying to do."

"Then what are you trying to do?" His tone softened just enough to sound wounded instead of angry. "Because every time I think I know where I stand with you, I realize I’m last. I’m always last."

That cracked something inside me. I stepped forward, reaching for him, but he stepped back again, his walls slamming up faster than I could tear them down.

"You’re not last," I said quietly. "You just think you are. But I’ll change that, Varen. I promise I will."

He didn’t answer, didn’t look at me. He just turned back to his desk, pretending to focus on nothing again.

I stayed there a moment longer, watching him, feeling the ache in my chest deepen. Then I sighed softly and left the room.

The hallway outside was alive with noise again—servants moving about, voices overlapping. For a moment, I just stood there, letting the chaos wash over me. I needed a second to breathe, to collect myself, but before I could, a familiar high-pitched voice broke through the noise.

"Josie!"

I turned just in time to see Marcy barreling toward me, her arms filled with a bouquet of flowers and a basket that looked far too heavy for her to be carrying. Her blonde hair was a mess, petals tangled in it, and yet she was smiling so brightly that it was almost infectious.

"Marcy?" I said, blinking as she nearly tripped over her own feet. "What are you doing here?"

"I’ve been looking everywhere for you!" she exclaimed, thrusting the flowers toward me so suddenly that I had to grab them before they fell. "You have no idea how happy I am to finally see you!"

She turned to glare over her shoulder at a group of servants. "And you lot—stop standing around like statues and make yourselves useful!"

I almost laughed at how flustered she looked. "Marcy, what is going on?"

She turned back to me, her expression shifting—still bright, but now laced with something else. Excitement. Maybe even a hint of worry.

"I have news," she said breathlessly, gripping my hands. "You need to hear this right now."

The words made my stomach drop. "What kind of news?"

Marcy glanced around the hallway, then leaned closer, lowering her voice to a whisper. "The kind that changes everything."

And just like that, whatever fragile peace I’d found shattered all over again.