Fern had to sleep pressed against your chest if he wanted to get any rest. The bond sickness had him shivering in your bed. Feverish, he rubbed his nose against the side of your arm.

“Don’t go,” he kept repeating. “Stay, stay.”

Every time you had to leave, he cried until you came back. Ivan was gone, he kept telling him. You told him he was and Fern believed you. Ivan would never come near him again. He didn’t need to be afraid.

“I think I hear him,” he whispered. Fern’s hand closed around your wrist. “I smell him.” He squeezed his eyes shut. His mind was messing with him. He couldn’t smell the sickly smoke that tinged Ivan’s scent. That was dead. Ivan was dead.

And yet the bond mark seared to life.

The ghost sensation of Ivan’s bite kept him nauseated. How long had he been stuck in this bed? Fern didn’t have the energy to move. You had to feed him, make sure he had water, keep his hair out of his face when he emptied his stomach.

Every omega knew about the sickness that came with losing their bonded alpha. Fern used to pity those omegas, swearing he’d never end up like them. He used to think he was smart enough to not stay. Ivan had taught him how naive he was.

During that darkness, when he was most helpless, you saved him. A beta following him around. Fern didn’t need to smell you when you were always there. The store, on his walks, watching him through the window. He liked the attention. He liked that you listened. So when he finally broke and begged you to get rid of Ivan, you did.

A beta. Fern wanted to laugh. After all the time he wasted on being shoved around by alphas, this was where he ended up.

“I won’t die from this.” His voice weak, muffled. “Not after everything.” Ivan had his youth, but he would not have his life. Fern rolled onto his back with a cough, swinging his arm out to grab his water. His fingers clumsily knocked into the cup, sending it spilling all over the floor. Fern dropped his arm in defeat.

Too weak to pick up his own water. And it was all Ivan’s fault. That familiar anger flashes through him as it always did. This time, though, the bond couldn’t sweeten the heat. It couldn’t tell him to forgive his poor alpha. Rage came and sat with him and Fern stifled a giggle.

He turned to you, smile wide on his pale face. “I’m glad he’s gone. Was he scared when he realized what you were going to do? I should’ve had you record.” Words spilled from his lips without thought. “I should’ve been there to watch the life drain from his eyes.” He was slurring his words together, flushed with fever. Fern nearly doubled over with a laugh.

“Is he coming back?” he suddenly asked, glassy eyes snapping back to you. He was spiraling. The realization came like molasses, slow and heavy. It settled between his teeth, beneath his nails.

Ivan had to be gone. He’d never leave Fern alone for this long, even when Fern used to try running away. Fern would never see him again. He expected relief or more anger, but it was all circling back into the pit of his stomach. His bonded alpha was gone for good and it was his fault. Fern laughed until he dissolved into hiccuping sobs, murmuring apologies.

Ivan would never hurt anyone again. Ivan would never bring home Fern’s favorite ice-cream for dinner again. He wouldn’t throw things anymore. He wouldn’t hold Fern’s hands when they grew cold.

Was he allowed to miss a monster?

Fern desperately wanted you to lie to him. He wanted to hear you say Ivan was at work and that he was dead. Would you love him now? Who was he without Ivan? The bond mark was pulsing like it was demanding answers.

Why?

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”