Chapter 191: Why… Are His Eyes Gold?

The morning air wraps around me the moment I step out of the car—warm, fresh, carrying the first honest hints of summer. No more winter chill—just a quiet warmth settling in.

The season has shifted without my permission, without my notice, while I’ve been too caught up in hospital rooms and whispered diagnoses and the slow, terrifying unraveling of everything I thought I knew about myself.

I pause with my hand still on the car door, my feet planted on the sun-warmed pavement, and feel a twist of guilt settle low in my stomach.

Deniz wanted to spend the whole day together.

He asked. For the first time since we became us, he asked for something for himself. Not for me. Not for my health. Not for my comfort or my recovery or my endless, exhausting needs. Just… us.

A whole day. At home. In our bed. In each other’s arms.

And I wanted to give it to him.

To say yes—and mean it.

To stay wrapped in his warmth until the sun went down, until the stars came out, until the world forgot we existed.

Just this once…

I wanted to be selfish.

And let everything else burn.

But then Kaz called.

I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with summer air, and walk toward the hospital entrance. The glass doors slide open with a soft hiss, and I step into the cool, sterile silence of the lobby. The air inside is different—filtered, clinical, carrying the faint undertones of antiseptic and fear.

My gaze finds Kaz immediately. He’s standing near the reception desk, waiting, his posture rigid, his face tight with something that looks like worry barely contained beneath a professional mask.

He walks toward me quickly, bowing lightly as he approaches.

“Good morning, Mr. Kael. I apologize for disturbing you so early.”

I wave a hand, brushing off the apology.

“It’s fine.” My voice is clipped as I head for the elevators.

“Where’s Moon? Is he alright?”

Kaz adjusts his glasses—a nervous habit I’ve noticed before, the way his fingers tremble just slightly against the frame.

“Mr. Moon’s condition is… not better.”

I stop walking. Turn to look at him.

“He drank alcohol again.” A pause, heavy with implication.

“During his rut.”

My face goes still. The calm I’ve been holding onto—the fragile peace of the morning, the warmth of Deniz’s skin still lingering on mine—cracks like ice under sudden weight.

“What do you mean, he drank?”

Kaz’s voice is tight, strained, carrying the weight of failure. “I’m sorry, sir. I tried to stop him. He wouldn’t listen.”

He stops, shaking his head. “He locked himself in his room, turned off his phone, and when I finally got inside…” He trails off, his throat working.

“When you finally got inside, what?”

“He was unconscious.” Kaz’s voice drops, barely above a whisper.

“There were bottles everywhere. Empty. Broken. He’d been drinking for days.”

My steps quicken, my shoes echoing against the polished floor. “Where is he now?”

Kaz follows close behind, his footsteps matching mine. “VIP floor. He’s stable now, but the doctors are monitoring him closely. They said if he’d been found even a few hours later…”

He doesn’t finish. He doesn’t need to.

We stop in front of the elevators. Kaz presses the call button, and I stand there, staring at the closed doors, my fists clenching at my sides.

How could he do this again?

The doctor’s warning echoes in my mind, sharp as broken glass, cutting through everything else.

If he drinks like this again, during a rut, with his condition—it could kill him. It could actually kill him.

He knows. He knows and he did it anyway.

“Did he take suppressants?” I ask, my voice low, controlled. “During his rut?”

Kaz hesitates. I can see him choosing his words. “I don’t know, sir.”

I turn to look at him, my patience fraying at the edges. “How can you not know?”

He looks down at his shoes, at the floor—anywhere but my face.

“Mr. Moon won’t let me into his place during his rut. He never does. He locks the doors, turns off his phone, and disappears from the world entirely.”

A pause.

“I don’t know what he does in there. What he takes, what he drinks… I don’t know.”

His voice tightens. “I’ve tried, sir. I’ve tried everything. But he won’t let me in.”

I press my fingers to my temple, rubbing slow circles against the ache forming there.

Moon. You stubborn, impossible, self-destructive fool.

The elevator arrives with a soft chime. The doors slide open. I step inside. Kaz follows. The doors close, and we ascend in silence, the numbers ticking upward, each floor taking us closer to whatever’s waiting.

When the doors open again, I step out onto the VIP floor. The hallway is silent—the kind of silence that feels intentional, practiced, the way hospitals get when they’re hiding something. My footsteps echo against the walls, each one a small betrayal of the calm I’m pretending to feel.

Kaz opens the door to Moon’s room.

I step inside.

He’s sitting on the bed. Calm. Composed. Reading a book like he has all the time in the world, like he wasn’t found unconscious in a room full of empty bottles. An IV is taped to his hand, the thin tube snaking up to a bag of clear fluid hanging beside the bed.

He doesn’t look sick. He doesn’t look like someone who nearly died.

But the room is filled with his scent.

Amber wood—stronger than I’ve ever felt it, thicker than air, pressing against my skin like a second layer. It fills my lungs, makes my head spin, settles in my chest like smoke. It’s overwhelming. It’s everywhere.

He looks up.

Our eyes meet.

And I freeze.

His eyes are not blue.

They’re gold. Bright, burning—like amber caught in sunlight, like a flame frozen in glass. They glow in the dim light of the hospital room, inhuman and beautiful and terrifying all at once.

I stare at him, unable to move or speak, my heart pounding, my thoughts scattered.

Silence settles between us—heavy, unbroken.

Why… are his eyes gold?

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