The week passed by in a blur. Since the night Carolyn got attacked, there haven't been any incidents with the Bloodmoon pack. It seems they gave up whatever they have planned... for now. Carolyn has gotten better, for the most part. Apparently, werewolf bites can be fatal to other werewolves. But, if survived, it can take a week or two to fully heal. Lance has been actively by her side during her recovery, which disheartened Cyrus. He wanted to know why the two were so close, closer than the rest of the pack members. Lance didn't want to tell him why just yet, but that only left Cyrus feeling more and more jealous at their interactions. How Lance would take it upon himself to clean her wounds, and cook her meals himself. Cyrus tried to convince himself they were just close friends, but his anxiety only continued to fester as he watched them.

When she wasn't constricted to her bed anymore, Carolyn joined the other pack members in training, even if she is just ordering them around or simply standing on the sidelines. The camp has been ordered not to leave camp grounds, so all of the training now takes place in the yard in front of the house. It's pretty crowded, but overall homely. Lance and Cyrus have been stuck together like glue. They take every opportunity to touch each other, or Lance does. Cyrus doesn't mind when Lance holds his hand, or slings his arm around his shoulder, or hugs him. He craved those moments of attention, when he wasn't so focused on Carolyn. With Lance by his side, Cyrus has found it pretty easy to befriend a few of the pack members. He stops to have conversations or to sometimes partake in training, showing off his strength. He gleams with pride when they praise him.

Cyrus has begun to get used to this life amongst his pack. Lance has insisted he partake in meetings with Rudy and Carolyn, and then a few of the other higher up pack members. Though he mostly stands off to the side listening, sometimes Cyrus picks up on useful information. Specifically, their battle plans for the blood red moon. Which route to take through the woods, where to camp out, how they plan to attack in groups with Lance leading the pack. He didn't particularly like how Lance wanted Cyrus to stay behind, safe and guarded here at the house. He voiced his argument, and Rudy actively areed with Cyrus, considering he had witnessed Cyrus's strength and how he could be a huge advantage. Still, Lance silenced the both of them, not wanting to put his mate in any danger. Cyrus knew he would have to somehow convince Lance to let him join the attack, otherwise he would have to sneak out and go against his wishes.

Five or six days into the week, Cyrus had began to notice something strange going on with Lance. He had begun to distance himself from Cyrus. He didn't touch Cyrus or smile as much as he used to. Cyrus at first thought it because of Carolyn, but he saw he was the same way around her and the rest of the camp. He grew more and more concerned as he spent a lot of time in his room. When Cyrus tried to join him, Lance would apologize and brush him off. Cyrus saw a glimpse of all the books strewn across his room.

When Cyrus asked Rudy about it, he said, "Oh, he gets like this sometimes. Don't worry so much about it."

Cyrus only worried even more. Just what exactly is he so focused on? What's more important than giving me attention? Once that question was brought up in his mind, he realized just how much he had grown dependent on Lance. How much he grown to care about him. Maybe even... no, Cyrus still kept his distance from Lance to a certain degree.

It was soon Saturday, the end of the week. It was midnight, and Cyrus was sat in his room, leaning against the wall where just on the other side was Lance. For about an hour now, Cyrus has been listening. He had found it hard to sleep, worrying so much about Lance, so to help him sleep, he sits in this exact spot and listens to Lance. The same noises, repeated. The flipping of pages, the creaking of floorboards as he walks around the room, the scratching of a pencil writing on paper... and his faint heartbeat. All of these noises have served as Cyrus's lullaby for the last few days.

Cyrus looks down at his hand, frowning. He missed Lance's touch. That warm hand that washed away all of his worries and concerns. Cyrus wanted to know what was troubling Lance, if his hand could wash away his worries too. But... Cyrus has kept to himself, anticipating the moment Lance would come back around on his own accord and greet him with that bright smile of his. He knew Lance was just next door, but he missed him. He missed him a lot.

Suddenly, Cyrus's ears catch a different sound. The sound of a window being pulled open. He then hears the sound of shuffling, and then a thud. Cyrus races to the window, seeing Lance now outside, heading towards the trees. He stops, and Cyrus squints his eyes to spot a familiar masked woman emerge from the trees to greet him. Etna? Cyrus's brows furrow, why is he meeting with Etna? He tries to pick up on their conversation, but through the shut window, he can't hear a thing. He huffs, gripping the edges of the window and lifting it open. At the sound of it being opened, both Lance and Etna turn their heads in that direction. Cyrus gasps and drops to the ground, hiding underneath the open window. Did they see me? There was silence for a moment, and Cyrus thought maybe he wasn't close enough to pick up on their conversation, but then there was the sound of two faint voices. His ears perk up, focusing intently on the voices.

"Cyrus... red wolf..." he caught from Etna.

What? They're talking about me? He raises his head, intrigued. It was hard to hear their entire conversation, so he could only pick up on very few words.

"His soul... not..." Etna continued. My soul?

"I don't... mates..." Lance spoke, his voice barely a whisper.

Cyrus's mouth fell open in quiet surprise, he doesn't what? What about mates? He couldn't hear anything else, no matter how much he tried. He stands, peeking through the open window. Lance was nowhere to be seen, but Etna was still standing there, and she was looking directly at Cyrus. She raised her hand to wave, and Cyrus believed he could see her smile from underneath her dark hood. Cyrus's cheeks flushed from being discovered, but he waved in return. Etna turned and walked back into the woods, leaving Cyrus standing in the window, confused.

He gripped the edges of the window, should I follow her? I know where her hideout is. She's inclined to tell me answers, right? But... Lance... Cyrus sighed, stepping away from the window. Lance wouldn't like it if I left again. The sound of a door being opened sounded next door. Cyrus listened to the quiet footsteps, and then the creaking of a bed. A moment passes, and then the flick of a switch. The bed creaks once more, and then silence. He must be going to sleep, Cyrus thought, disappointed. Cyrus ensured his footsteps were soundless as he turned off his own light, and took his spot back next to the wall.

He closed his eyes, listening intently to the body next door. Slow and steady breaths... versus a fast beating heart. Cyrus's eyes flew open. Why is his heart beating so fast? Is something wrong? He was inclined to get up and check on his mate out of instinct, but he stopped himself. No, it's probably nothing. Besides, it's not like he wants to see me. He'll just slam the door in my face again... with that thought in mind, Cyrus grew wistful.

It was a long time until Cyrus fell asleep. He held himself, shivering from the cool breeze that blew in from the window every now and then. He fell asleep, his thoughts and worries draining his energy slowly but surely.

-

The next morning, Cyrus awoke shivering. He took a minute to wake up fully, before dragging himself to his feet. He shut the window quickly, rubbing his bare arms. He sniffed, noticing a trail of snot trinkling down his upper lip. He rubbed it away quickly. Strange, can werewolves get colds? He sighs, I'm such an idiot. Who sleeps with the window open? Especially in such cold weather? He argued with himself silently, mindlessly staring out of the window. It was the same, similar sight. His stomach growled, pulling him from his thoughts... hungry.

He quickly grabbed a sweatshirt and threw it over his head, before leaving his room. He hesitated at the door next to his. He listened to the sound of footsteps and the flipping of pages. He's at it again... Cyrus sighs. The sounds soon stops, and Cyrus holds his breath. He often forgot he wasn't the only one with superhuman hearing. After a tense moment of silence from both ends, Cyrus quickly raced down the stairs, eager to get away from that door.

He approaches the kitchen. Luckily for Cyrus, no-one was there. It was rather late in the day, it made sense. Cyrus couldn't sleep until late into the night, so he woke up later than he usually did. He approached the cabinet and grabbed a few granola bars. He peeled the wrappers off and stuffed them into his mouth, eating them quickly. He poured himself a glass of milk and drank the entire thing. He wiped his mouth, setting his cup down in the sink. He was still hungry... Ugh, this is annoying. If I was human this would be enough. Do full meals count as snacks now? He shook his head, trudging towards the refrigerator. He opened it, shivering at the cool breeze that met him. He tucked his hands into his sleeves. Let's see... he examines the contents, pleasantly surprised. The fridge was stocked to the brim. It seemed every morning, despite how empty it seemed the day prior, it was always refilled. Someone must go to a store everyday and buy all this stuff. Either that, or they have a pantry somewhere.

He deemed this line of thought unimportant, and continued his search for something to eat. His eyes locked onto a half eaten plate of brownies covered with plastic wrap. He took it out, placing it on the counter. Taking the wrap off, he grabbed a piece. He didn't bother heating it up, taking a big bite. He chewed, smiling pleasantly. Warm or not, they were delicious. He quickly finished his piece and went for another, and then another. He was reaching for the last piece, but stopped when he heard the creaking of floorboards. He looked up, still silently chewing, seeing Carolyn at the end of the staircase, watching him with a sharp pair of green eyes.

He swallowed slowly, "Good morning."

She looked down at the almost empty plate of brownies with a stoic expression, "You like them?"

"Ah, yeah," he wiped the crumbs off his face, guiltily eyeing the plate, "They're really good, did you make them?"

She doesn't respond, only continued to stare at the empty plate. Cyrus waits patiently for a moment or two, but soon the awkward silence becomes too unbearable. He assumed one of the reasons she might be silent.

"I didn't mean to eat them all, I'm sorry..."

She finally looks back up, "It's fine." she says, her voice monotone.

Cyrus smiles apologetically, but his smile soon disappears as Carolyn's emerald gaze becomes increasingly piercing. Silence consumed them once again as the pair stared each other down. Cyrus could swear she was glaring at him. What's her problem? He wondered, crossing his arms over his chest defiantly, soon returning the glare. He didn't like how she looked at him - like she despised every fibre of his being. Ever since his first day here, she's been like this. And her... hatred, or whatever this was, only seemed to grow with each passing day. Cyrus could only hold his ground, his wolf stirring. His wolf... and part of himself as well, perceived her as a threat. In truth, he didn't like her very much either. He didn't like how close she was to Lance, specifically. His wolf began to growl, and Cyrus's glare turned into a scowl. If she didn't want to hide her hatred for Cyrus, then he wouldn't either.

Carolyn's lip twitched, noticing the sudden intense aura that began to surround the two. That intense, threatening, and powerful aura. Her wolf whined, and perhaps that is why she finally looked away. Her stoic expression returned as she faced away from Cyrus and walked out of the kitchen. He stared after her, continuing to glare.

So, that's my other rival? He wondered. No, of course she is. Who would have so much hate for me other than one of my rivals? The question is why? He took a deep breath, calming his wolf and himself. He threw away the last remaining brownie, putting the plate in the sink. What threat does she pose? Well, other than her disgustingly close relationship with my mate. Does she have... feelings for Lance? His wolf stirred again. Calm down, he ordered. This pisses me off, too. It's not like I can ask Lance, anyway. He doesn't want to see me right now, remember? His wolf whined painfully, and Cyrus sighed. I know... me too.

Suddenly, Cryus sneezed. He wiped at his now stuffy nose, which he hadn't noticed earlier. He raised a hand to his forehead, frowning. He was burning up. Ugh, am I really sick? How convenient. Well, colds are still treated the same way, right? Despite my supernatural blood. He turns to grab himself a mug from the cabinet, then searches for a packet of tea. He fills the kettle with water and puts it over a flame. He leans against the counter for support. He wiped at his forehead. He was sweating now. A lot. Compared to a minute ago, this was ten times worse. What the hell? He gripped the counter, finding his vision swaying. This is just a cold, right? Why am I so dizzy?

"Ugh," he holds onto the kitchen counter, struggling to stay conscious.

Was I drugged?! Of course, thinking his new rival was behind this immediately came to mind, but, then why would the supposed 'poisoned' brownies be sitting in the refrigerator, for anyone to eat? That didn't make sense. Plus, this was different. He really did feel sick. Sick and weak. A combination that didn't sit well with him.

The kettle began to whistle as Cyrus continued to struggle. His breathing became erratic as he stumbled over to the oven, determined to shut off the burner, to get rid of that obnoxious sound. But, he lost his battle in that moment, stumbling forward. His hand tried to grab onto something sturdy, but he only brushed the hot kettle with his hand. He winced, falling onto the floor. The kettle continued to whistle, and the flame burn. He tried to pull himself up, but he could only continue to hug the cold floor. Hot tears stung his eyes and blurred his fading vision. What's happening to me?

"Cyrus?" A familiar voice called, worried and frantic. Cyrus blinked tiredly to see someone rushing towards his side.

"I-I'm fine..." he breathed, attempting to pull himself back up again.

His arms trembled underneath his weight and collapsed. An arm caught him before he could meet the floor again. He tried to push it away, but the arm only turned him around and cradled him. Through a faded vision Cyrus looked up, and then a new set of tears streamed down his cheeks.

"Ah," Cyrus winced, "Let me go."

A hand was placed firmly onto his forehead. A big, warm hand. Lance frowned, "You're sick?" It seemed more like a question than a confirmation.

"No-" Cyrus tried to argue, but Lance instead picked up Cyrus, cradling him close to his chest. Cyrus found a new wave of nausua wash over him and his eyes rolled back. His brows furrowed together as he leaned his head against a familiar warm chest.

The intense whistling stopped as Lance turned off the burner, and then carried Cyrus up the stairs. He opened Cyrus's bedroom door and carefully placed him on his bed.

"I'll be right back." Lance assures.

"Wait-" Cyrus reaches towards Lance's departing figure, but he's already turned the corner. Cyrus's hand drops back down onto his bed. He sighed heavily, closing his eyes. He didn't want to meet Lance like this. He didn't want Lance to see him so weak. Still... at least Lance had shown him attention for the first time in days.

A cool cloth was placed onto his forehead. Cyrus sighed, relieved. His eyes fluttered open to face Lance who was sitting down next to him. He was worried and was taking care of Cyrus, that had to mean something, right?

"I called Luna. She'll take a look at you." Lance says, shifting so his back it to Cyrus, his arms folded on his knees.

"Luna?" Cyrus questions.

"The girl who took care of Carolyn. Our medic."

Cyrus's teeth clenched at the mention of Carolyn. He soon let go of the tension, though, finding it painful. "I see..." he huffed.

"How could this happen?" Lance muttered.

"It's nothing, I'm fine. Just a cold."

"It's very rare for werewolves to get sick. Our immune systems are built to withstand even the most dangerous of diseases and viruses."

"Oh... really?" Cyrus frowns. Just my luck.

"Unless a werewolf is extremely vulnerable is there a chance for us to get sick like this. And since that's rare to begin with, the symptoms are a lot more extreme. Luckily it only takes a few days to get better..." he trails off, then he glances over his shoulder. "Are you alright?"

Cyrus couldn't hide the pain that flashed across his features, but he masked them quickly. He glared, "Why do you care?"

Lance is silent. He opens his mouth like he is about to say something, but doesn't. He turns his back again, and the pain on Cyrus's face returns. He expected Lance to comfort him, smile at him, but nothing? Did he still... care?

"I'm sorry." Lance says before standing from the bed.

Cyrus could feel hot tears pool in his eyes again. Why was he apologizing? He desperately looked towards the man who had begun to leave again. He sat up in his seat, reaching out his hand in hopes to close that impossible distance between them. When his fingers grasped nothing but air, he grit his teeth.

"Lance!" His voice broke, and Lance froze in place. Cyrus continued, desperate to keep him there, "I-I saw you and Etna last night."