Rejected and Pregnant I Fled The Pack (Evelyn and Damon) novel Chapter 179

Damon pov

The emotional weight of the reunion had drained all of us, but I could see it settling most heavily on my father as we finally made our way out of the study, the four of us—myself, Dad, Marcus, and eventually Nadia, who'd agreed to stay in one of the guest quarters for the evening—having spent hours working through the raw, difficult beginning of reconciliation.

We were maybe halfway down the hallway toward the main entrance when my father stopped walking.

"Son." His voice carried something tired and apologetic, and I turned immediately, alarm sparking sharp in my chest at the pallor visible in his face. "I'm sorry, but I need to sit. I'm tired."

The words themselves sounded ordinary enough, but something in the way he said them, the careful, deliberate effort behind each syllable, sent immediate fear crashing through me.

"Dad?" I moved quickly to his side, watching him sway slightly, one hand reaching out to brace against the wall.

Marcus was there just as fast, his own alarm evident as he caught my father's other arm. "Robert, talk to me. What's happening?"

"Just exhausted," my father said, though his breathing had grown noticeably shallow, and the color in his face continued draining even as he spoke. "The emotional weight of everything today, combined with genuine physical exertion I probably shouldn't have attempted yet."

There was a small bench positioned along the hallway, and Marcus and Callum, who'd been trailing a few steps behind, moved quickly to guide him toward it, easing him down carefully between them.

"Should I call the healers," I asked, my voice tight with barely controlled panic, my mind already racing through every previous cardiac crisis he'd survived, understanding how quickly things could deteriorate if this represented something more serious than simple exhaustion.

"Give me a moment," my father said, closing his eyes, taking slow, deliberate breaths. "I think it's genuinely just exhaustion, Damon. Not the same as before."

I didn't fully trust that assessment, watching him carefully, cataloging every sign I remembered from his previous episodes—the shallow breathing, yes, but not the same sharp, escalating distress, not the same desperate clutching at his chest that had preceded his previous cardiac events.

"How does your heart feel," I asked carefully. "Any tightness, any pain?"

"Absolutely," the healer confirmed. "I'd recommend getting him settled somewhere comfortable immediately, minimal activity for the remainder of the evening, and continued monitoring through tomorrow to ensure this doesn't develop into anything more concerning."

My father managed a tired, somewhat sheepish smile at the collective, obvious relief evident across everyone gathered around him. "I told you it was just exhaustion."

"You still scared us badly," I said, my voice carrying lingering tension despite the reassuring diagnosis. "Given everything you've already survived, Dad, we're not simply going to dismiss any sign of distress as automatically minor."

"That's fair," he acknowledged, something grateful entering his tired expression at my continued protective vigilance.

We helped him back toward his quarters, Marcus staying close throughout, his own expression carrying genuine, complicated guilt.

"This is my fault," Marcus said quietly, once we'd gotten my father settled comfortably in his own bed, the healer having confirmed his vitals were gradually stabilizing toward more reassuring levels. "If I hadn't shown up, hadn't insisted on this entire emotional reunion happening so quickly—"