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"Brother?" Phoenix looked at Griffin, who was standing at the door, his arms crossed over his chest.

"It's as I told you, Phoenix. The bond can't be neglected. You never paid much attention during the lessons, did you?"

Phoenix snorted. "That was almost two decades ago. What should I remember from the teachings of a decrepit old priest? You were always the academic one." He turned to Lars, pressing his forehead to his and rubbing his temples with his enormous thumbs. "Hey. Come back to us," he rumbled.

Lars groaned and clung to Phoenix's coat. His eyes were glassy and delirious. He looked up at the Alpha, his mouth moving like he was trying to say something.

"We were taught that Omegas form a bond to the place where they were mated," Griffin said. "It becomes their den."

Phoenix grunted. "And when our post changes? We won't remain here for much longer."

"We should keep him close. At all times."

"That would be unwise." The battle-hardened commander gritted his teeth and then ran his fingers through Lars's hair, pushing it back. He held the back of his head, cradling it so that he could look down at the Omega's pale face. "But if it's what our Omega requires, then I suppose we have no choice. We'll share quarters, then."

"Yes," Griffin said.

With a sigh, Phoenix scooped Lars up into his arms.

He brought him back to his room and set him down on the bed. The sheets had been changed, but the scent of the mating still seemed to linger. It brought more life back to Lars's body and mind. He burrowed into the linens, surrounding himself with them, murmuring happily.

A soldier arrived to notify Phoenix of some urgent business that needed to be attended to on the surface. "Colonel," he said to Griffin. "Take care of things here. Take care of the prisoner."

"Yes, sir," Griffin replied with a salute.

Lars drifted in and out of consciousness, affected by the lack of sleep, the lack of food, and most of all, the withdrawal symptoms that had struck him after being ripped away from the mating den.

"What's wrong with me?" he whispered, shivering. He wrapped himself up in the blankets and pushed his face into the firm pillow, drinking in the scents that clung to it. Every time he closed his eyes it seemed like hours passed. His mind was slowly returning to him. Through hazy vision, Griffin's form came into focus. He was sitting at the desk, staring at something in the palm of his hand. He seemed to detect Lars's gaze and looked over. He placed whatever he was holding into the desk drawer and quickly shut it.

Lars was damp with sweat, the sheets pulled tightly to his chin. He didn't take his eyes off Griffin as he stood from his chair and came to the bed. He held a tray of food in his hand.

"Eat," he said.

"I'm not hungry," Lars said in a thin, raspy voice.

"Fool. You're starving."

"There's food in the kitchen," he muttered. "The cooks prepared beef shanks with truffle sauce..."

Griffin stared at him. "You certainly are a prince," he muttered, scooping up a piece of the meatloaf from the tray. "This is from the officer's mess. Don't waste it."

The smell of the food seemed to bring Lars back to reality. His eyes focused and turned to the fork of meat floating in front of his face. He opened his mouth and accepted it. He gobbled it down quickly and reached to take the utensil from Griffin's hand, but he pulled it away from him.

"Slowly," Griffin said. "If you throw this up, there will be hell to pay. Are you present? Can you think clearly?" He forked up more of the meatloaf, which was more loaf than it was meat, and held it in front of Lars's mouth like a parent feeding a child.

Lars glared. "I can feed myself."

Griffin huffed, which was probably the closest thing to a laugh the man could muster. His stone-like face seemed incapable of anything other than a scowl. "Good. You're back, then." He handed the fork and tray to Lars, who backed to the opposite corner of the bed, protecting his meal like a stray animal. He didn't take his eyes off Griffin as he ate.

"Lars Lyandri," Griffin said.

Lars nearly sprayed all the food in his mouth across the bed in surprise at hearing him say his name. "Why are you saying my name?"

"Did you not want me to address you with your name?"

"You refused to before."

Griffin returned to the desk, the wooden chair creaking under his weight. "Then I'll call you Omega."