"Cannot be abandoned." Rae's voice cut in, sharp and final. She'd positioned herself beside me, a unified front. "The council's position is also clear on fated mates. Mates in crisis areto be given every opportunity to recover. That's why I built the healing center. That's why the council funded it." She stepped forward, into Twilson's space. "Unless you'd like to explain to the Council why you're obstructing the treatment of a bonded wolf? I'm sure they'd be fascinated to hear your reasoning."
Twilson's jaw tightened.
"This isn't over," he said.
"No," I agreed. "It isn't. But right now, my mate is unconscious, and I've been awake for thirty hours. So unless you're planning to physically stop us—"
I walked past him.
He didn't stop us.
The healing center was nothing like I expected.
I'd imagined something clinical—white walls, fluorescent lights, the sterile smell of hospital. Instead, Rae led us into a building that felt almost like a home. Warm wood paneling, soft lighting, rooms arranged around a central garden courtyard that was somehow green despite the snow outside.
"Geothermal heating," Rae explained, catching my expression. "And grow lights. Wolves need nature to heal. Can't exactly send them outside in an Alaskan winter."
They took the feral to a private room at the end of a quiet hallway. Large windows, a real bed, monitors that would track his vitals without the harsh beeping of hospital equipment. Rae supervised as the orderlies transferred him from the gurney, still in wolf form, still unconscious.
"What happens now?" James asked.
"Now we wait." Rae adjusted the IV they'd inserted—fluids, she explained, to counter the dehydration. "His body will wakeup when it's ready. The mind..." She shrugged. "That's harder to predict."
"Can we stay with him?"
"I'd recommend it. Bonded presence helps with recovery. The more he feels you through the connection, the more he has to orient toward." She moved to the door. "I'll have someone bring food. And a cot. You both look like you're about to fall over."
She was right. The adrenaline that had carried me through the confrontation with Twilson was fading, leaving nothing but exhaustion.
“Rae.” I caught her arm before she could leave. “Thank you. For coming. For all of this.”
She pulled me into another hug—longer this time, tighter.
“You’re my sister,” she said into my hair. “I still can’t believe you bonded a feral wolf on the top of Denali. By yourself.”
“I had James.”
“Who’s known about shifters for, what, three days?” She pulled back, smiling. “You did good, Lumi. Both of you. Getting him here. Surviving what you survived.” Her expression softened. “That took strength.”
“It took stubbornness.”
She huffed a quiet laugh. “Same thing, sometimes.” She gave my shoulder a squeeze and turned for the door. “Get some rest. I’ll check in later.”
The door closed behind her.
James and I stood in the quiet room, looking at the wolf on the bed. He seemed smaller somehow, surrounded by pillows and monitors—less like a threat, more like what he actually was. Someone broken. Someone lost. Someone who needed help.
"Hey." James's hand found mine. "You okay?"
"I don't know." I moved to the chair beside the bed, lowering myself into it. "I stood up to Twilson. That felt... good. But nowwe're here, and he's still unconscious, and I don't know what happens next."
James pulled a second chair beside mine. "What happens next is we wait. Together. Like we've been doing."
"And if he doesn't wake up?"
"Then we wait longer." He put his arm around me, and I leaned into his warmth. "We didn't come this far to give up now."
Through the bond, I reached for the feral—that distant presence, still faint, still unreachable. But was it my imagination, or did it feel slightly stronger? Slightly closer?
