I shake my head. I’m the furthest thing from okay. My mate is suffering, and one of his fathers could die, all because Andrew Radcliffe wanted to hurt me, to punish me for what I’ve done to him—for what the world has done to him in the wake of the exposé. And there’s nothing I can do about it.
Saints, I should have let Ian kill him when he had the chance.
The world is burning, one of its most beloved leaders in critical condition, because we let a monster live. I should have known he’d escalate his campaign of vengeance, that it wouldn’t stop with hexing Jack Rudolph.
That it would only stop with me.
Ian drops to his knees before me, taking my hands in his. “This isn’t your fault, my darling. I can feel what you’re feeling, and you mustn’t blame yourself.” He shakes his head with a heavy sigh. “You’ve always blamed yourself for that bastard’s actions, but the only person you should blame is him. Gerard wouldn’t blame you, and I know Cassian doesn’t. You showed mercy in sparing Rad, not weakness.”
Cassian stops abruptly. “Junes, is that what you think? That this is your fault?”
“Stop,” I beg him. “Forget you heard what Ian said.”
The last thing Cassian should be thinking about is my doubt in myself.
“Why? He’s right. I would never blame you, and it kills me that you’d blame yourself. Saints, don’t let my mother hear that you’re thinking like this.”
“Your dad is in the hospital because Rad wanted to hurtme.”
“You may have been the reason Rad acted, but the Soldiers did what they did for political reasons. This is bigger than us, bigger even than my family. My father has publicly come out against the Soldiers and tries to thwart them through the Council’s laws. His position on the Council has never been without risks.”
I sigh and nod my understanding, beckoning my alpha to come sit by my side. He does, letting me put my arm around him, letting me hold him close. I breathe in his scent, and though it’s sharp with worry, it’s a comfort to me, just as I hope mine is a comfort to him, however small.
Gerard doesn’t wake after surgery. He slips into a coma sometime that evening, and as soon as she’s allowed to, Bethany goes to him. She stays by his bedside for hours at a time, only leaving when her other alphas coax her out to eat or catch a few hours of sleep.
Like Pack Leclerc, my pack camps out in the hospital waiting room, taking turns stretching out on the sofa to sleep. We fall into a pattern that wears us down more and more each day, strain and despair warring within us as we wait—and pray—for Gerard to wake.
We return to the pack house only to shower and change our clothes. We bring work with us to keep our minds occupied as we sit vigil in the waiting room, but it’s clear after the first day that none of us can focus, not me and Luca on our schoolwork, Ian on refining our spell, or Simon on trying to track down where the five thousand missing collars were shipped to.
When distracting ourselves doesn’t work, we cuddle up on the couch, and I’m never left alone. One of my alphas, Simon or Marcus is always at my side, and just as often, Simon and I are at Cassian’s.
Marcus occasionally leaves me under the protection of my alphas to go visit his mother and promises me I can meet her when she’s a bit stronger.
We never turn the TV in the waiting room to the news, but Simon and I pass our phones to each other when we see a particularly heinous headline.
Local and international law enforcement, and a global task force that was mobilized quickly after the attack, have been unable to locate a single trace of the twenty-five Soldiers of Saint Aldous that attacked the Council of Nine. They have a few individuals they suspect are aligned with the terrorist group but haven’t been able to find definitive enough connections or evidence to make any arrests.
On our fourth day at the hospital, Cassian and Simon head down to grab lunch for everyone from the cafeteria, and I get up and stretch my legs, walking laps around the waiting room. When I duck down the hallway to go to the ladies’ room, Marcus diligently follows me, leaning against the wall by the door to wait for me.
I’m washing my hands and splashing water on my face when the door to the ladies’ room opens and a small omega woman steps in, still wearing her coat. I recognize her as a young healer in residence that I’ve seen around the ward a few times and give her a tired, friendly smile in the mirror.
But there’s something strained in her expression, a tightness and terror that makes her appear brittle.
“Are you… are you all right?” I ask her, studying her in the mirror.
She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath and undoes the top button of her coat, revealing a familiar set of shimmering sigils.
Saints above, she’s wearing a collar.
She takes a folded piece of paper from her pocket and slides it across the counter to me. The paper has the logo of a four-star hotel down the block across the top, and beneath the logo is a message scrawled in handwriting I would recognize anywhere. I’ve seen those blocky letters on cards accompanying horrific presents, scrawled across the backs of manilla envelopes.
Rad.
There are just two sentences on the piece of paper, but they make my insides turn to ice.
Meet me in this hotel lobby within fifteen minutes or I’ll have Blair destroy Saint Marmora’s, along with everyone in it. Come alone.
I read the note twice more, though it’s shockingly, damningly clear, and as I look at the scared omega healer, I know what I must do.
