“That's not?—”
“I don't give a damn about fair. I care about keeping you alive.” My voice came out rougher than I meant, threaded with fear I couldn't hide. “I can't lose you. I won't survive it. So you're going to be smart, and careful, and you're going to let people help you, or I swear?—”
He kissed me.
When he pulled back, his eyes were bright.
“I'm sorry,” he said quietly. “For scaring you. For making you drive back like that.”
“Don't.” I rested my forehead against his. “Don't apologize for surviving. Just promise me you won't take stupid risks.”
“I promise.”
It was probably a lie. We both knew it. But I accepted it anyway.
“Take him home,” Gideon said quietly. “Both of you need rest. And Daniel... he's going to need time to process all of this. The bloodline revelation. The awakening. Give him space to be angry about it.”
“I'm not angry,” Michael said.
“You will be.” Gideon's smile was sad. “Trust me. When the shock wears off, you'll be furious. At me for not telling you sooner. At the forest for choosing you. At your ancestors for hiding what they were. It's okay to be angry, Michael. Just don't let it make you stupid.”
The pack housewas quiet when we got back, most wolves out on patrol or resting between shifts.
My room was exactly as I'd left it that morning. Bed unmade. The scent of Michael still clinging to the sheets from the night before I'd driven to the Council. A lifetime ago. Before Michael had nearly died. Before everything shifted sideways.
“Shower first,” I said, guiding him toward the bathroom. “Then we deal with the wounds.”
“They're already dealt with.”
“Humor me.”
He didn't argue, just let me help him strip out of ruined clothes and step into the shower. I followed him in, unable to let him be alone, unable to stop touching him long enough to confirm he was real and whole and here.
The water ran red at first, blood and corruption residue swirling down the drain. I washed his hair, his back, his arms with gentle hands that wanted to hold tight enough to leave marks.
“Daniel,” Michael said quietly, and something in his voice made me still. “I thought I was going to die. In that clearing, when the corruption was spreading and I couldn't stop it... I really thought that was it.”
“But you didn't.”
“Because of the moon. Because of magic I don't understand.” His hands found the tile wall, braced there. “My whole life I thought I was just human. Just a normal man who married a teacher and had a son. And now I find out that's all been a lie. That my bloodline is magic, that the forest has been waiting for me to wake up.”
“Hey.” I turned him around, made him look at me. “You're still you. The bloodline doesn't change who you are.”
“Doesn't it?” His voice cracked. “Because I feel different, Daniel. I can see things now that I couldn't see before. Feel the wards like they're part of me. And I don't know if that's magic or trauma or both, but it scares the hell out of me.”
I pulled him close, felt him shake against me. He wasn't crying from fear. He was crying from relief. From the release of tension that had been building since that clearing, since he'd awakened power he didn't ask for and survived what should have killed him.
“It's okay,” I said roughly. “You're allowed to fall apart. Just do it here where I can catch you.”
He buried his face in my neck and let himself break.
We stood like that until the water ran cold, until his breathing evened out. Then I dried him carefully, bandaged the cleaned wounds, and guided him to bed.
“Sleep,” I said. “You need?—”
“No.” He caught my wrist, pulled me down beside him. “I need you. Not sleep. You.”
The look in his eyes was fierce, desperate. Full of need that had nothing to do with comfort and everything to do with proving we were both still alive.
