Gratitude.
I buried my fingers in his fur. Held on.
"Twelve minutes," I said softly. "That's twelve more than yesterday. We'll do better tomorrow."
The wolf's eyes closed. His body relaxed against mine.
He slept.
James appeared beside me at some point. I don't know when—time had stopped meaning anything. He didn't speak. Just sat down on the floor next to us, close enough that his shoulder pressed against mine.
Through the bond, I felt his emotions. Still tangled. Still complicated. But the anger had faded, replaced by something quieter. Something that might have been acceptance.
He was quiet for a moment. Then: "You scared the hell out of me."
"I know."
"I thought I was going to watch you die."
"I know." I leaned into him. Let him take some of my weight. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry. Just..." He exhaled. "Just don't do it again."
I looked down at Stone—at the wolf sleeping in my lap, the mate I'd nearly died to save, the person who was still more animal than human but who had managed, for twelve impossible minutes, to come back.
"I can't promise that," I said.
James made a sound that wasn't quite a laugh.
"Yeah," he said. "I figured."
We sat there together. The three of us. Waiting for whatever came next.
Chapter twenty-six
The Healing Center went on lockdown two hours after Stone shifted back to wolf.
I watched the protocols engage from my position on the floor of his room—heavy doors sealing, security personnel taking positions, the soft hum of additional barriers activating throughout the east wing. Through the observation window, I could see staff members moving with controlled urgency, their faces tight with the kind of fear that came from not fully understanding what had happened.
Someone had made a decision. Someone with authority had looked at the situation—a student crossing into a feral's containment, a violent wolf shifting to human for the first time in years, blood on the floor and a bond completion that shouldn't have been possible—and decided that everything needed to stop until they figured out what it meant.
I didn't blame them.
I didn't move either.
Stone was still sleeping, his wolf form curled against my legs. Through the bond, I felt his exhaustion—deep and absolute, the kind that came from years of fighting finally giving way to something like rest. His breathing was steady. His heartbeat was strong.
He was alive.
Everything else could wait.
Neal came to check on us every hour.
The first few times, he was professional. Clinical. He checked Stone's vitals, examined my neck wounds, made notes on his tablet. His voice was calm. His hands were steady.
But I could feel him through the bond. The fury building underneath his composure like pressure behind a dam.
The fourth time he came, he didn't bother with the tablet.
