She falls quiet after that, letting me work. I appreciate the silence. It gives me space to think, which is both a blessing and a curse.
Bryan’s face keeps appearing in my mind. The way he looked at me before the alarm went off, like he was terrified of losing me. He told me he loved me, and I couldn’t say it back.
I wanted to. God, I wanted to.
But wanting something doesn’t make it real. The mate bond pulls us together whether we choose it or not. Every time he touches me, every time he says my name, I feel that pull likea hook beneath my ribs. How am I supposed to know if what I feel is actually mine? How can I trust emotions that might just be magic doing what magic does?
I finish Jenna’s stitches and send her to the recovery area. Another patient takes her place—a man with a broken wrist and a gash across his forehead.
“Fell off a roof,” he explains sheepishly. “Trying to get a better view of the fight.”
“That was stupid.”
“Yeah. I know.”
I set his wrist with maybe a little less gentleness than necessary. He doesn’t complain, which tells me he knows he deserved it.
The hours drag on. Wound after wound, patient after patient. Fern works beside me without flagging. Her human endurance surprises even the wolves who doubted her when she first arrived in Silvercreek. She’s come a long way since then.
“You should sit,” I tell her during a brief lull. “Rest your feet. The baby needs you to take care of yourself.”
She wipes her hands on a towel and reaches for fresh gloves. “There are still patients who need help.”
“And there are two other healers who can help them. You’ve been on your feet for four hours straight.”
“So have you.”
“I’m not carrying a child.”
Fern gives me a look that says she knows exactly what I’m doing. “We’re both going to keep working until this is over, so stop mothering me and hand me that suture kit.”
I hand her the suture kit.
We work in tandem for another hour. Sera floats between us, handling the minor injuries while Fern and I tackle the serious cases. By the time the flow of patients begins to slow, my back aches and my eyes burn from too many hours under the harsh overhead lights. The worst cases have been stabilized. The minor injuries have been treated and sent home. The medical center still holds a dozen wolves who need monitoring, but the initial crisis has passed.
I slump against the counter and let myself breathe for the first time in what feels like days. My scrubs are stained with blood, some of it dried brown, some of it still tacky and dark. I should change, but that would require energy I don’t have.
Fern appears beside me, peeling off her gloves. “Connor says the Cheslem wolves retreated about an hour ago. Dylan’s team is doing a final sweep of the perimeter, but it looks like we’re clear for now.”
“Any word on casualties?”
“A few serious injuries, but everyone’s expected to recover. No deaths on our side.” She pauses, and I feel her watching me. “Bryan’s fine. Connor checked. He took down three of them himself before they called the retreat.”
I close my eyes. “I didn’t ask.”
“You didn’t have to. You’ve been staring at the door every time it opens, hoping it’s him.”
She’s right, and I hate that she’s right. I’ve spent the last four hours telling myself I’m focused on my work, but some part of me has been listening for his voice, watching for his face, waiting for proof that he survived.
“He’s alive,” Fern tells me. “That’s what matters right now.”
“He’s been alive for ten years, Fern. Being alive doesn’t mean anything if he’s just going to leave again.”
She doesn’t have an answer for that. Neither do I.
I check on the remaining patients one more time. Everyone is stable. Everyone is resting. Sera has the night watch under control, and Fern needs to get off her feet whether she admits it or not.
“I’m going to take a break,” I announce. “Fifteen minutes. Maybe twenty.”
