Killian follows my gaze to the knife and his jaw tightens.
“Regina,” he says solemnly, understanding.
“She asked me to save you. To give her more time to find a cure.” I turn to face him fully.
“There is no fucking cure.” His voice rises, then cracks, but he forces it back down. “I know that.Youknow that.”
“Probably not.”
“Then what the hell are we doing here?” He gestures at the room, at the sigils, at the stasis field still humming faintly around the altar. “Leading them on a wild moose chase?”
I blink. “It’sgoosechase.”
“Not the way wolves play it.”
I let out a breath that’s almost a laugh.
“You are not some run-of-the-mill human who wandered into a werewolf’s path and managed not to be torn apart,” I say, moving closer. “You are an unusually strong alpha wolf shifter with a bonded pack and a powerful mate. Which is, I suspect, how you managed to fight your way through a stasis field designed to keep you unconscious for a minimum of three weeks.”
Killian says nothing. His hands are gripping the edge of the stone table so hard I can hear the faint scrape of claw against rock.
“With my intervention, I can slow the virus. I cannot stop it indefinitely, but I can give us time.” I pause, choosing my next words with care. “A few weeks at minimum. A few months if we’re fortunate. Time enough to explore options that might otherwise be unavailable.”
“And if we don’t find anything?” His eyes meet mine. Ice blue, but with the thinnest sliver of yellow flickering in theirdepths now, right around the pupil.Thatwasn’t there before. “If all your options turn out to be dead ends?”
I know what he’s asking before he asks it.
“Will you do what needs to be done?” His voice is steady now. The voice of an alpha making arrangements for his pack’s continued survival. “Like you apparently did to the wolf that bit me. If it comes to that, if I become like thatthing, will you stop me from hurting her?”
I should deflect and offer some empty reassurance about hope and perseverance and the power of love conquering all.
I don’t.
“I know you care about her,” Killian continues when I don’t immediately respond. “I know you care in a way that’s more than just your bullshit about protecting her because you’re on the Council, because she’s a siphon. So spare me the denial.”
Perceptive. More perceptive than I gave him credit for.
Or perhaps I’ve simply grown transparent.
I hold his gaze for a long moment. I consider lying, but ultimately decide against it.
“It may surprise you to learn that I will take no pleasure in it,” I say quietly. “But yes. If the time comes, and there is no other option, I will do what needs to be done.”
The tightness in his shoulders eases slightly. “Good,” he says with a stiff nod, rubbing the back of his neck.
An agreement between enemies.
A strange sort of truce.
I look up at the same moment he goes still, his head tilting slightly in that way wolves do when they’re sensing something through their bond.
“That will be your mate,” I say. “Try not to move too quickly. The stasis has weakened your muscles considerably.” I pause, glancing at his naked form still perched on the altar. “And you should put some pants on.”
“Dick,” he mutters, but he’s already reaching for the clothing I had Margot leave on a nearby table for when he eventually woke up.
His movements are slower than they should be, his coordination slightly off. More evidence of the virus’s progression. But he manages to get the pants on without falling over, which is more than anyone else in his condition could say.
“Do you fucking mind?” he growls when he realizes I’m assessing him.
