Page 17 of Bite for Sore Eyes

"No." The word came out sharp. "I don't want to postpone the hike. But if it makes you both feel better, I'll go back to the castle and rest for a while first."

Rath stood up fully, his protective instincts demanding action. "That sounds reasonable."

He moved to help her stand, but Torren was already rising and reaching for her other arm. For a moment they both hovered beside her, their combined attention clearly overwhelming.

Lana laughed softly, though the sound carried an edge of exhaustion. "I appreciate you both being so attentive, but I can stand and walk on my own."

Both men stepped back immediately, though every fiber of Rath's being protested the distance. His bear wanted to sweep her into his arms and carry her back to the castle, to surround her with safety and comfort until whatever had caused that episode could never touch her again.

There's more to this than she's telling us, Torren's voice whispered through their telepathic link, his mental tone tight with concern.

I think so too, Rath projected back, his own worry evident in the connection they shared. But we need to give her space right now.

Torren gave an almost imperceptible nod, and they fell into step on either side of Lana as she began walking toward the market's exit. Neither of them touched her, but they remained close enough to catch her if she stumbled. The silence stretched between them as they navigated back toward Varkesh Castle, thick with unspoken concerns and questions that none of them seemed ready to voice. Lana's profile showed internal conflict—as though she wanted to say something but couldn't quite bring herself to form the words.

Whatever secret she was carrying, Rath realized, it was bigger than simple exhaustion from an overwhelming day.

SEVEN

LANA

Lana sat on the massive four-poster bed that dominated her guest room, her fingers gripping the burgundy comforter as frustration coursed through her. The bed could easily sleep four people comfortably, its carved wooden posts reaching toward the vaulted ceiling like ancient sentinels, but right now it felt more like a prison than luxury accommodation.

Of course.

Of all the moments for her illness to rear its ugly head, it had to be during lunch with her two gorgeous bear shifter mates on her very first day in their world. The timing couldn't have been more spectacularly awful if she'd planned it herself.

She'd watched their faces transform from relaxed enjoyment to sharp concern the moment her sandwich had tumbled from her suddenly nerveless fingers. The way Rath's green eyes had flashed with protective intensity, and how Torren had immediately reached for her. Their instinctive response had been exactly what she'd feared: immediate medical intervention, hovering protectiveness, and the kind of intense scrutiny that would reduce her from Lana the brilliant, funny, adventurous woman to Lana the fragile patient with the mysterious illness.

The memory of their synchronized movement toward her made her stomach clench. She'd spent the past two years becoming an expert at managing concerned looks, deflecting medical questions, and convincing everyone around her that she was fine when her body decided to malfunction at random intervals. But these weren't ordinary men—they were Alphas, bred for protection and control, and she'd seen the exact moment their protective instincts had kicked into overdrive.

Standing up from the bed, Lana began pacing across the Persian rug that covered the polished stone floor. Her reflection caught in the full-length mirror on the wall, and she paused to study the woman looking back at her. Her color had returned to normal, but she could still see the lingering tension around her eyes and the set of her shoulders that spoke of someone carrying an invisible weight.

For sixteen blissful hours, she'd almost forgotten. Almost forgotten that somewhere deep in her brain, neural pathways were slowly misfiring in ways that Earth's most brilliant physicians couldn't predict or prevent. Almost forgotten that each episode brought her closer to the catastrophic autonomic failure that would eventually claim her life. Almost forgotten that she'd come to Nova Aurora not just for adventure, but because she was dying.

The clean, fresh air of this alien world had made her feel more alive than she had in months. The way Rath and Torren looked at her—with desire, respect, and genuine interest rather than pity or medical curiosity—had awakened parts of herself she'd thought were lost forever. Walking through Varkesh Castle with her arms linked through theirs had felt like the most natural thing in the world, as though she'd finally found where she belonged.

But now reality was crashing back with a vengeance.

She moved toward the floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a stunning view of the castle's gardens. Purple trees swayed in the alien breeze, and in the distance, she could see the pink ocean stretching toward blue mountains, a landscape so fantastical it still didn't feel entirely real.

This is exactly what I didn't want, she thought, pressing her palms against the glass. To become a medical mystery again. To have every conversation revolve around symptoms and treatments and what might be wrong.

The truth was that she knew exactly what was wrong. Progressive neural synchronization disorder—a condition so rare that fewer than a dozen cases had been documented worldwide. A condition that turned her brain into a ticking time bomb, where each day brought the possibility of another random malfunction. Today it had been loss of sensation in her hands combined with an irregular heart rhythm that had left her breathless and pale. Tomorrow it might be temporary hearing loss, or vision disturbances, or tremors that made simple tasks impossible.

But explaining that to Rath and Torren would trigger exactly the response she'd come here to escape. They'd insist on immediate medical evaluation. They'd want consultations with Nova Aurora's healers, comprehensive testing, and treatment protocols. They'd hover and worry and watch her with the same careful, clinical attention she'd received from every doctor, every specialist, and every well-meaning medical professional who'd tried and failed to help her over the past two years. But she didn't want to be a patient anymore. She wanted to be a woman having the adventure of her lifetime with two incredible men who made her feel desired and alive and whole.

The sound of voices drifted up from the gardens below, and Lana spotted Rath and Torren walking along one of the stone pathways. Even from here, she could see the tension in their postures and the way they moved closer together when discussing something serious. They were talking about her—she was certain of it. Probably debating the best way to convince their fragile mate to seek medical attention.

Fragile.

The word made her jaw clench. She'd spent her military days working in high-pressure situations where lives depended on her expertise. She'd built a career protecting critical infrastructure from cyberattacks that could cripple entire nations. She'd hiked solo through some of Maryland's most challenging terrain, navigating by stars when trails disappeared into the wilderness. She was many things, but fragile wasn't one of them.

Yet she could already see how this would unfold. Rath, with his natural leadership instincts and protective nature, would want to take charge of her medical care. Torren, with his thoughtful approach and emotional intelligence, would try to balance concern with respect for her autonomy. Both would mean well, but both would inevitably start seeing her illness before they saw her.

But I have to tell them, she realized, her breath fogging the window glass. It's not fair to hide this. They're my mates—they deserve to know what they're getting into.

The thought of that conversation made her stomach twist with anxiety. How did someone casually mention they were dying? How did she explain that she'd come to Nova Aurora not seeking a cure, but seeking one final, spectacular year of actually living?