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Her three alphas say their goodbyes. Graham even bends to kiss my cheek. I’m tempted to say, “I knew you liked me,” but that requires more energy than I have right now.

Finn and Leith don’t move. They're still standing exactly where they were, rooted to the left side of my bed like they have nowhere else to be.

"You're still here," I say. It comes out less like a question than I intended.

Neither answers. They just stand there like gorgeous statues.

I sigh, looking at the ceiling. Why? Why are they here? How did they find out about my accident, and why would they care enough to stay?

Fuck it. I don’t have the mental or physical energy to deal with this right now. I close my eyes. But then— You know what? Don’t fuck it. I do have the energy after all.

“Why are you here?” My eyes are still closed so I can’t see their faces, but I feel them shift. Both of them.

Finn is quiet for a moment. Then he says, "The ambulance brought you here."

I know that much. Mostly.

"Our pack has a surgeon," he continues. He’s careful with his words, like he’s choosing each one before he sets it down. "An emergency surgeon. He was on call this afternoon." A pause. "He was your surgeon, Cammie."

I open one eye. That’s a lot of surgeons to throw around in a few short sentences. Finn is more nervous than I thought.

"You're his scent match."

Both eyes open. I stare at the ceiling for a moment, replaying what he said, making sure I heard it correctly. Then I am pushing myself up.

It's a terrible idea. My body announces this straightaway through every nerve ending on my left side, and the sound that comes out of me is not flattering.

"Omega." Leith's low voice comes from the foot of the bed. "Stop your struggling."

"Don't—" The growl I produce in response is embarrassingly small. I am blaming the pain meds entirely and completely. Under normal circumstances I am more formidable than this. I catch my breath. "Don't omega me, Leith."

Something in his face shifts. The stone of it cracks slightly and he makes a sound that I think, though I'm not entirely certain, might be a laugh. He moves to the right side of the bed and finds the control panel and presses the button. The head of the bed rises slowly, carrying me up with it.

The pain is still present. But manageable.

"Better?" he says.

I would like to say no on principle. I look at the ceiling. "Yes," I say, because I’m not a liar.

I look back at Finn, still standing at the foot of the bed exactly where he's been this whole time, hands in his pockets.

"A scent match," I say. Saying it out loud does not make it feel more real. "Your packmate. Who I have never met. Realized mid-surgery that I was his scent match. While I was unconscious on a table."

"Beck," Finn says. "He saved your life."

I sit with that for a second. My scent match saved my life. "How?" I ask. "They neutralize everyone. The patient, the OR staff. I know how it works. How did he recognize me through that?"

Finn's mouth curves slightly, like the answer is both simple and impossible. "They did. You were neutralized. So was he. So was everyone in that room." He pauses. "It didn't matter."

I stare at him.

"You fit," he says simply. "Some things get through."

Some things get through. Wonderful. Deeply inconvenient, but wonderful.

"He texted the pack the moment his adrenaline decreased enough for his hands to stop shaking," Finn continues. "He stayed with you until we arrived. Held your hand." He says that last part carefully, like he's not sure what I'll do with it.

Butterflies dance in my stomach. My scent match saved me. Then sat, holding my hand, until his packmates arrived. "Where is he now?"