Chapter Twenty-Seven
CAINE
Idespised hospitals.
The obnoxiously clean smell, the blinding lights, the pawing, the needles—the control each visit pried from me, exposing my vulnerabilities.
However, waking to my mate’s scent in my nose, the warm glow of a lamp, and his familiar touch made the aversion bearable.
It was still a hospital; I was still attached to monitors—refusing to acknowledge the cannula in the back of my hand—and my awareness still blurred at the edges, but glancing down, seeing the mop of dark hair streaked with blue fanned out over my thigh, it was all insignificant.
I’d never been more convinced I could conquer the world than I was now, having him within arm’s reach.
There was no pain, no exhaustion, only a slight stiffness in my muscles from disuse.
How long had he been lying there? How long had he been bathing me with his scent to dull the discomfort and appease my restlessness?
Judging by the dark circles under his eyes and his pallid complexion, it might have been almost a fortnight—if not more.
I’d missed my daughter’s second birthday.
Dylan shifted, releasing a discontented huff and nuzzling closer.
I reached out, grazing my finger over his nose, snorting faintly as it twitched and his brows knitted.
His dark eyes blinked open, bleary from sleep, before they lifted, widening in surprise.
The bond swarmed with relief, elation, annoyance . . .
And an untameable rage I’d become intimately familiar with.
I felt myself smile.
He shot upright, wincing—likely aching from the awkward position he’d slept in. His hand was instantly in mine. “You’re awake!”
“I’m aware.”
Furious tears glazed his enchanting eyes, and he desperately rubbed his cheek against the inside of my wrist. “You fucking bastard,” he grumbled through soft weeping.
“Why did you have to jump in front of a bullet for me? I hate you. I hate you so much. I’ve just been waiting for you to wake up so I can kill you myself. You utter arsehole.”
I exhaled a laugh. I believed him. “You were worried about me, then?”
He scoffed, tears rolling down his flushed cheeks—which were a little too sunken for my liking. “Not even a bit, arrogant bastard.”
“I swore I’d never abandon you again, didn’t I?”
“Yeah.” He sniffed. “Doubted you for a minute, I’ll be honest.”
I brushed my thumb through the wetness, and with an encouraging tug, guided him forward.
He exhaled shakily as I buried my nose in his neck, above his scent gland, breathing him into my lungs.
His pheromones were saturated into every molecule of air in here, but I craved them directly from the source.
I needed to taste them. My tongue even extended to do so, licking a broad stripe over the contrasting patch of skin, earning me a soft, contented moan.
My fingers slipped from his cheek, moving to the opposite side of his neck, the tips tracing the raised bite mark, now healed. “You kept me alive,” I mused, cherishing his brief shiver. “I’m sure of it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your scent dulled the pain. It kept me from sinking into madness.”
He snorted, a gentle stir of air. “That’ll be the morphine.”
“No,” I opposed, refusing to give drugs any credit. “You empower me, compel me to be stronger. Always have.”
“You’re definitely loopy,” he teased, though it was breathless. Conflicted. “Let me up.”
Reluctantly, I permitted his retreat, though my irritation was short-lived as he ducked in further and nudged his lips against mine, coaxing me into a tender kiss.
It was over too soon—my mate withdrawing just as my tongue sought entry—and regrettably, there was little strength in my arm to haul him back for more.
He perched on the bed next to my waist and entwined our fingers together.
The distance bothered me. “Is my scent offending you?”
He frowned. “No? Not that I’d have much room to talk if it was.”
You smell divine.
“Then why are you pulling away?” Against my will, my words were accompanied by a subvocal growl, and Dylan chuffed, shaking his head as if I’d said something highly amusing.
“Because if I kiss you properly, I’ll probably end up riding you—I know what you’re like.
” I opened my mouth to dispute his claim, but he raised a hand, silencing me.
“Your heart monitor picked up speed with only a peck; if we go any further, you’ll either go into cardiac arrest or rut, and I’d prefer not to risk either option right now. ”
I sent him a dry look. “I have some self-restraint.”
“Normally, yes, but you’re a possessive Alpha who’s just woken up from a coma after defending your omega—nearly with your life.
It’s natural you’ll want to reconnect and claim me again after everything.
I just . . .” His thumb swept over my knuckles.
“I need you to heal first. We can do all that once you’re better. ”
I searched his face, the weariness, the listlessness, and nodded my assent. As soon as he wasn’t in danger of collapsing, I’d settle the primal urge brewing in me to map out every inch of him and reassure myself he was safe. Whole. Alive.
Mine.
“How long has it been?”
“Two weeks,” he confirmed, swallowing. “You were in critical condition.”
As I suspected. “I missed Minseo’s birthday.”
“You missed the date,” he emphasised. “But she’s too young to understand when her birthday is. I didn’t want to celebrate it without you, so I didn’t fuss over it.”
“I’ll make it up to her.”
He smiled—a sight I hadn’t realised I could miss until now. “I know.”
I adjusted my position, aiming to sit up—not fond of being flat or unable to scope out my surroundings—but Dylan stilled me with a frosty glare.
My pulse definitely spiked then.
“Don’t you dare,” he warned, snatching the remote from beside me. He pushed a button and the top half of the bed lifted, elevating me to more of an angle. Still closer to horizontal. “That’s all you get. I don’t want your stitches popping out.”
“It’ll do,” I said, pacified, before glancing at the lamp in the corner.
It was from Dylan’s bedroom. He followed my gaze.
“Want me to turn it off?” he asked, and I gave my silent refusal. “I know you can’t do bright lights, so I asked Rae to bring that in from home—to make the transition easier when you woke up. I think it makes it look less like a hospital, and more like a hotel room. Or a care home.”
His subtle jibe didn’t go unnoticed, though I ignored it. “Doesn’t smell like one either.”
A deeper flush rose on his cheeks. “I, uh, released my pheromones over everything, to mask the godawful clinical cleanliness. I didn’t want to be reminded where you were, or why, and I . . . I guess I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
A smirk pulled at my lips. “Very thoughtful of you.”
“Fuck off.” He jerked his head away, and his hair parted, displaying the divot missing from his ear. A rumble bellowed in my chest. He turned back to me. “What’s wrong? Are you—”
I reached out again, tucking away the falling strands to clear the view. My teeth clenched tight. “Were the Rovina pack exterminated?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Yeah. Every last one.”
“Good,” I spat.
Dylan covered my hand with his, returning it to his lap. “I’m fine,” he assured me, though a hint of doubt trickled through our bond.
A loaded beat of silence followed, and I waited, letting him mull over his inner conflict until he was ready to speak again.
“I killed a man,” he said eventually. “I mean, he wouldn’t have survived regardless, but I ended his life sooner, which is jarring me a little.
I don’t regret it. He tried to take what didn’t belong to him, and I’d do it all over again if it ensured he wasn’t a threat to us, but it was .
. . gruesome. It might take time for me not to see his mangled face every time I close my eyes. ”
I hummed. “He deserved his fate, and while it was thrilling to watch you kill for us, I never wished for you to be involved. It was an oversight on my part.”
“I didn’t want to be involved either,” he stated, eyes boring into our joined fingers.
“I might be drawn to danger, but that doesn’t mean I want blood on my hands, and I never want to be in a position where I have to do it again.
Mostly because I will.” He looked up. “I’d do anything for my family.
It scares me, knowing what I’m capable of, but I’m also . . . comforted by it.”
“Because you have proof you’re not powerless?”
He nodded. “I have what it takes to protect you and Minnie, if the need arises.”
“I knew you did.”
“Did you—” He bit into his bottom lip, visibly uncertain. “How long have you known it was him?”
The real question was hidden between the lines. He wanted to know if I’d kept it from him—if I’d let him coexist with the man responsible for abducting our daughter and planning our demise—but he also felt shame for thinking or asking it.
I understood his reasons.
“Since the day before we came for you,” I admitted begrudgingly.
It was shameful, taking two and a half years to connect the dots. It was obvious once I’d recognised the patterns. Almost too obvious, and that was likely why I’d never entertained it, though I should have.
Aaron had boasted endlessly about knowing me, but he’d only paid attention to what was advantageous for him.
He’d noticed when my conditions were causing me pain because he was perceptive to my weaknesses, not because he empathised.
If that were the case, he’d have taken more care to heed my boundaries.
If he truly knew me, he’d have been aware this was a pointless pursuit before he’d even started.
Whether it had taken a day or a lifetime, I’d have figured it out.