Chapter 67
SIXTY-SEVEN
T he antiseptic smell of the hospital room burned Artair’s nostrils. His massive frame dwarfed the plastic chair beside Thora’s bed, making him look oddly vulnerable despite his size. Two days had passed with barely a change in her condition. Two days of him refusing to leave her side. Two days of his perfectly tailored suits giving way to borrowed T-shirts and stubbled cheeks.
None of that mattered. Only the still form on the bed commanded his attention.
Thora lay motionless, her olive skin pale against the stark white sheets. Tubes snaked from her arms, monitors beeped with mechanical precision, and his bear raged beneath his skin, desperate to protect what it considered theirs. The sight of her—normally so fiercely independent—reduced to this fragile state tore at something deep in his chest.
Artair’s thumb traced gentle circles on her palm, his large hand engulfing hers. When had her clever, calloused fingers become so familiar? So necessary?
“The north ridge waterfall turns the mist golden at sunrise,” he murmured, voice low enough that the nurses couldn’t hear through the half-open door. “No one knows about the hidden path except me. Perfect place for a sabertooth to explore.” His voice caught. “I need to show you when you wake up.”
He stroked a strand of dark hair away from her forehead, remembering how it had felt tangled in his fingers during their kiss by the lake. “My grandfather’s hunting cabin has a cave system behind it. The acoustics make your voice echo for miles. You’d laugh at how it amplifies even whispers.”
The door opened with a soft click. Artair didn’t need to look up to recognize the visitor. Elder Willow’s distinctive scent preceded her—earth and herbs and old magic.
“Her aura strengthened overnight,” Willow said, moving to the opposite side of the bed. She placed weathered hands above Thora’s body, not quite touching. Silver light shimmered between her fingertips. “A good sign.”
Artair focused on the rise and fall of Thora’s chest rather than meet Willow’s all-too-perceptive gaze. “The toxin?”
“Designed for bear physiology but it modified when it encountered her biology.” Willow’s lips pinched together. “Clever. Dangerous.”
“Lethal.” The word scraped raw from his throat.
“Yet she stepped in front of it without hesitation.” Willow’s eyes—ancient and knowing—fixed on him. “Such instinct reveals what the heart decides long before the mind catches up.”
Heat climbed Artair’s neck. He couldn’t form a response, his throat tight with emotions he refused to name.
Willow pulled several small pouches from her shawl pocket, breaking the charged silence. “Crushed moonflower petals for the wound site.” She placed one on the bedside table. “Mountain ash bark tea when she wakes—it’ll help flush remaining toxins.”
“When,” Artair repeated, clinging to the certainty in Willow’s voice.
“Her spirit fights hard.” Willow’s lips curved in a slight smile. “She has something worth returning for.”
The witch placed a comforting hand on his shoulder before departing. That small touch nearly shattered his control. His bear clawed inside him, desperate to howl out its fear. If Thora slipped away now, after he’d found her...
No. He couldn’t entertain that possibility.
Hours stretched into another evening. Artair dozed fitfully in the uncomfortable chair, hand still wrapped around hers. His dreams filled with forest paths—Thora’s sabertooth form sleek and powerful beside his bear, their movements perfectly synchronized.
The sound of voices outside the hospital room dragged him back to consciousness. He straightened, instantly alert. The voices grew closer—hushed but intense. One he recognized immediately as his grandmother Eira’s firm tone. The others...
The door swung open.
“Aleksander Tiikeri requests entry,” his grandmother announced formally, her shoulders set with the rigid posture of ancient protocol.
Artair rose to his feet as the elderly tiger shifter entered, flanked by Louisa and two other pride members. The air crackled with centuries of territorial instinct—bear clan and tiger pride rarely shared close quarters without tension.
Aleksander moved with surprising speed for his age, covering the distance to Thora’s bedside in three swift strides. His face—bearing the same high cheekbones and regal features as Thora—crumpled as he gazed down at her.
“My granddaughter,” he whispered, amber eyes bright with unshed tears.
Something shifted in Artair’s chest. This wasn’t a rival alpha encroaching on his territory. This was a man facing the potential loss of family he’d only just found.
“She has her mother’s fierce heart,” Aleksander said, voice breaking. “We cannot lose her again.”
Eira stepped forward, her initial wariness softening. “We won’t.” She turned to Artair. “The Tiikeri healers have specific knowledge of their bloodline. Combined with our bear clan remedies...”
She didn’t finish the thought, but Artair understood. Ancient rivalries took second place to Thora’s survival.
Louisa approached, carrying a wooden box inlaid with amber. “Tiger pride healing focuses on energy pathways.” She opened the box, revealing vials of golden liquid. The scent of sun-warmed amber and exotic herbs filled the room. “This traces the royal bloodline back thirty generations.”
Artair stepped back, allowing the Tiikeri healers space around Thora’s bed. Eira joined them, producing her own leather pouch of bear clan remedies—honey salve infused with mountain herbs passed down through Maxen generations.
Aleksander caught Artair’s eye across the bed. “Your scent marks her already.”
Not a question. Not an accusation either. Simply an observation from one alpha to another.
“She matters to me,” Artair replied, the understatement almost painful.
“Good.” Aleksander nodded once. “She deserves someone who recognizes her worth.”
The ritual began without further discussion. Tiikeri hands traced glowing amber patterns above Thora’s body while Eira’s deeper gold magic flowed from her fingertips. The colors merged where they met—amber and gold creating something new, something powerful.
A small gasp came from the doorway. Bryn stood there, phone in hand, capturing the moment. “For the historical record,” she whispered when Artair raised an eyebrow. “First documented cooperative healing between our clans in three centuries.”
Artair watched, mesmerized by the interweaving lights. The longer he observed, the more right it seemed—these supposedly rival magics complementing each other perfectly. Like Thora and himself, different yet somehow meant to fit together.
The combined healing ritual continued through the night. Artair refused to leave, even when Bryn brought him fresh clothes and coffee. Every time the healers paused to rest, he reclaimed his position at Thora’s side, monitoring her breathing for any change.
Dawn broke on the third day. Artair dozed in the chair beside Thora’s bed, his large hand still enveloping hers. The tiger and bear healers had departed for a few hours of much-needed sleep, leaving the room in peaceful silence.
Something changed. A subtle shift in rhythm pulled him instantly from sleep—Thora’s breathing pattern altered.
Artair’s eyes snapped open. Her amber gaze met his, clear and focused for the first time in days.
Relief crashed through him with such force that his vision blurred. He surged forward, pressing his forehead against hers in a gesture more intimate than any kiss. Her skin felt warm against his—blessedly, wonderfully warm.
“You scared the hell out of me,” he said, voice rough with emotion.
Her lips curved into a weak smile. “Seems only fair. You’ve been terrifying me with feelings for weeks.”
The unexpected admission made him smile against her skin, hope blooming in his chest. His bear rumbled with satisfaction, recognizing the first verbal acknowledgment of what they had both been circling.
“How long?” Thora asked, her voice scratchy from disuse.
“Three days.” Artair reached for the water cup on the bedside table, helping her take careful sips. “The toxin targeted bears but adapted when it hit your system.”
“Creative,” she muttered. “Your brother has quite the imagination.”
Artair froze, cup midair. “How did you?—”
“Scents don’t lie.” Her amber eyes studied him. “Same base notes as yours, but sharper. Colder.”
Of course, she’d picked up on that detail even while fighting. The bounty hunter missed nothing.
“Your grandfather’s here,” Artair said. “Aleksander Tiikeri. He brought pride healers.”
Thora’s eyes widened. “And your grandmother allowed it?”
“For you?” Artair’s thumb traced her knuckles. “She’d have invited dragons if it helped.”
A ghost of a smile touched Thora’s lips before her eyelids fluttered, exhaustion reclaiming her. “Don’t leave?”
“Never,” he promised as she drifted back to sleep.