Chapter 43
FORTY-THREE
R age and terror fueled every swing of Artek’s massive paws. The copper scent of Meara’s blood filled his nostrils, driving his bear into a killing frenzy. German fought with the desperate fury of a cornered animal, but Artek’s superior size and training showed in each calculated strike. Their fur matted with blood—both their own and each other’s—as they tore through what remained of the living room.
She’ll never be safe while I live. German’s voice snarled through their telepathic connection. That land belongs to my family. I’ll kill her when you least expect it. When you’re distracted, when you think you’ve won—I’ll take everything from you.
Something snapped in Artek’s chest. This threat to his mate, this promise of endless danger—it shattered his last thread of restraint. With a roar that rattled windows, he lunged. His jaws closed around German’s throat, ending the threat permanently.
Silence fell like a heavy curtain. German’s lifeless body reverted to human form as Artek shifted back, chest heaving. Blood painted his skin in grotesque patterns, the metallic taste thick on his tongue. The weight of taking a life pressed against his shoulders, but he had no time to process it.
Where was Meara?
He spun, scanning the wreckage of the living room. His heart stopped at the sight of Frenchy kneeling on the floor as he tried to stem the blood flowing from Meara’s head. Her skin had gone paper-white, dark lashes stark against her cheeks.
Frenchy’s voice cracked. “She won’t wake up, Artek. There’s so much blood?—”
Primal fear drove Artek forward. He gathered Meara’s limp form into his arms, barely registering his own injuries. Her head lolled against his chest, blood seeping into his torn shirt. “Trey! Take charge. I’m taking her to the sleuth’s clinic.”
His second-in-command, sporting his own collection of cuts and bruises, nodded grimly. “Go. We’ll coordinate with local authorities and secure the scene.”
“I’m coming with you,” Frenchy declared, already heading for the door. “Someone has to keep you from terrorizing the medical staff, and I need to call Gustavo about finalizing those legal documents anyway.”
The drive to the clinic passed in a blur of terror and self-recrimination. Artek gripped the steering wheel with bloodied hands, forcing himself to focus on the road instead of the growing stain on his shirt where Meara’s head had rested against his chest. He’d sworn to protect her, to keep her safe from exactly this kind of violence. The weight of German’s death pressed against his conscience, but Meara’s safety eclipsed all other concerns.
She’d become his whole world without him even realizing it. The thought of losing her, of never seeing her dark eyes light up with passion for her art or hearing her laugh at one of Frenchy’s ridiculous jokes—it gutted him more thoroughly than any physical wound.
The sleuth’s medical facility burst into action as he carried her through the doors. Nurses swarmed, efficient hands lifting Meara onto a stretcher while others tried to tend to Artek’s wounds. He growled, refusing to leave her side until the head medic physically blocked his path.
“Let us work,” the doctor ordered. “You’re no good to her if you bleed out from these gashes.”
Frenchy’s hand landed on his shoulder. “Listen to the nice doctor before I have to get creative with my threatening. And, honey, neither of us wants to see me try to intimidate anyone while wearing clothes this fabulous.”
It took both of them to convince Artek to let the nurses clean and stitch his wounds while they waited for news. Every minute stretched like hours until finally, blessedly, the doctor returned.
“Concussion,” she confirmed after a thorough examination. “The head wound needed several stitches, but her vitals are strong. She’ll need observation and rest, but she should make a full recovery.”
Relief nearly brought Artek to his knees. He sank into a chair beside her bed, taking her small hand between his larger ones. His bear paced restlessly beneath his skin, desperate to see those dark eyes open again.
When Meara finally stirred, Artek’s heart clenched at her confusion. “What... happened?”
“You scared the hell out of me.” His voice roughened with emotion as he brushed a gentle kiss across her knuckles. “No more playing bait. Ever. It’s my job to protect my mate, and I failed?—”
“Artek.” Despite her weakness, steel threaded through her tone. “What happened to German?”
He swallowed hard. “He’s dead. The sleuth elders will exile his family from the region. It’s over.”
Tears welled in Meara’s eyes—relief and grief mingling as the full weight of the night’s events settled over her. Her fingers tightened around his. “I thought... when I saw him hurt you... I can’t lose you either.”
“Never.” He pressed his forehead to hers, careful of her injuries. “You’re stuck with me, artist. Bears mate for life, remember?”
Frenchy chose that moment to burst through the clinic doors, his usual grace abandoned in his rush to reach Meara’s bedside. “Oh thank god. When you wouldn’t wake up, I thought—” He caught himself, drawing a steadying breath. “Also, excellent timing on the romantic declarations. I already have three wedding venues on hold.”
“Frenchy!” But Meara’s laugh turned into a weak cough.
“Rest now,” Artek murmured, stroking her hair. “You’re safe. We both are.”
She drifted off under the influence of pain medication, her hand still clasped in his. Artek stayed vigilant beside her, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest. The price of victory had been steep—blood spilled, a life taken, trust in safety shaken.
But the threats were neutralized. Their future stretched before them, unburdened by sabotage and fear. He’d moved heaven and earth to keep her safe, and he’d do it again in a heartbeat.
Because that’s what you did for love. That’s what you did for your mate.
And Meara Adams was both.