Chapter 18 Connall
Connall
Connall guides Elias toward the Emergency entrance with a hand in the small of his back, the heat of him warming places Connall has no right to be thinking about now.
“O–okay, then. As long as you know, I may not look it, but Gideon’s shown me a thing or two and—”
The room is virtually empty. A lone nurse sits at reception, her pen tapping against the desk until she looks up and freezes. “Have a seat, I’ll call you—” Her practiced smile slips, something wary flickering in its place. “Oh. Um…”
It could be that she recognizes Elias from his dazed exit several hours ago, but her eyes are glued to Connall’s face with recognition. He clenches his jaw against the urge to bare his teeth just to see her jump.
“We’re going to head back and see Isaac Fletcher.” Elias doesn’t wait for permission; he slaps the big red button harder than necessary, the sound sharp in the empty hall.
A seed of doubt settles in Connall’s belly. What if Isaac is angry or worse…and he sends Connall away?
Elias leans in closer to whisper, as if the thought had occurred to him, too. “Uh…maybe you should let me do the talking? He might be…er…sleeping.”
As soon as the doors open a crack, a sudden wall of noise crashes into them like a fist to the solar plexus. Wailing, high-pitched, and so full of grief that Connall could join in and howl in agony alongside him.
Izzy.
Elias doesn’t wait a single second more. He runs, confident Connall will follow, sour lemon and fear sharp in the air.
A crash joins the cacophony, and it’s followed by a feminine shriek. A nurse in pink scrubs stumbles out of the med-bay, the front of her shirt drenched and her eyes wide. The wailing cuts off so suddenly that the silence rings in his ears.
As he had at Quest earlier that day, his wolf knows something is coming, bracing for impact before he can even get his brain around what’s happening.
The curtain tears wide, and in the next breath, Isaac is on him—wild-eyed, slamming Connall flat to the ER floor with a howl.
Connall’s head cracks against the tile. White light bursts behind his eyes, stealing his breath, but all he can register is Isaac: naked, shaking, wires trailing behind him, fangs bared in a snarl that vibrates through Connall’s bones.
The scent hits him—grief, blood, sweet lime—flooding the air and drowning out the sterile bite of antiseptic.
It’s thick enough to taste, curling down Connall’s throat, filling his lungs until there’s nothing left but Isaac.
For one impossible heartbeat, his mind blanks, caught between the ghost of the gentle boy from Quest and the feral, beautiful creature snarling above him now.
His wolf answers, and his fangs punch down.
His claws dig into the tile as he holds back the matching urge to roll his omega over and slide home—cock and fangs—joining them forever in a bond as old as time.
The ache in his chest twists into something hot and desperate.
A brutal hunger leaving him hard and aching under Isaac’s weight.
He can’t look away. The world narrows to the heat of Isaac’s skin, the sharpness of his grip, the wildness in those eyes. Eyes that once looked at him with hope, now blazing with something feral and as old as the moon.
“Izzy!” Elias’s voice trembles as he lays a hand against the back of Isaac’s neck, fingers pressing over his visibly pounding pulse.
Isaac is past listening, and he shakes their beta off.
His hand fists in Connall’s hair, jerking his head to the side, baring his throat as if it’s already his.
For one splintered second, Connall wonders if this is how it begins—claimed by his omega on the floor of a hospital, and finds he has no regrets.
He wishes the choice were taken from him.
The sound that breaks from Isaac isn’t speech so much as an invocation. “Mine.” The word vibrates through Connall—a call he’d once despaired of ever hearing.
Elias’s hand finds Isaac’s shoulder again, gentle but insistent, voice a trembling tether. “Not like this, baby. Please. You’ll regret it.”
Isaac whines, torn, his gaze flickering between them.
Slowly, Elias pulls him off Connall and into his lap, murmuring soft nonsense, fingers stroking the shivering line of Isaac’s spine.
For a moment, Connall feels the loss. Cold, exposed, the echo of Isaac’s weight and scent still clinging to his skin, leaving behind the last tremors of missed opportunity.
He sits up, breath still ragged, watching Isaac shudder as the frenzy bleeds out of him by slow degrees.
Elias’s lemon-tea scent thickens in the air, sweet and steady, wrapping around them like a tether.
Connall aches to lean into it—to gather them both close, to let their warmth quiet the wild thing still pacing inside his ribs.
Isaac’s voice comes out small. “Alpha. Please.” It’s a piercing echo of his plea when Connall had pushed him away at Quest. The fierceness is gone, and what’s left is fragile.
Connall doesn’t trust his voice. Instead, he reaches for Isaac’s hand and presses it to his cheek, where the touch burns and steadies all at once.
Elias glances up, eyes wet behind his glasses, once again askew on his pale face. “He’s okay. We’re okay.” And for the first time, Connall almost believes it.
Then movement flickers at the edge of his vision—a man in scrubs, a deep scratch raked across his cheek, a bandage at his wrist. He stops a few paces away, hands raised in careful peace.
A doctor, maybe, but Connall doesn’t care.
He’s an alpha stranger near his beta and omega.
Connall’s wolf rumbles out a warning, low and dangerous.
“Mr. O’Daire,” the man says quickly. “I’m Dr. Merritt.”
He growls a warning, already angry that he’s being forced to watch the interloper rather than his tempting—and unbonded—omega and beta. If he could get them away, he could fix that, and they would be safe.
The word safe lodges in Connall’s brain.
The doctor backs away, and where he goes, Connall couldn’t care less.
Connall rolls to his feet and hefts both men into his arms, bridal style, thrilling at Elias’s squeak and Isaac’s purr.
Their combined weight reminds him of his new purpose and keeps his wolf from unraveling.
He searches for somewhere defensible away from the old med bay where chaos reigns: the torn curtain a snarl of fabric, the machinery toppled over, and the overpowering scents of blood and grief.
The next bay, however, proves adequate with fresh sheets and a wider bed designed for families or mates who need to lie together for comfort. It will do until Isaac can travel, although to where Connall isn’t sure yet.
He lays them down, pulling the wires free of Isaac’s body and covering his bare skin with a sheet.
Instinct tells him to stand guard at the door, to keep watch, but their hands find him and drag him down into the narrow space between them.
Their sighs of relief press against his chest, and though he means to resist, the sound that escapes him is a low, helpless groan.
“Alpha,” Isaac breathes. His voice is wrecked from his frenzy, and his hardness strains against the sheet, the scent of his slick strong in the air.
“Omega,” Connall answers, voice rough. His gaze cuts to Elias. “Beta.”
Both of them shiver, and when Connall lowers his mouth, it’s not to claim like his wolf wants, but to press his lips to Elias’s brow, then Isaac’s nose. Their answering kisses brush his cheeks, surprising, and his wolf rumbles in satisfaction.
He realizes that this must be heaven and he will defend it—them—with his life. It could only be better if two strong alpha bodies were pressing in close, one hand over his heart, and one over his belly.
He doesn’t want to close his eyes. He needs to watch the medical staff, currently giving them a wide berth as they clean the neighboring bay. But Isaac is warm beside him, smooth skin brushing the wrist he’s tucked down between them.
On his other side, Elias has pressed his nose into Connall’s armpit, breathing slow and even. Connall’s bones are almost liquid with a contentment he hasn’t felt in a very long time…maybe ever.
He knows the exact moment when Isaac falls asleep, his purring fading gently away.
Elias’s hand reaches across Connall’s chest and brushes a strand of pink hair off Isaac’s face. The same fingers run along Connall’s jaw in the same place he’d pressed Isaac’s hand mere minutes ago, a sweetly tender gesture he’d not felt since before his mother died.
His eyes burn suddenly, and he slams them closed against the harsh lights from the hallway. He hasn’t cried since that graveside, but these tears aren’t grief. They’re something far heavier. Relief.
Life is changing just as it had back then. Big things that Connall hadn’t been ready for then, and even bigger ones he isn’t ready for now.
He looks at Elias, snoring softly and drooling into the designer shirt Connall had put on twelve hours ago. Then at Isaac, whose lips are cracked and dry but parted in calm, quiet breaths. Something hurts when Connall thinks about being needed—about being the person they can come to just to rest.
If he’d ever let himself imagine a moment like this—and he hadn’t, not really—it wouldn’t have been here. Not in a hospital bed with sheets bleached of their scent and too much noise in the hallway. Not with his wolf still hungry and his knot still partially inflated with desire.
He’s not the kind of man who saves anyone. He knows that. Knows what’s been said about him in dark rooms as people scurry out of his path. Connall O’Daire doesn’t rescue; he wouldn’t know how.
But tonight—just for tonight—he lets himself want more.
Their warmth seeps into him, slow and steady, thawing muscles he hadn’t realized were locked tight.
One breath. Then another. A lemon-lime-black-tea-with-sugar lullaby curled under his ribs.
The hospital lights are too bright, and the antiseptic smells burn his nose.
He’s still wearing his dirty shoes, and he doesn’t have Beau at his back, but still—he can’t make himself move.
The ER isn’t quiet enough for true rest, and they’ll wake up soon. They’ll ask him for things Connall isn’t sure he knows how to give.
He’ll have to keep them safe. Guard them from the dark parts of his life that never learned how to make room for light.
But for now, he lets the weight of their trust settle over his heart like earth on a grave, and he doesn’t dread what’s coming next.