Chapter 20
Nova
Reality slams back with a brutal snap.
My stomach heaves. Ground materializes under us, and Dane absorbs the impact—boots digging into earth, body braced around mine. The slip coin shatters somewhere above, silver fragments scattering.
I can’t focus. Trees blur. My limbs won’t respond. Magic surges under my skin in uneven pulses, still trying to stabilize after being ripped between worlds.
“Nova.” A voice cuts through the fog—not Dane’s. Lighter. Female.
I turn my head, too slow, like moving underwater. Lyanna stands a few feet away, her hands already glowing with healing energy. Her face sharpens into focus, then blurs again. Her eyes widen as she takes in whatever state we’re in.
“Put her down,” she says, not to me. “I need to check—“
“No.” Dane’s chest vibrates against mine with the word. One syllable, granite-hard.
I realize he’s still holding me. His arms haven’t loosened once.
Lyanna steps closer. “Dane, she’s—“
“She’s coming with me.” His voice allows no argument, no debate.
My fingers curl reflexively into his shirt. I can feel his heart hammering beneath my palm—too fast, too hard. Yet his voice remained steady, emotionless.
Heavy footsteps approach from my left. Rafe. His energy hits me before his scent does—contained power, sharp attention. He doesn’t look at me at all. His eyes lock on Dane, assessing.
“Whatever line you crossed in there—it followed you home,” Rafe says, the words quiet enough that only the four of us can hear.
Dane doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even acknowledge him.
I lift my head, expecting to meet Dane’s gaze. But his eyes never drop to mine. Not once. He’s scanning the compound, the treeline, the lodge. Tracking movement, assessing threats, calculating angles.
Blood drips steadily from the gash on his arm, but he doesn’t seem to notice. His jaw is rigid, muscles locked tight.
“The infirmary is ready,” Lyanna tries again, her tone gentle but firm. “At least let me—“
“No.” Dane shifts his weight, adjusting his grip on me. “You can work on her in my cabin.”
Rafe’s expression remains unreadable, but something flickers in his eyes. He steps back, giving Dane space.
This isn’t about comfort or control. This isn’t even about me. It’s something deeper, more primal. Pure survival instinct locked into a single directive.
I feel it in the tension of his arms around me, the way his fingers press just a fraction too tight against my ribs. In the rigid line of his shoulders that refuse to relax. His heartbeat pounds against my palm where it rests on his chest, too fast for someone trying to appear calm.
As Dane starts walking toward his quarters, I finally understand: He’s not holding me because I can’t walk.
He’s holding me because he can’t let go.
The ground shifts under us as Dane carries me toward his cabin. The world tilts and steadies. My magic pulses erratically, sparking like torn wires under my skin.
The compound falls silent as we cross it. Footsteps halt mid-stride. Conversations die. Heads turn.
Through fragmented vision, I catch it all: Ben’s hand freezing halfway to his mouth. Marcus lowering his clipboard. Kari’s spine going rigid. Mateo stepping back. Callum, with something like anger on his face. All of them watching.
No one approaches. No one calls out. No one asks.
Dane doesn’t acknowledge any of them. His focus narrows to the path ahead, his steps measured and unwavering. Blood seeps through his shirt and onto mine where our bodies press together. His heartbeat drums against my palm—too fast, too hard, revealing what his face won’t.
Rafe walks three paces behind us, a shadow with purpose. Lyanna trails beside him, hands still glowing faintly with unused healing magic.
A young wolf—Riley—steps forward, then thinks better of it. His eyes drop to the ground as we pass.
My head lolls against Dane’s shoulder as pain spikes through my temple. His arms tighten fractionally. The only response he’ll allow himself.
We reach his cabin. The door swings open without either of us touching it—Lyanna’s magic, subtle and precise. The scent hits me immediately: Dane. Everywhere. His soap, his sweat, his blood. Now mine too.
He lays me on his bed. Not gently. Not roughly. Just ... efficiently. The mattress dips as my weight settles. My limbs sprawl uselessly, refusing to arrange themselves in any functional way.
Lyanna moves to the bedside, already murmuring healing incantations. Rafe positions himself by the window, gaze fixed on the treeline outside.
Dane steps back exactly two feet. No more, no less.
Just enough for Lyanna to work. His shirt clings to his chest, soaked through with blood—his, mine, impossible to tell anymore.
He makes no move to clean himself, to check his own wounds.
His eyes track Lyanna’s every movement as her hands hover over me.
“I need to check her resonance pathways,” Lyanna says, not looking up. “This will hurt.”
She presses her fingers to my temples. Pain explodes behind my eyes like shattered glass. I don’t make a sound. Don’t need to. Dane flinches for me.
Lyanna works in silence after that. Rafe doesn’t speak. Dane doesn’t move.
Outside the cabin, I hear footsteps approach, then retreat. The pack circling, scenting, processing. No one dares knock.
When Lyanna finally steps back, her face is drawn with effort. “She needs rest. And you”— she turns to Dane—“need healing.”
Dane says nothing. His eyes find mine for the first time since the portal. No words. No movement.
Just the look that says what his silence can’t.
Lyanna steps toward him, hands still glowing with healing energy. “Your turn. That gash needs treatment before infection sets in.”
Dane doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t acknowledge her at all. His focus remains locked on me, as if breaking that connection might cause me to disappear.
Lyanna sighs, the sound sharp with frustration. “Dane. I need to check that wound.”
His jaw tightens. That’s it. His only response.
“Fine.” Lyanna’s hands dim as she pulls back her magic. “But when you pass out from blood loss, this pack loses its Alpha—and that’s on you.” She packs her supplies with quick, efficient movements. “I’ll send clean bandages for her. The rest is up to you.”
Rafe pushes away from the wall, his movement silent despite his size. He pauses at the door, eyes finding mine over Dane’s shoulder. Something passes across his face. He’s seen this before. The look says he understands what it costs. What it means.
What it risks.
The door clicks shut behind them. The cabin feels suddenly larger, emptier, with just the two of us. Outside, footsteps circle the perimeter—wolves patrolling, or maybe just hovering, uncertain what to do next.
“Thank you,” I manage, the words scratchy and raw. My throat feels like I’ve swallowed glass.
Dane doesn’t answer. His eyes track me, cataloging injuries, assessing threats. Blood still seeps from the gash on his arm. He hasn’t even checked it.
“Sit.” I gesture weakly to the edge of the bed. “You’re making me dizzy.”
For a moment I think he’ll refuse this too. Then he lowers himself to the edge of the mattress.
His shirt is torn to pieces. Blood has dried in dark streaks down his arm, his side, across his jaw. His knuckles are raw. There’s a bruise forming under his left eye. Yet he sits perfectly still, as if none of it registers.
The silence stretches between us—not uncomfortable, but heavy with unspoken things.
My magic still pulses irregularly, sending occasional sparks of pain through my limbs. Each time it happens, Dane’s eyes narrow slightly.
My eyelids grow heavier. The room blurs at the edges. Sleep pulls at me, insistent and dark.
I force my eyes open one more time.
He still hasn’t looked away.