Chapter 20 - Rick
The world returned to him in fragments.
The first was pain. A deep, dragging ache that lived in every bone and muscle. His body felt as though it had been taken apart and poorly reassembled, each joint too tight, each rib screaming when he breathed.
The second was light. A thin wash of morning, pale and gray, filtering through curtains he didn’t recognize. It stabbed at his eyes until he turned his head away.
The third was sound. Not the roar of battle, not the clash of wolves, but hushed voices beyond the door. Low, steady tones. Iron Walkers, he thought, though the words themselves came as a blur.
Rick groaned and forced himself upright.
The room swam. He pressed a hand to the edge of the bed until the dizziness passed. The linens beneath him smelled faintly of smoke and antiseptic, sharp and clean. Someone had bandaged his side, his shoulder, his thigh. The scars of teeth and claws pulled tight with each movement.
Slowly, memory bled back.
The battlefield. The fire. John Heath’s throat is beneath his jaws. Rosalia’s cry as the Black Claw came for him. And then…darkness.
He breathed out hard through his nose, dragging his hand across his face. Alive. That much was clear. The Iron Walkers…he needed answers. He needed to see…
The door creaked.
Felix stepped inside.
His alpha looked worse for wear, though he carried it with the same iron steadiness as always.
His shirt was torn across one shoulder, a slash of blood drying down one arm.
His jaw bore a new bruise, and his eyes were ringed with the hollows of exhaustion.
Still, he stood tall, his presence filling the room.
“You look like hell,” Rick rasped.
Felix’s mouth twitched, “I could say the same. This is the second time I’ve had to carry your ass into bed.”
Rick tried to push himself further upright, but his body protested. “The battle—”
“Won.” Felix’s answer was simple, unflinching. “But not without cost.”
The words landed like stones. Rick closed his eyes.
“We held Silvermist,” Felix continued, “The Black Claws broke first. Without their alpha, they scattered. The Green Mountain wolves followed soon after, leaderless. But…” His pause was heavy. “We paid for it. Too many of ours won’t rise again.”
Rick’s throat tightened. Faces came to him unbidden, men he’d trained with, fought beside, men who had followed him without hesitation. Now gone.
“How many?” he asked.
Felix’s gaze softened by a fraction. “Enough to hurt. But not so many that we’ll fall.”
Rick bowed his head. He had led them into danger, planned to outmaneuver enemies, and still they had bled for it. He sighed, “At least you finally put down Raph.”
Felix’s laugh of shock surprised him, and he looked up. “Me? What makes you think it was me?”
His eyebrows drew together. “Dane then?”
Felix shook his head. “We didn’t get the chance. After he nearly…well, nearly killed you, Rosalia took him out.”
Rick’s mind went utterly blank, his mouth falling open.
Rosalia.
Rosalia, his Rosalia, had been the one to kill the Alpha of the Black Claws?
Sensing his pure shock, Felix huffed a laugh. “Never cross a female defending her mate.”
Rick could only breathe, “She’s not my mate.”
Felix raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t she?”
His mate. His mate. The word filled him up, warm and shining, and completely unbidden tears filled his eyes. “My mate.”
“Christ,” Felix said, taking a step back, “maybe you’re more injured than we thought.”
Rick swallowed, too consumed by the thought to even contemplate embarrassment.
His mate.
“I’m going to let you rest,” Felix said, somewhat awkwardly. “Dane and Nicolas are with the females and children. Thankfully, Nicolas’s borders held up during the attack; we didn’t lose any children or any of the non-fighters.”
His words passed like smoke. Rick only blinked at him.
Felix sighed. “Rest, your part isn’t finished. Not yet.”
Rick gave the faintest nod, and Felix turned, slipping from the room as silently as he had entered.
Silence fell.
Rick let his head tip back against the headboard. He should have felt relief. He should have felt triumph. Instead, he felt hollow, raw.
The door opened again.
Rosalia stepped inside.
Her hair was loose, tangled, streaked with smoke. A cut marred her cheek, her knuckles were raw, but she was alive. Her eyes found his at once, and the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding left him in a rush.
She crossed the room slowly, as though unsure whether she was welcome.
“You’re awake,” she said softly.
“So it seems.” His voice was hoarse.
For a moment, they only looked at one another. The weight of what had passed between them, the letters, the fight, the accusations, hung in the air.
Rick cleared his throat. “Rosalia…” He stopped. Words failed him. He had never been good with them, never learned how to use them without cutting. But he could not let this moment pass. Not again.
“I was wrong,” he said finally, voice low, “about you. About everything.”
Her eyes widened slightly.
“I let my pride talk,” he continued, forcing each word past the weight in his chest. “I saw your letters, saw my name, and I let old scars blind me. I hurt you because I thought I was protecting myself. Protecting Eva. But the truth is, you’ve done nothing but fight for us.
For me. And I…” His throat closed. “I’m sorry, Rosalia.
More than I’ve ever been sorry for anything. ”
She stood very still, her hands clasped in front of her. Her lips trembled as though she didn’t trust them to speak.
“I don’t want this to be a game anymore,” Rick said, his voice rough, “not a contract. Not an arrangement. I want you as my wife. Truly. If you’ll have me.”
Her breath caught.
“And Eva—” His chest tightened as he said it. “She’s yours already. You’ve been her mother in all the ways that matter. If you want it, I’d be glad for you to make it official. To adopt her. To make us a family, not just in word but in truth.”
Silence stretched. The longest silence of his life.
Then Rosalia moved. Slowly at first, then with more surety, she crossed the final steps between them and sat gently on the edge of the bed. Her hand reached for his, tentative, trembling.
“Rick,” she whispered.
He caught her hand, held it tight.
Her eyes shone, bright with tears she refused to shed. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear those words.”
He bowed his head, pressing his forehead to her knuckles. The scent of her, smoke, blood, and the quiet sweetness that was purely her, filled him.
“Say yes,” he murmured.
Her laugh broke on a sob. “Yes. Gods, yes.”
Relief tore through him, fierce enough to leave him shaking. He pulled her into his arms, ignoring the pull of bandages, the ache of his wounds. She came willingly, folding against him, her arms circling his shoulders.
For the first time in longer than he could remember, Rick let himself breathe. Truly breathe.
They stayed like that, tangled together in silence, while the world outside began to stitch itself back together. The Iron Walkers would rebuild. The dead would be mourned. The scars would remain. But here, in this room, something new had begun.
A family.
His.