Chapter 18
Helena
I have never known Zane to sleep in. Six on the dot every morning, his phone alarm vibrates with an angry, little wail, and he’s up, sheets thrown back, some internal engine whirring hot.
Even if we’re both out half the night—like last night, when he sat sentinel at the kitchen island while I tried to drown my high-society guilt in chamomile tea and the better part of a stale croissant.
But since coming to Seamuse Village, Zane has steadily grown less punctual. More relaxed.
It looks good on him.
Given that, it’s a shock when I wake to find the rental flat sunlit, and Zane not in the living room. Nor is he at the window or pacing the entry. I check the narrow hallway, thinking maybe the old pipes finally failed and he’s trying to fix them for the landlord.
But no. I hear shuffling around outside the kitchen window and spot him in the garden, which has definitely grown into his favorite part of this flat. But enjoyment isn’t what graces his face.
It’s concern.
I hurry down into the garden, where Zane hands me my own phone along with his. “What—?”
“Three messages, all from Cole to both of us.” Zane’s brow is creased.
I open the texts from Cole and read, but it’s like we’ve summoned him because suddenly his cinnamon scent fills the air. I turn to unlatch the garden gate and there he stands with despair etched onto his face.
“Helena.” His voice cracks in the middle.
Icy shards slice through me and meld my feet to the floor, unmoving. “What happened?”
Cole takes a step inside the garden and reaches for my hands. I take his in mine. “It’s Lucas. They brought him to the hospital. Nearly drowned saving a kid on the beach.”
Everything in me runs backward—the blood in my veins, the thoughts in my head. Even the breath in my lungs. Sound dulls out until I don’t feel here anymore. “Is he—Did they—” The words get jammed in my throat. “Is he okay?”
Cole’s hands flex tight. He looks at Zane, then at me.
“He’s alive. But they’re going to keep him overnight.
It was worse than when you…” He can’t bring himself to say it, but I remember the day I first met Lucas very vividly.
Cole’s lips quiver. There’s something ancient and animal in his face, an instinct deeper than words.
True friendship.
Zane doesn’t hesitate. “We’re leaving in three. Helena, get dressed. Cole, sit down.”
For once, nobody questions Zane’s orders. I float back to my room to yank on jeans and a loose shirt. But dressing yourself is hard to do with shaky hands.
When I return, Zane’s already locked up the flat. Cole paces by the door like a caged dog. We pile into Zane’s leased car with Cole in the back. Cole’s cinnamon scent floods the space with waves of worry.
We drive in silence for maybe five minutes before I can speak.
Cole directs Zane to the hospital, but I’m not surprised to find Zane’s clearly already mapped the route once before. Probably in prep for being here with me.
I try to picture Lucas, all that sun-bleached energy gone slack, tubes maybe up his nose. The image shreds me. I look at Zane. He’s glued to the road, jaw grinding side to side.
“I should have—” I say, and then stop.
Zane cuts his eyes to me. “You’re not a lifeguard. That’s not your job, Helena. Besides, we’ve been at the flat all morning.”
No! I want to scream. But I am an omega, and he’s my alpha, and something in me is breaking apart because it’s Lucas, because I know how much it would kill him to be useless, even for a second.
“I want to see him.”
Zane nods. “We all do.”
The hospital hunkers at the edge of a headland where the sea wind batters the parking lot with little grains of salt.
Zane pulls into a visitor space and we spill out.
Cole nearly trips as he tries to hurry ahead.
Zane puts a hand on my lower back—steadying, not possessive. Enough to anchor me as we walk inside.
The waiting room is as beige and sad as every hospital I’ve ever known. A bored nurse at the desk tells us to take a seat, that someone will fetch us when Lucas is ready for visitors. Cole collapses onto a plastic chair and hangs his head in his hands. I sit next to him. Zane stands, arms folded.
It’s only now that the gravity settles in. The omega inside me howls, but not with fear—with need. I need to see Lucas. To touch him and assure myself he’s breathing and alive.
The urge is so physical, so urgent, it’s as if every muscle were drawn by a wire.
I steal a glance at Cole. He looks at me, eyes wide and glassy. For the first time, I recognize the same pull in him—a loyalty not taught, but built bone-deep.
A pack bond building.
“I know it’s weird,” Cole says quietly, “but it’s like—I can’t do anything until I know he’s okay.”
“It’s not weird.” There is no finishing school, no etiquette or courtly tradition that prepares you for this kind of raw, wordless panic. Even though Lucas is probably fine. He is, right? If his condition were worse, his parents would be here or Cole would’ve had more information.
I look up at Zane, my standing sentinel, and I realize I am as bound to these men as I am to my own body.
I’m not sure exactly when it happened, but it did.
We wait. Time drags, each second a burning drip of honey in my chest. When the nurse finally calls our names, I jump up too fast and have to steady myself on Zane’s arm. We follow her down a maze of linoleum corridors, Cole practically vibrating with each step.
“Room 214,” the nurse says, gesturing. “He’s awake, just a little groggy.”
I reach for the handle and pause, looking at Zane and Cole. “We go together.”
“Yeah,” Cole says. “Together.”
I hold my breath and open the door.
The smell of disinfectant hits first, although it’s not enough to mask the underlying scent of ocean that still clings to Lucas like a second skin.
He’s propped up in bed, hair a wet thatch on his forehead, the hospital gown already rumpled and riding up to expose tanned thighs and a freckle I’d never noticed before.
The monitor next to him beeps out a steady rhythm.
He grins when he sees us, but it’s thinner than usual and his eyes are bruised with exhaustion.
“Am I hallucinating, or did you bring the whole pack?” Lucas asks.
Cole barrels forward and nearly crushes Lucas in a cinnamon-scented hug. Lucas groans but returns it, his hand tangling awkwardly in Cole’s hoodie.
“I’m not dead yet.”
“And we’re very happy to hear that,” I say.
Zane stands at the end of the bed with his arms crossed. “You’re an idiot,” he says, but there’s no bite to it. He checks the bandage on Lucas’s wrist and then the IV line. He clearly doesn’t trust the nurses to have done it right.
Cole lets go and it’s my turn. I want to collapse onto the bed and cry, but I settle for perching on the edge and squeezing his hand. His palm is clammy, the callouses more pronounced against my skin.
“What happened?” I ask.
Lucas shrugs, but his bravado is muted. “Kid got sucked out on a rip. I went after him. He was heavy. By the time I got us both back to the sand, everything went a bit… black.” He tries for a laugh, but it sounds like a wheeze.
“Jesus,” Cole mutters.
We sit there, the four of us, the way we have been on late nights after the bakery closed, except this time there’s no hot chocolate or table to huddle around. My heart pounds a wild staccato. The omega in me stirs, desperate to soothe and heal.
Lucas must sense it. His thumb brushes gently over mine. “Hey, I’m okay. See?” He wiggles his toes. “All present and accounted for.”
We laugh, too loud for a hospital. I squeeze his hand tighter.
Zane clears his throat. “You should rest. Cole and I will go sort paperwork with the nurses. Helena, keep an eye on him?”
I kiss the back of Lucas’s hand. “I think I can manage that.”
Cole smiles knowingly. “We’ll give you two a minute.”
The door clicks shut and the room feels suddenly too quiet, too full of everything we’re not saying. I perch on the bed again, closer this time. Lucas doesn’t let go of my hand.
“You really scared me.” It comes out more accusing than I mean.
He grimaces. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
I stare at our joined hands. “You could have died.”
“I know.” There’s no humor in his voice, only the shaky honesty of a man who’s seen something he can’t unsee.
I want to touch his face, but I hesitate. Lucas notices. “I’m not made of glass, you know.”
I reach up and trace the faint outline of stubble on his jaw. His eyes close at the contact. I realize with a start that he’s on the verge of tears.
“I’m okay, Helena,” he whispers.
“You’re really not.”
I lean in. He meets me halfway, and his mouth is warm and a little chapped and tastes faintly of the saline drip. His free hand finds my hair. I climb into the narrow bed beside him, one knee carefully over the pulse-ox wire. His heart hammers against my sternum through the thin cotton of the gown.
We break apart. I press my forehead to his and just breathe.
“You’re supposed to be recovering,” I tease, and he gives a low laugh.
“I heard omega kisses are the best medicine there is.” He grins, but there’s a wobble at the edges.
“Oh, really?” I arch an eyebrow. “First I’m hearing of this. Seems mighty convenient.”
Lucas kisses me again. When he pulls back, he says, “I thought about you, you know. When it went dark for those few seconds. The first thing I wanted was to see your face.”
My throat tightens. “You big sap.”
“Only for you.”
We’re quiet for a while, hands exploring gently as we re-learn each other.
It’s not overtly sexual at first. It’s comfort, the need to connect on a level that language can’t reach.
I kiss his cheek and then along the hollow of his collarbone, careful to avoid the tape and IV.
He sighs, the tension leaking from his body.
And so does mine, leaving behind only a soft purr that Lucas leans into.
We don’t notice the time passing, not until a nurse peeks in and asks if we need anything. Lucas orders a pudding cup, and I hide a laugh behind my hand. She winks at me on her way out.