Chapter 39
Broken Hearts
TEDDY
“Sophie! Sophie!” I’m half mad with grief, screaming her name as I cradle her crumpled form in my arms. Someone must hear my cries, because suddenly I’m surrounded by people from the inn; an older man with pointy ears and a trim gray beard takes over, calling an ambulance.
One of the staff drapes a blanket over Sophie, who’s unconscious, her wings dangling at wrong angles from her back. I periodically check her pulse, panicking at the irregular heartbeat. I don’t know the first thing about faerie wings, but even I can see they’ve been shredded by Rafe’s claws.
At some point Cassia joins me on the driveway, weeping quietly over her cousin.
I’m so afraid of losing Sophie that the paramedics have to pry her out of my arms when they arrive.
They let me ride along in the ambulance with her, probably because they can see I’m in no condition to drive myself to the hospital.
As we’re leaving, I ask Cassia to call the rest of the family and meet us there.
When we arrive, Sophie is whisked away into the emergency room, and Marv shows up to take the police report on the incident.
I’m so upset I’m dry heaving, and Marv drags me outside so I can get some fresh air.
He waits until I regain a modicum of self-control, and then he asks, “What the blazes happened?”
“Rafe happened,” I spit out. “He came out of nowhere, partially shifted, obviously bent on attacking me, but I didn’t catch his scent until it was too late.
Sophie must have spotted him because she screamed my name.
As I was turning around, she flew into me and draped her wings around me.
” I have to stop speaking to catch my breath again.
“Sophie took the blows intended for me. Now she’s lying in there with bloody, torn-up wings, and I’m out here without even a scratch. ”
I run my hands through my hair, pacing around the parking lot. “I want to howl and whine and break something, but nothing I do is going to heal Sophie and lessen her agony.” I look at Marv. “What can I do? Tell me what to do.”
Marv speaks in a quiet, authoritative tone that helps to soothe some of my frenzied desperation. “You can tell me everything you remember about Rafe, what he was wearing, how fast he was moving. You said he’d partially shifted; I need a complete description. Give me all the details you can recall.”
Slowly, haltingly, I tell Marv everything I can remember, and then I stumble back inside the hospital. Sophie’s parents and Granny Catbeam arrive shortly afterward, followed by Jake and Cassia. I tell them what happened, breaking down only once, when I describe how Sophie came between Rafe and me.
“It should have been me protecting her, not the other way around,” I mutter, rubbing my eyes with the heels of my hands. “I’m so sorry.”
Granny places a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “Sophie is a brave faerie who loves you deeply; she never would’ve stood by and allowed you to be injured if she could do something about it.”
It’s been several hours since the ambulance arrived with Sophie, and we’re still waiting for news of her condition.
A team of surgeons is working on her, resetting her wing bones and stitching up the damaged muscles and sinews in her back.
Phoebe says the most time-consuming part will be repairing her wings, given the number of tiny bones that were crushed in the attack.
I’m broken inside, terrified Sophie will never fully recover. I can’t make eye contact with her family, too ashamed of my failure to keep her safe. I couldn’t save Jarrod from the beating that killed him, and I couldn’t save Sophie from having her wings ripped apart by Rafe.
Someone, Cassia I think, tries to hand me a cup of water but I shake my head; my stomach is so knotted up I can’t keep anything down, not even water.
I’m sitting on one of the plastic chairs in the hospital’s secluded waiting room for supernaturals, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands.
Sophie’s family are murmuring softly among themselves, their wings partially unfurled against their backs.
My head’s still in my hands when I hear the chair creaking next to me as a large, warm body takes the seat. It’s my alpha; I’d know his scent anywhere.
“Teddy,” says Jake quietly, “look at me.”
I take a shuddering breath and obey, gazing at him through watery eyes. Like me, he’s remained in his man-form even though we both might feel better if we shift. But it’s easier to communicate with Sophie’s family and doctors this way.
Jake murmurs, “You’ve got to keep it together. Sophie is going to need a lot of rehabilitation, and we’re all counting on you to help.”
I nod, so full of bleak remorse and crushing sadness I’m unable to speak. We sit like that, side-by-side in silent solidarity, waiting for news of Sophie.
Finally, a female faerie with black hair and burgundy wing feathers enters the room and asks for the Spellman-Brownlee family.
We immediately surround the doctor, who gives us a brief, compassionate nod.
“The initial surgery went as well as we could have expected. However, Sophie’s wings were badly damaged; we’re not sure they’ll ever be fully functional again. ”
Phoebe cries, “Oh my poor girl,” and buries her face in Nash’s chest.
My stomach twists, my hands curling into fists at my sides, but my aggressive stance is useless now; Rafe is long gone.
Nash asks the doctor whether Sophie can have visitors, and she shakes her head. “Sophie is in the ICU. Once she’s moved to a room, likely tomorrow afternoon, you’ll be able to visit.”
“I need to see my mate,” I growl low in my throat, my inner wolf struggling to remain in check; there’s no point antagonizing the medical staff.
The doctor narrows her eyes at me. “Is Sophie your fated mate?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I grunt, and the rest of the family nods in agreement.
“Very well,” she replies, obviously aware of the intense, highly charged bond between werewolves and their mates. “You may see her for five minutes, and then you will need to wait along with the rest of the family until we move Sophie.”
“Thank you.” My tone is clipped, but it’s the best I can do as I barely hold myself together.
“We’ll wait here for you,” says Nash, his deep throat raspy with emotion. “Come tell us how she is.”
The faerie doctor hands me off to a vampire nurse with an unfortunate overbite, her long, pointy fangs protruding over her bottom lip.
She guides me to Sophie’s bed inside the well-lit ICU, which contains twenty beds, half of which are occupied.
Machines whir and beep, and some of the patients moan; I avert my gaze to allow them their privacy.
Sophie is lying on her stomach on a bed in the corner, her wings stretched out on either side of her, bound in so much white gauze not a single feather peeks through.
Each wing is resting in a sling that is suspended from a pulley above the bed.
Her face is turned toward me, her eyes closed.
I can hear her breathing softly, and a guttural noise sounds deep in my throat, my wolf whining for my mate.
The vampire reminds me I have five minutes, after which she’ll escort me back to the waiting room.
I thank her and drag a chair over to the side of the bed so I can watch Sophie as she slumbers.
A loose chunk of chestnut hair has tumbled onto her brow, which I gently brush back.
Her hand is curled into a loose fist on the bed near her cheek; I wrap my fingers around hers, relishing their warmth.
And then I spend the next four-and-a-half minutes telling Sophie all the ways I love her. I think the corner of her mouth twitches upward once, but I can’t be sure.
After I reassure her family that Sophie is sleeping peacefully, everyone heads home except Jake. “Why don’t you crash at my place tonight?”
I shake my head. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll need to look after Zosia while Sophie is in the hospital.”
“I forgot all about Zosia,” admits Jake. He claps a hand on my shoulder. “Alright, let me know if you need anything.”
“Actually, I could use a lift back to Mooncrest Inn—I rode in the ambulance with Sophie.”
A short while later I’m saying goodbye to my alpha and standing beside my car. Before I climb inside, I walk over to the gravel driveway where Rafe attacked us. One of the inn’s staff has already raked fresh gravel over the blood stains and picked up the loose feathers.
If only Sophie’s wings could be mended so easily. I drop to my knees in the spot where she fell, place my hand on the gravel, and whisper a prayer for my faerie sweetheart.
I want to see Sophie giggling brightly again, swaying her hips as she sings off-key, scowling when someone (usually me) annoys her, unfurling her wings when we’re alone, and bending over her recipe books, anxious to try something new.
I want my evermore mate to be fully healed.
I want Sophie to be radiantly herself again; I’ve never wanted anything more in all my life.
Rising, I gaze up at the night sky and howl out my heartache.