chapter 49
Ferial was officially discharged from the hospital wing just after noon that very next day.
Officially, because nothing about the way Dante handled it felt casual or routine. Perhaps how a mate would handle it? A newly mated male.
He arrived himself—no aides, no guards—dressed simply, jaw tight with focus as he listened to the doctor one last time, asked pointed questions, memorized instructions, and repeated them back like a vow. Only when he was satisfied did he turn to her.
“We’re going to my room,” he said. Not asked. Promised. “Everything’s already been prepared for you.”
She managed a weak smile. “You planned ahead.”
“I plan ahead for you,” he replied, immediately at her side as she stood. His arm slipped around her waist without hesitation, steadying her when her legs wobbled. “Slow.”
“I’m not made of glass,” she muttered, though she leaned into him anyway.
“You are temporarily fragile,” he corrected calmly. “Indulge me while Abdie is occupied.”
She huffed, but didn’t argue.
The walk through the estate felt different now. Wolves who passed them inclined their heads—some curious, some openly respectful. No whispers. No hostility. Just acknowledgment.
Dante didn’t rush. He matched her pace, paused when she needed to, adjusted his hold instinctively. When they reached his door, he opened it with his free hand and guided her inside like she belonged there.
Because she did.
His room was… him.
Spacious but not excessive. Clean lines, dark woods, soft lighting. Large windows overlooking the forested slopes beyond the estate. The bed was massive, already layered with extra pillows and blankets, a tray of water and medication neatly placed on the bedside table.
Ferial blinked. “You… reorganized.”
“I removed anything sharp, fragile, or unnecessary,” he said matter-of-factly. “I added what you might need.”
She stared at him. “You panic quietly for an Alpha.”
“Yes.”
He helped her sit on the bed, then immediately frowned. “Too upright.”
She laughed weakly. “Dante—”
“No,” he said, already adjusting pillows behind her, tucking one under her knees. “There.”
She sighed despite herself. “You’re fussing.”
“I’m restraining myself.”
That earned a real laugh, which made his shoulders finally relax.
“Now,” he said, straightening, “I’m going to show you something.”
He picked up the remote.
“The television,” he explained solemnly.
She eyed the large black screen suspiciously. “I know what a TV is.”
“You know of it,” he corrected, pressing a button.
The screen flared to life.
Ferial yelped, clutching the blanket. “By the Goddess—!”
Dante froze. “Too loud?”
“It just—turned on,” she said, breathless. “Instantly.”
“Yes,” he said carefully. “That’s the point.”
She stared at the screen, fascinated. “In the district, it takes time. And sometimes… sometimes it just doesn’t. Just like everything else, it rarely works.”
He softened. “You’ll get used to it.”
“I don’t know if I want to,” she murmured, but her eyes were still glued to the images.
He switched it off quickly. “Later.”
Then he pulled out his phone.
“This,” he said, sitting beside her, “is worse.”
She eyed the device warily. “I’ve seen those.”
“Have you seen this?”
He tapped the screen, scrolling, then turned it toward her.
A video played—Dante, younger, laughing openly as wind whipped around him.
Mountains stretched endlessly behind him, snow-capped and wild.
Another clip—him diving into clear blue water somewhere impossibly bright.
Another—night markets overseas, lights strung like stars, his voice narrating something she couldn’t hear but felt anyway.
Her chest tightened.
“You’ve seen so much,” she whispered.
“I wanted to,” he said quietly. “I wanted to understand the world beyond borders.”
She glanced at him. “And now?”
“Now,” he said, meeting her gaze, “I want to show it to you, and make sure that you never feel kept back.”
Her eyes burned.
He set the phone aside quickly and stood. “You need to eat.”
“I just ate,” she protested.
“That was hours ago.”
"Okay. I could do more food. Might as well indulge." She laughed despite feeling weak.
He returned moments later with a tray—simple food, warm, nourishing. He sat beside her again, handing her utensils, watching carefully.
“You don’t have to watch me chew.”
“I do,” he replied without shame. “Until I’m sure you’re steady.”
She rolled her eyes but obeyed.
They were halfway through when a knock sounded.
Before Dante could answer, the door opened.
Maria swept in like a force of nature.
“Oh, look at you,” she exclaimed, immediately at Ferial’s side. “Up? Sitting? Eating?”
“I am,” Ferial said, startled but smiling.
Maria touched her forehead, then her cheek, then frowned at Dante. “She’s too pale.”
“She’s healing, mother,” Dante said patiently.
“And still pale.”
Lucia followed, arms crossed but eyes warm. Selene hovered near the door, amused. Sofia bounced in last, grinning.
“We told him to tell you to rest,” Lucia said.
“I am resting,” Ferial insisted.
Maria ignored them all. “I brought soup. Spicy chicken and corn.”
Dante closed his eyes briefly. “Mother—”
“You need strength,” Maria said briskly. “And warmth. And reassurance.”
She turned to Ferial, eyes shining. “You were magnificent.”
Ferial blinked. “I… screamed in a hospital wing.”
“You endured,” Maria corrected. “And you chose. That takes courage.”
Lucia nodded. “The pack noticed.”
Selene smirked. “So did the council.”
Ferial tensed. “Is that bad?”
“No,” Maria said firmly. “It’s necessary.”
She sat, taking Ferial’s hand. “Now. There are things we must speak about.”
Dante straightened. “Mother—”
“Not warnings,” Maria said. “Preparation and celebrations.”
She smiled at Ferial. “There will be a press release. Dante’s mate must be formally acknowledged.”
Ferial swallowed. “Publicly?”
“Yes,” Maria said gently. “And we will prepare you.”
“There will also be ceremonies,” Lucia added. “Luna welcoming. Mate binding recognition.”
“And celebrations,” Sofia said brightly.
Ferial’s head spun. “That’s… a lot.”
Maria laughed softly. “Oh, it was chaos when I went through mine.”
Dante blinked. “Mother.”
She waved him off. “Nothing went according to plan. The dress tore. The officiant fainted. Your father forgot half his vows.”
“That is not true,” Dante muttered.
“It is absolutely true,” Maria said fondly. “But it went right in the end.”
She squeezed Ferial’s hand. “It always does.”
Ferial looked between them all, overwhelmed, weak, healing—and strangely full.
Dante moved closer, his hand warm at her back. “We’ll take it one step at a time.”
She leaned into him, finally letting herself believe it.
For the first time since the district, since the pain, since the fear—