Elias exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Out of all the times for Jax to not be here," he muttered. "Skin-on-skin contact with a mate would speed her healing—tenfold. No magic in the realm can mimic that."
He prepped a syringe and looked up at Fin. "This is for the fever. It's the same stuff we used on her before. Should stabilize her temperature."
Fin nodded, saying nothing as Elias injected her. Her body didn't even flinch.
"I am going to take a nap on the couch. I feel like shit." Fin said.
Aeron stood beside him, hands on his hips. "Mindlink us if anything changes."
"I will," Fin said, already knowing he wouldn't leave her side.
The door closed behind them. Silence settled like a thick blanket over the room.
Fin moved to sit beside her on the edge of the bed, running his hand gently down her arm, then over the back of her knuckles. Her skin was still cold. Pale. Too still for comfort.
"You're going to be okay," He whispered, more to himself than anyone else.
Xeon murmured in Fin's mind again, low and insistent.
Xeon: She saved us. Protect her.
"I will," Fin said aloud, lips brushing the back of her hand. "No matter what it takes."
He stayed seated for a moment, watching her chest rise and fall slowly. Steady, but shallow. Her olive skin was pale, too pale. Her blonde almost silver-white hair stuck to her cheek, damp from sweat. He grabbed a clean cloth from the water basin and wrung it out, kneeling beside the bed again.
Gently, he wiped her forehead, her temple, down the side of her neck. She didn't stir. Fin didn't expect her to.
He looked at the ruined training suit still clinging to her body. It was soaked through—blood. She couldn't stay in it. Carefully, he unzipped the rest, sliding the fabric down her legs and off her feet.
She had on a thin black thong underneath.
Fin paused, jaw tight. Don't look. Don't think about it. This wasn't about that. She was hurt, and he was helping her. That's all this was.
He kept his eyes focused on her arms and legs. He used another cloth to clean what was left of the blood streaked along her side, her shoulder. His fingers brushed bruises that made his chest ache. What kind of monster touches a woman like this?
Once he was done, he pulled the thin blanket from the end of the bed and laid it gently over her, tucking it up just under her arms.
Then he stood, exhaling, and walked into the bathing chamber. He didn't want to leave her for long, so he didn't fill the tub—just wiped himself down with a cloth, scrubbing blood and sweat off as fast as he could. His spine still ached faintly—phantom pain from the break. But he was alive. Because of her.
He peeled off the rest of his training suit and put on a new pair of briefs. Exhaustion pressed down on him like a boulder. He returned to the bed. She hadn't moved. Still as a statue.
Elias's words echoed in his mind.
Skin-on-skin contact with a mate would be the fastest way to heal.
He couldn't just sit on that couch like a ghost when he could be doing something to help her.
That's at least what he told himself as he climbed into bed with her.
The blanket was still over her, so he just slid under it too, lying behind her. He hesitated for half a second—then gently pulled her into him, one arm wrapping around her waist, the other beneath her head like a pillow.
Her back settled against his chest as though her spine had been carved to rest there and nowhere else. Her bare skin touched his, warm and fragile, a forbidden softness he had imagined too many damn times but never allowed himself to want this openly.
The moment their bodies connected, a spark slid across his nerves. A quiet tingle. A truth waking.
He inhaled her scent, that impossible mix of vanilla and moonlight that felt like home.
Holding her felt right. As if he had been meant to pull her into his arms exactly like this. He'd wanted to since the first day he saw her and had been fighting it every damn day since.
There was no falling in love. No, that ship had long since sailed. He'd been in love with her and now, he understood with ruthless clarity the depth.
He loved her deeply, fiercely, painfully. He loved her with the kind of devotion that could level a kingdom or rebuild one.
His throat tightened. His eyes burned before he forced the heat down, swallowing hard.
He closed his eyes, letting the feeling move through him, letting her warmth sink into the parts of him he thought frozen.
Sleep took him before he could fight it.
When he woke, everything was brighter. His chest felt… lighter. The ache was gone. The pounding in his head was gone.
The spark was crackling where their skin met. Energy pulsing in soft, gentle waves from her body to his. Her fever had dropped. Her breathing was deeper. Not perfect—but better.
He tightened his hold on her, burying his face into the crook of her neck. Her hair smelled like vanilla and moonlight. His lips found the back of her head, and he pressed a soft kiss there.
"If you only knew what you are to me," he whispered.
She stirred faintly, but didn't wake.
He smiled to himself.
For the first time in months—hell, maybe years—his body relaxed fully. No tension. No alarms ringing in his head.
Peace. She was his peace.
And he never wanted to let her go.
But she wasn't his.
And she had no idea.