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Yet it wasn’t fast enough.

‘Come back to me,’ she whispered one night, her breath fogging the glass of his pod, her soul splintering.

Her fingers curled against the cold casing.

‘Please, Xander, heal. Don’t let that be our last kiss be final. No one but you, baby, makes me feel so loved and cherished. I promise to make it up to you. Don’t let our loving end, it has to last.’

She had no idea whether he heard her, but she sensed his temperature rise. Holding onto hope, she waited, his guardian angel as his wounds closed.

Over time, his chest rose and fell in more even breaths as healing spread through him.

Somewhere in the corner of the room, one of the med-techs murmured, ‘He’s responding. The regeneration’s holding.’

Savvine didn’t need them to tell her. She sensed it, but she never left his side, not once, not until he opened his eyes.

Xander stirred with a grunt, the light from the stasis pod flickering against his skin’s raw, healed seams.

His lashes fluttered open, the movement sluggish, groggy, unsure.

His waking triggered the pod’s plex cover to slide open as Savvine’s breath caught in her throat.

‘Honey,’ she whispered, her voice cracking on his name as she leaned in. ‘Hey, you’re awake.’

His eyes finally found her. Clouded, unfocused, but then, warmth.

He blinked and attempted to knife up, groaning as his body protested.

‘Easy,’ she said, catching his shoulders and easing him back into the pillows. ‘You’re okay. You’re safe.’

His mouth was dry, lips parched and flaking, but he managed a broken rasp. ‘Mi reina.’

She nodded, smiling as her eyes welled. ‘I’ve been here. The whole time.’

He tried to lift his hand to caress her, failed, and growled in frustration.

She pressed it to her cheek, guiding his fingers over her skin. His thumb hardly moved, but it was enough to make her eyes close.

‘Miral, Bone?’ he muttered, ever the pack alpha.

She smoothed his hair. ‘They’re safe and regenerating.’

‘Fokkin’ synth-Eugene?’

‘His atoms are scattered throughout the Wildlight.’

His shoulders appeared to relax at the news, and he fell asleep.

Later, the medics transferred him to a hover bed, where she helped him sit up.

She propped pillows behind his head and back and attempted to coax his appetite with a small bowl of broth.

He took a few sips till he slumped back, exhausted.

Her touch was constant, fingertips brushing hair from his temple, her lips ghosting across his brow.

It wasn’t until she peeled back the blanket to tend to the rest of his healing wounds that they discovered the bruising, all along his inner thigh, lower abdomen, and groin.

His muscles twitched as she worked, her fingers gentle and precise.