Page 64

Which means she’s everything.

And I’m not letting either of them slip through my fingers again.

The minute my tires screech to a stop outside the hospital, I’m already out of the car before Lila can even open her door.

I round the vehicle in three long strides, rip her door open, and scoop Lina straight from her arms.

Lila doesn’t stop me. Doesn’t say a word. Her face is pale and wrecked, eyes locked on her daughter like she’s willing her to breathe with just a look.

She follows me inside, stumbling, as I storm through the sliding doors with Lina limp against my chest.

The sharp, medicated air hits me the second we cross the doors.

It’s cold, clinical, and unforgiving. Yet I still don't pause.

“I need help!” I shout, my voice ricocheting off the sterile walls. “She’s not waking up! I need a gurney now!”

A few heads turn. Patients murmur, families give me side-eyes, and some nurse behind the counter has the nerve to blink like I’ve interrupted her afternoon coffee. But my outburst does the job because two seconds later, the ER doors burst open and a team of nurses rushes out, pushing a gurney.

“This way,” one of them barks, and I don’t hesitate.

It takes everything in me to let go. My arms feel cold and empty the moment Lina is no longer in them. Her little hand slides off my shirt, and my heart shatters.

Lila stands frozen beside me, her hand clapped over her mouth like it’s the only thing keeping her together. She sways once, and I catch her.

I wrap an arm around her waist and walk her toward the waiting lounge, guiding her like she’s made of glass and might splinter under my touch.

At first, she doesn’t cry. She just sits there, stiff as a board, arms hugging her middle, like if she lets herself feel for even a second, she’ll fall apart completely and won’t be there for her daughter when she wakes up.

“I’ll never forgive myself if something happens to her,” she says, voice barely above a whisper, but I hear her.

I sink into the seat beside her, wrap my arm around her again, and cover her hand with mine. She doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t say anything. She just leans in, trembling.

“She’s strong,” I murmur. “And she’s got the best team of healers working on her. She’s going to pull through.”

But deep down, I know I’m not just saying it for her. I’m saying it for me, too. Because if anything happens to that little girl, I don’t know what the hell I’ll do.

I didn’t even know she existed a few hours ago, and yet…now, the thought of losing her feels like a blade twisting in my ribs.

Lila finally looks up at me. Her eyes, Goddess, those eyes—are swimming with so much emotion I can barely breathe. Fear. Pain. Guilt.

I open my mouth to tell her she’s not alone anymore. That I’m here. That I’m not going anywhere. But the words never come.

Because the air shifts, and my wolf senses it before I do.

The filth in the room. The rot that walks in wearing a smug face and bloodied stitches.

“Well,” comes the all-too-familiar voice, thick with mockery. “Isn’t this cozy?”

Julian.

Of fucking course. Why am I even surprised? The bastard seems to be everywhere he’s not wanted.

I rise to my feet slowly, trying my best not to start a fight as I stand between him and Lila before I even realize I’ve moved.

He’s bruised.

His face is stitched up like a ragdoll. I barely even recognize him, and I’m the one who put him in that state.