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CHAPTER FIFTEEN

NOVA

S omething beeps, steady, rhythmic. My steps falter as I take it all in. The low hum of machines fills the space, accompanied by the steady hiss of something in the corner. Tubes snake from his arms, his chest, his face—winding into machines I can’t begin to understand.

Luka Donovi?.

My biological father.

I force myself forward, the soles of my boots whispering against the cold floor. Callum remains by the door, giving me privacy, while Tai offers his presence at my back.

The room smells of antiseptic, layered with the unmistakable metallic edge of blood and something sharper, almost bitter. It’s too clean and too cold, like it’s trying to scrub away the enormity of what’s happening here.

I don’t know what I expected—maybe a towering figure, his presence larger than life, just like the stories I’ve heard. Instead, I find a man who looks impossibly small, dwarfed by the hospital bed and the weight of his injuries.

He’s pale. Too pale. His once-rugged face is gaunt, his cheekbones angular beneath waxy skin. His dark hair, streaked with silver, lies limp against the pillow, and his stubble is patchy, uneven. Only his hands—large, calloused, resting motionless at his sides—look familiar, like they could belong to the man my mom described.

Hands that, in another life, another time, perhaps would’ve held me.

A lump forms in my throat as I inch closer to the bed. This man, this broken stranger, is the reason I exist. The missing piece of my life’s puzzle. Yet I feel nothing but a hollow ache inside me.

There's no recognition as I stare at his closed eyes, no welcoming embrace. Only the cold beep of the heart monitor and the mechanical rise and fall of his chest.

I take a shaky breath, trying to steady myself. I’ve imagined this moment countless times, rehearsed what I might say or do, but now that I’m here, the words evaporate like mist. He probably couldn’t hear them anyway.

I edge closer, drawn to him despite the knot tightening in my stomach.

This is the man who hurt my mom and dads. The man who led his people into darkness, who fought tooth and claw to rid a curse that should’ve never existed.

This is the man who fell in love with her. Who gave her me.

And now, he’s just a man lying in a hospital bed, clinging to whatever threads of life these machines can offer. My throat tightens, the words I want to say tangled in a mess of anger, grief, and something rawer I can’t name.

Questions swirl in my mind, questions I may never have the courage to ask.

They’re all fleeting, more whisper than wind, but all variations of one continues to assault me.

Do you want to know your daughter?

Do you know I have your brows?

Am I a monster, too?

“Nova,” Tai says softly behind me, his voice distant. I know he’s there, and Callum, too, but it feels like I’m underwater, every sound muffled and far away.

My fingers twitch at my sides as I stop at his bedside. I wish I were able to sink them into Fang’s fur right now. I wish she’d come with us, because I could do with her comfort right now. She’s probably off on one of her many adventures divesting students of their snacks.

Up close, the sight of him is worse. The bruises bloom dark and angry along his jaw, fading into sickly yellows near his temple. A deep cut runs along his cheekbone, stitched clumsily, the edges puckered. Tubes run from his nose and mouth, his chest rising and falling in time with the machine that’s breathing for him.

I swallow hard, trying to dislodge the lump in my throat. My voice, when it comes, is barely a thread. “That’s him.”

I reach out, my fingers trembling, and brush against his hand. His skin is cool, papery thin, like a leaf on the verge of crumbling. I expect nothing—no movement, no recognition—but the second my palm presses to his, something shifts.

A jolt shudders through my fingertips—like static after dragging your feet across a rug, but deeper. More invasive. It latches onto my bones, humming beneath my skin, coiling in my chest like a living thing.

I inhale sharply. The world tilts, my vision flickering at the edges.

What the fuck?

My hand twitches against his, but I can’t bring myself to pull away.

Something is wrong. Or right. I don’t know which.

A pressure builds behind my ribs, a slow, creeping force that makes my pulse hammer in my throat. It’s nothing I’ve ever felt before—nothing I should feel. My stomach twists, nausea creeping in at the edges.

As soon as it came on, it disappears, and I can let go. That was weird.

Callum steps closer, his presence warm and solid at my back while Tai flanks my side. They don’t say anything, but I feel my guard’s hand brush against my back, hesitant, like he’s not sure if I’ll pull away.

For a moment, I want to. I want to shove everything away—the machines, the tubes, this man, this room, this entire situation. I want to walk out and never look back.

But I can’t.

“I don’t even know what to call you,” I murmur, more to myself than to him. “Luka? Dad? Nothing at all?”

The machines answer in his silence.

The quiet stretches until I finally look up at his face again. Despite the bruises and the paleness, I can still see it—traces of the man my mom described. Those high cheekbones, the strong jaw. His lips, cracked and dry, are still full enough to twist into a cruel sneer or a soft smile, depending on the day. Handsome, even in this state.

“I should hate you,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “I think I do. But gods help me, I don’t think it’s enough to walk away.”

The words hang in the air, unanswered. My hand tightens slightly over his, and I can feel the tears pricking at the corners of my eyes, hot and unwelcome.

I think of my mom, of her strength, of the way she carried me and loved me despite everything. Despite being a spitting image of the monster who made me. And I think of him, this man who was once a king, now reduced to this fragile, broken thing.

The wildness in me stirs again, a quiet whisper in my veins, a pull I can’t ignore. Pack. Family. Blood.

I startle. Pack?

Where the fuck did that thought come from?

Even now, with him lying here like this, the call is undeniable.

The machines beep in their strange, haunting rhythm, and I tear my hand away from his, startled by the quiet but insistent thought that echoes through my mind. Pack.

Is he speaking this inside my head? But he’s human now.

It doesn’t make sense. He’s not my pack. I don’t have a pack. Fae don’t have packs—except wolf fae. If he passed along his genes to me … The thought sends a jolt through me, but I shove it down, burying it under the mess of emotions riding me. Tai glances at the machines, and I can tell by the set of his jaw that he’s already assessing the situation.

“You’ll heal him?” I ask, my voice catching. I’m not sure if it’s a question or a plea.

Tai doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he pulls a small satchel from his coat and steps closer to the bed. “I’ll stabilize him,” he says finally, his tone clipped. “But I can’t perform miracles, Nova. He’s too far gone for a full recovery without more resources—and I’m running on fumes as it is being so far from the source of magic. The doctors will get suspicious if he’s on death’s door and makes a full recovery in minutes.”

He lays out a handful of small stones, their surfaces etched with complex runes that glow. “Step back,” he instructs, his eyes landing on Callum. “Both of you, so the runes won’t pick up your energy.”

I stumble back, my legs hitting the edge of the chair behind me. Callum rests a hand on my arm, steadying me, as my guard begins his work.

Tai murmurs an incantation under his breath, the words not quite reaching my ears. The stones rise from the table, hovering just above Luka’s body before scattering like spilled marbles.

They stop, suspended in midair, each one glowing brighter before a web of runes blooms into existence around them. My breath catches as the symbols flare and shift, some glowing green, though most an ominous red.

The majority of the crimson ones hover over his chest, his head, his side—places where bruises and injuries are the most pronounced.

“Red’s bad, right?” I cling to my Highlander beside me as I watch on.

Tai gives a curt nod. “Yes.” He raises his hand, and the runes shift again, collapsing into a single cluster above Luka’s chest. The light pulses slowly, like the beat of a heart.

He presses his palm against the runes, and a soft glow spreads outward, sinking into Luka’s skin. The bruises seem to fade slightly, their angry hues softening, but Tai’s face tightens in concentration, a sheen of sweat already forming at his brow.

“This is going to drain him,” Callum murmurs.

“I know,” I whisper back. My stomach twists as I watch Tai’s shoulders stiffen, his magic flowing into the man I don’t even know if I want saved.

Tai exhales sharply, and the glow intensifies, spreading from Luka’s chest to the rest of his body. The beeping of the machines changes, becoming steadier, less frantic. The red runes blink once, twice, and then fade, leaving only a soft pink glow.

“He’s out of immediate danger,” he mutters, his voice hoarse. He stumbles slightly, catching himself on the edge of the bed. “But it’s a patch job at best. He needs rest—and so do I.”

I step forward, my hands hovering near Tai’s arm as if to steady him, but he waves me off.

“Don’t,” he rasps. “I’m fine.”

But he’s not. His face is pale, his breathing shallow. Even the caress of his usual magic feels dimmer, like a candle sputtering in the wind.

I glance down at Luka, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that’s too fragile, too human. My throat tightens again, and that word echoes in my mind once more, unwanted and insistent: Pack.

I hate how it makes me feel.