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Wyatt

T he world fades in and out like a kaleidoscope of pain and darkness.

"Stay with us," a voice commands me, cutting through the fog. Drawing back from the jarring sound, which hurts my eardrums, I attempt to move my limbs, fingers and toes, responding slowly.

"Trying," I grit out, my voice sounding like gravel, and my throat raw and scratchy.

I blink, trying to focus. Dean and Blake kneel beside me with grim expressions. Jax hovers nearby, his usual restless energy contained into tight, worried movements as his hands move efficiently over my wound.

His fingers probe at the bandage, and pain crashes through me like a lightning strike.

I clench my teeth against the howl that's building in my throat. The blood loss and poison have fucked me up good. My control is slipping along with my grip on consciousness. I could shift and bite his hand off if he attempts that again.

"You absolute idiot," Jax mutters. "Silver and wolfsbane. And then you decide to play hero and run across a damn mountain?" He shakes his head, applying something that burns like fire to my wound. "What the hell were you thinking?"

It feels unfair to be enduring a lecture while I'm suffering this much. Jax has been working in the clinic a lot, according to Jamie, but his bedside manner clearly needs more work.

"Had to protect Naomi," I manage, words slurring. Blood slides, warm and thick, down my back. "She needed..."

The thought of Brad claiming her has my heart thumping again, and Jax curses, getting into my line of sight and pointing a finger in my face.

"What she needed was for you not to die," he interrupts. "Which is still a possibility, by the way."

“You know, you’re still an ass when you’re working, but you’re much more controlled. It suits you.”

Jax narrows his eyes at my observations and turns away. It’s true though. Having something to focus on seems to steady him.

Blake shifts closer, his alpha presence a palpable force, even in my weakened state. "Who was it?" His voice is quiet, but carries an edge of steel that brooks no argument. “Did you see who stabbed you?”

The Head Alpha's authority radiates from him in waves, his power subtle but unmistakable.

I open my mouth to name Brad for the piece of shit that he is, but another wave of dizziness sends the world tilting. Everything spins, and it takes everything I have not to puke or pass out.

"Later," Jax warns, holding up a hand to silence their protests. "He's in no condition for an interrogation."

"I'm fine," I protest, though the words come out as little more than a whisper.

Jax snorts. "Yeah, and I'm the Queen of England." He sits back on his heels, wiping my blood from his hands. "We need to get him to the clinic. Now."

Are we not in the clinic already? I can smell the packhouse. Maybe we didn't make it that far.

"I'll get the stretcher," Dean says, moving toward the door.

But I can't go. Not yet. Not until I know.

"Naomi," I rasp, with what little strength I have left. "Where is she?"

Jax's expression shifts to one of disbelief. "You're bleeding out, and you've been poisoned, but your first thought is still her?" He shakes his head, but a small smile tugs at his lips. "Yeah, tough guy. She was the only female across the finish line. She's with her sister."

Relief crashes over me, so profound it leaves me dizzy. Or maybe that's the blood loss. Either way, I can't fight the relieved smile that spreads across my face.

The darkness closes in then, swift and complete. The last thing I feel is being lifted, powerful arms supporting my weight, and then nothing.

T he clinic smells of antiseptic and clean sheets when I wake again. Sunlight streams through half-drawn blinds, casting patterns across the polished floor.

Every breath sends a dull throb of pain through my back, but it's different now; a healing ache rather than the searing poison-fueled agony from before.

Movement to my left catches my attention. Jax sits in a chair beside the bed, and his long frame is folded awkwardly into the too-small seat. He straightens when he sees I'm awake.

"Welcome back," he says, the usual edge absent from his voice. "You had us worried for a while there."

I try to sit up. Big mistake.

"Fuck," I snarl as pain lances through my back, sharp and vicious. "How long was I out?"

"About eighteen hours." Jax passes me a cup of water. "We purged most of the poison, but you lost a lot of blood."

Eighteen hours. The wolfsbane should have kept me unconscious for days, even with whatever remedy Jax used. My wolf has been fighting hard to expel the poison, no wonder my body feels like I've gone ten rounds with a grizzly bear.

I drain the cup in one long swallow, my throat parched, and flop back against the pillows.

"And Naomi?"

Something flickers across Jax's face. Concern, hesitation? Something I can't quite read, but it’s enough to feed the glimmer of doubt I’ve had ever since catching her scent. That she’ll reject me.

"She's fine. She wanted to be here when you woke up but…" He pauses, choosing his words carefully. "Wyatt, there's something you need to know, but I think you should hear it from her."

A sinking feeling tugs at my insides.

"It's okay," I interrupt, not wanting to hear the rejection I can already sense coming. "I don’t blame her."

She has a shot at winning. She doesn't want the stigma of mating a wolf hanging over her. I can wait until the Games are over. We can be together then.

Brad's twisted words creep into my head. She's using you to get through. She'll never actually mate you.

I close my eyes and shake my head to dislodge those poisonous thoughts. Naomi has done nothing to suggest he’s telling the truth. He’s just a sick, pathetic man who preys on the fears and weaknesses of others. Like Maddie.

"What don’t you blame her for?" Jax's brows draw together, and he tilts his head to the side.

"For not wanting to be seen with me." The words hurt more than the wound in my back, but they need to be said. "I understand. She'll be a good Luna. She deserves this chance." I stare down at my hands, avoiding his gaze. "The mating bond is strong, but it's not… it's not everything. If she needs space or time. Or thinks a new pack won't respect her if she's mated to a rogue…"

The Anderson pack went through hell to end up in a position where they have no viable alphas. They don't need any more drama.

"Wyatt…"

It would be hard, trying to convince a pack that has been traumatised already, to accept a rogue into their tight-knit community.

"I won't pressure her," I continue, the words spilling out now that I've started. "She has her sister to think about, and the pack she's won. It's a lot to take on without dealing with a mate she barely knows, especially one with my... reputation."

Maybe if I spend some time here, with the Reynolds's pack, people will forget I was once a rogue and be more forgiving.

I'll make sure Brad stays away from her. The second I'm out of here, before Blake even has the chance to send him to some distant, dark cell, I'll get rid of him forever. Then Naomi and her sister will be free.

Jax tries again. "Seriously, you need to…"

The clinic door crashes open with enough force to rattle the medical equipment.

Naomi.

My mate stands in the doorway, breathless and disheveled, like she ran the entire way here. Her hair is a wild tangle around her face, her eyes wide and slightly frantic.

She's wearing the same clothes as yesterday, rumpled from sleep, clearly having rushed here the moment she felt me wake. Despite her obvious distress, she's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

"You're awake," she breathes, relief and something else, anger perhaps, warring in her voice.

Before I can respond, she's across the room and throwing herself at me, arms wrapping around my neck with such force that pain shoots through my wounded back.

I don't give a shit. She's here, in my arms. Nothing else matters.

"I felt you wake up," she says against my neck, tingles firing across my skin wherever her lips touch. "Through the bond. I came as fast as I could."

I hold her tightly, breathing in her scent and feeling the solid reality of her body against mine. This can't be a rejection. Not with the way she's clinging to me, like she's afraid I might disappear.

"I love you," she whispers, pulling back just enough to look into my eyes. "I love you so much, you incredible, stubborn, ridiculous man."

Joy bursts in my chest, bright and overwhelming. But also confusion. Because she's not just happy, she's annoyed. "Naomi…"

Her emotions fizz inside her, but I can't focus long enough because my tired brain is too slow to figure out what's going on.

"And I am so angry with you," she continues, her tone shifting abruptly as she pulls away to glare at me. "What were you thinking? You were stabbed, Wyatt. With a silver knife coated in fucking wolfsbane. You should have told me." Her eyes glisten with tears as she balls her hands into fists at her side. "And you."

She jabs a finger in Jax's direction, and he holds his hands up in surrender, looking sufficiently chastened to appease her. I have a feeling it's not the first time he's heard about that.

"I should have," I admit.

I felt bad about that. She was always going to feel guilty when the true extent of my injuries were revealed. If I'd died, she would never have forgiven herself.

"You should have been in a hospital, not climbing mountains and fighting alphas." Her tone is soft now as she reaches for my hand, concern replacing her anger as the overriding feeling floats to me down the bond.

Taking her hand in mine, I brush my thumb over her silky skin and watch her eyes sparkle as my touch does something to her.

Eyes narrowing, I suddenly notice a thin red line across her palm that I hadn't seen before. "You're hurt," I say, all thoughts of my own injuries vanishing as I gently turn her hand over in mine.

She blinks, glancing down at the tiny cut. "It's nothing. Just a scratch from the run."

It should be healed by now. It's been eighteen hours.

"It's not nothing," I insist, cradling her hand like it's made of glass. I bring her palm to my lips, placing a soft kiss beside the cut. "You should have this cleaned. It could be infected. Jax, give her some of that ointment."

Jax scowls at me. "No. That's for emergency use only."

I growl at him, and Naomi pokes at me to stop, staring in disbelief. "Are you serious right now? You're literally in a hospital bed with a poisoned stab wound, yet you're worried about my paper cut?"

I continue examining her hand, stroking my thumb gently over her wrist. "Does it hurt?" I run my lips over it again, remembering how a mate's saliva can speed up healing.

"Wyatt," she says, her voice caught between exasperation and tenderness. "You nearly died."

I can't help the smile that spreads across my face. "You were worried about me."

Nobody other than Jamie has ever been worried about me, whether because of my size or because I was rogue and unworthy of care.

"Of course, I was worried." She smacks my arm, though there's no actual force behind it. "You collapsed. Again. After specifically promising me you wouldn't die."

"Technically, I didn't promise that. I said I'd be okay."

And I would have been. Once she wasn't claimed against her will by Brad, it was worth it.

"Don't you dare," she warns, jabbing a finger at my chest. "Do you have any idea what that was like? To feel you through the bond, fading in and out, and I wasn't there?"

Her voice cracks on the last words, and I reach for her, pulling her closer despite the pull on my stitches. "I'm sorry," I say against her hair. "I'm so sorry. I'll never lie to you again."

Her breath hitches, and her hot tears drop onto my thin gown. I hold her close until the fear that still courses through her ebbs away.

"I know why you did it," she sighs, the anger draining out of her. "That's what makes it so infuriating." She pulls back to cup my face in her hands. "A pack is not worth the cost of you," she insists fiercely. "And my wolf would never have let Brad mark me, especially knowing the real deal exists."

The intensity in her eyes steals my breath. No one has ever looked at me like that before, like I matter more than winning, more than any prize.

"I couldn't take that chance."

Naomi nods, understanding there's no way my wolf would have allowed it no matter how much faith I have in her abilities.

She moves to the small basin of water by the bed and dips a cloth before wringing it out with careful precision. With gentle hands, she brushes my hair back from my forehead, the cool cloth soothing against my fevered skin. Her fingers work methodically, cleaning away the sweat and grime from my face, her touch so tender it makes my chest ache.

"You need a haircut," she murmurs, combing her fingers through my tangled locks, working out the knots with patient care.

I lean into her touch, starved for it after years of having no one but Jamie to rely on, and all this time pretending she's not mine. The simple intimacy of being tended to, of having someone care for me without expectation, is overwhelming.

"You were already hurt from fighting those wolves," she breathes, her fingers tracing the fading bruises on my face. "And then Brad… Jax told me, and I wanted to kill him, Wyatt. I still do."

"Get in line," Jax mutters from his chair, reminding us both of his presence.

Naomi shakes her head, frustration clear in the tense line of her shoulders. "You can't just decide that your life is worth less than mine, or that your pain doesn't matter. That's not how this works. That's not how we work."

She's right. I know that deep down. But she's my mate.

"I will always protect you," I whisper.

"And who protects you?" she demands.

The question hits me harder than I expected. For so long, it's been just me and Jamie, and even then, I was always the protector, never the protected. The concept is foreign, almost uncomfortable.

I look from Naomi to Jax, who's watching us with an unreadable expression. Though I barely know him, he risked Blake's anger to help Maddie, and now he's helped save my life. Plus Dash and Eli, who stood with me when they had more to lose than gain… maybe I'm more surrounded by allies than I'd realized.

"I do," Naomi answers her own question, her voice softening. "That's what mates do. We protect each other." Her fingers tighten on mine. "If this is going to work, and I really, really want it to work, let me help you."

Her words seep into me, warming places I didn't realize were cold. Partnership. Equality. The concepts are as appealing as they are unfamiliar.

"I'm not very good at letting people help me," I admit.

Her smile is small but real. "I've noticed. We'll work on it. Starting now. Because I'm not letting you out of my sight again."

Her overprotectiveness of me, the giant rogue who everyone is terrified of, is endearing, if a little absurd.

I tug her closer, unable to bear any distance between us now that she's here. "So you still want this? Us? Even with everything that's happened?"

I need to hear it.

"More than anything," she says, her certainty washing away my doubts. She presses a gentle kiss to my lips. "How could I not want you?"

My arms tighten around her, mindful of my wound but unwilling to let her go. "I love you," I say, the words feeling natural and right. "From the very first time you shouted at me, when all I could do was stare at my gorgeous mate."

She laughs softly as she continues to fuss over me, adjusting my pillows, checking my bandages, alternating between tender concern and exasperated lectures about proper self-care and minding wounds. And all I can think of, watching her move around the small clinic room like she belongs there, like she belongs with me, is that she's perfect. The most perfect woman in the world.

My mate.

Finally, when she takes a breath in her litany of reasons I shouldn't be too cocky about my recovery, I pull her down for a kiss, slow and thorough.

"What was that for?" she asks when we part, slightly breathless.

I smile, feeling more complete, more at peace than I can ever remember. "Just thinking how lucky I am."

Her expression softens, the last traces of anger melting away. "We both are," she says, squeezing my hand. "Now get some rest. We have another round to get through and an alpha to get our vengeance on."

"Yes, boss," I tease, settling back against the pillows. She rolls her eyes, but there's no hiding the pleased flush that spreads across her cheeks. I can already feel sleep tugging at me again, my body still healing. "And a mating to complete."

Something flickers across her face, a shadow of worry that doesn't quite match the happy future we're discussing.

"What is it?" I ask, fighting against the exhaustion rapidly overwhelming me.

She hesitates, then sighs.

"Brad is trying to twist things around," she says quietly. "Telling Maddie he's going to say we convinced you to go after him by pretending he was the bad guy, and he just defended himself. Blake's been asking questions, and I…" She stops, shaking her head. "Never mind. We'll figure it out when you're stronger."

I want to press her, to understand what she's afraid of, but the combination of healing and medication is dragging me under.

"It's okay. Blake will find out the truth."

As my eyes drift closed, I feel her press a kiss to my forehead, her presence a comforting weight against my side.

"That's what I'm afraid of," she whispers. "And then my chances of winning will be gone."

A ripple of curiosity passes through me, but the tempting lure of sleep soon wipes that from my mind.

And in that moment, wounded but healing, tired but content, with my mate by my side and our future stretching before us, I know she's right.

Together, we can face anything.