Page 20 of The Wolf Prince’s Mate (Marked Beneath the Moon #2)

twenty

CLAY

I wanted to pace, day in and day out.

Instead, I held Nova’s hand like it was a fucking lifeline to the woman I cared about so fiercely.

Because unlike Hunter’s touch the last time she had changed someone, she responded to mine. Her body healed faster. Her color returned quicker.

So I fucking clung to her.

Her sister shifted.

People came in and out. They talked. Hell, they even talked to me .

I didn’t respond.

I barely slept.

My wolf snarled through my chest at everyone who tried to pull me away from her side.

My female was vulnerable and unconscious.

I wasn’t going anywhere.

Five days later, she finally opened her eyes.

One or two people behind me surged toward us, but her eyes landed on me, and mine locked with hers.

She opened her lips to say something, and it took a moment for the word to register.

Water .

She was thirsty.

Someone put a cup in my hand before I could get up, and I carefully put it to her lips, helping her take a drink.

She made a soft sound of satisfaction as she took the tiniest sip, then closed her eyes and went back to sleep.

Her chest rose and fell rhythmically.

Her heartbeat was strong.

She was okay.

She was going to be okay.

I set the water glass down and let out a long breath. Closing my eyes, I lifted our intertwined hands to my forehead as I rested my elbows on the edge of her hospital bed.

Someone pulled a chair up beside mine. Both his scent and my wolf’s snarl told me who it was.

“Move a few feet back,” I gritted out.

Hunter scooted his chair until my wolf stopped threatening him.

Then he leaned over and set a book down on Nova’s bed, next to my elbow.

“I went into dad’s archive,” Hunter said.

My head jerked toward him. He didn’t flinch at the sight of me, though I was confident my stubble was overgrown and my eyes were bloodshot. I probably reeked, too.

We’d sealed off the archive shortly after Enzo killed our father. It was just a big, concrete room full of old books. We assumed they were full of either journals describing torture or something else equally horrible. Enzo and I had wanted to burn them, but Hunter said no, and locked it.

“Why the fuck would you?—”

Hunter interrupted me. “The books are old pack records. Dad didn’t have journals. I checked a few decades back.”

I stared at him for a long moment.

Hunter tipped his chin toward the book. “This one has everything they knew about mate bonds in it. I only flipped through, but it mentions born female wolves. It should prove whether or not a wolf can hurt his mate.”

“I’m not going to risk her life because an ancient book claims it’s safe,” I finally said, looking back at Nova’s sleeping form. She was so small, and so fragile.

“Then you’re going to have to let her mate with someone else at some point,” Hunter said bluntly.

My wolf roared so loudly that Nova opened her bleary eyes for a moment. Her hand landed on my face, and the wolf cut himself off immediately.

She was back asleep a heartbeat later, thankfully.

“I’ll do what I have to do.” I forced the words out.

They were far from what I really wanted to say, but admitting the truth wasn’t going to benefit anyone.

Hunter shook his head and stood up, stalking out of the room. He growled over his shoulder, “Just read the damn book.”

I wasn’t going to do that.

Hope just might kill me if I did.

Closing my eyes, I steeled myself against the coming pain.

I would survive losing her, the same way I’d survived everything else.

A few hours later, she woke up long enough to have a few bites of food.

A few hours after that, she was up long enough for a few short conversations and a small meal.

The next time she started stirring, I looked at Sydney and Olive, who were both sitting behind me. “I have to leave. Feed her when she’s up again.”

The women both nodded.

I vaguely noticed that Olive looked much healthier.

My gaze went back to Nova. My wolf was snarling, roaring, and raging against his cage—but when I slipped out of the room, he didn’t break free.

I’d locked him down too tightly.

When I got to Stray, I would let him go. He could run as much as he wanted inside the safety of our cage.

As I took in one last look at her, one thought hit hard.

I loved her.

I fucking did.

If the situation was even the tiniest bit different, I would’ve been holding her in that bed, vowing to never let her go.

But it wasn’t.

So I forced myself to walk away.