Chapter 139
My blood runs cold. “Are you saying this wasn’t an accident?
Ezra’s expression hardens. “I’m saying it’s suspicious. Especially given the timing with the custody battle just starting.”
A murderous rage begins to build up inside of me. “Find out who did this,” I order, my voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “Check every traffic camera, every witness statement. I want to know who was driving that car, and I want to know why they
targeted Iris.”
With a nod, Ezra quickly leaves the room. I make a silent vow that if I find who did this and it wasn’t just a freak accident, I’ll kill
them with my bare hands.
Tris
I’m floating in darkness for what feels like an eternity. Voices come and go, distant and muffled, as if I’m underwater. Sometimes I think I hear Miles calling for me, sometimes it’s Arthur’s voice. But I can’t reach them. I can’t find my way back.
Then, slowly, I become aware of pain coursing through my body. My eyelids feel like they’re weighed down with concrete, but I
struggle to open them anyway.
The first thing I see is a blurry ceiling. Where am I? What happened?
I try to speak, but my throat is raw, and all that comes out is a hoarse croak.
“Iris?”
That voice. I know that voice.
With tremendous effort, I turn my head toward the sound, and through the haze of pain and confusion, I see him.
Arthur.
He looks terrible. His usually perfect hair is disheveled, his clothes rumpled like he’s slept in them. There are dark circles under
his eyes, and several days‘ worth of stubble shadows his jaw. But his eyes–those familiar green eyes–light up when they meet
mine.
“You’re awake,” he breathes, surging from his chair to my bedside. “Oh, thank the Goddess, you’re finally awake.”
I try to speak again, but my mouth is too dry. Arthur seems to understand, reaching for a cup of water with a straw and holding it
to my lips. The cool liquid is a blessed relief on my parched throat.
“What happened?” I manage to ask. It hurts just to say the words.
“There was an accident,” Arthur says, setting the cup aside. “Your cab was hit at an intersection. You’ve been unconscious for days.”
+20 Bonus
Days? My mind reels, trying to process this information. I remember getting into the cab, heading to the lawyer’s office, and
then… nothing.
“Miles,” I gasp. “Where’s Miles?”
“He’s safe,” Arthur assures me quickly. “He’s with Brian at your apartment. I’ve been checking on him every day.”
I try to sit up, but a sharp pain lances through my ribs and head, forcing me back down.
“Don’t try to move,” Arthur says, placing his hand gently on my shoulder. “You have three broken ribs, a concussion, and you needed surgery for internal bleeding.”
The description of my injuries makes me dizzy. I close my eyes, but it doesn’t make the pain go away.
“How am I alive?”
Arthur’s hand finds mine on the hospital blanket. “You almost weren’t,” he admits. “You lost a lot of blood. The doctors….” He
swallows hard. “They weren’t sure you’d make it.”
I open my eyes again, looking at him properly for the first time. The anguish on his face is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. “Then
how…?”
“I gave you my blood,” he says simply. “As your fated mate, my blood has healing properties for you. Even though you’re human,
the bond between us somehow… it helped save you, even though you don’t have a wolf,”
His blood. Inside me now. The thought makes something warm and tender flutter in my chest, but I’m also confused, because
blood transfusions between mates should only work if both are werewolves. It’s not known to work on humans. Maybe I just got
lucky.
“You stayed,” I observe, noting the makeshift bed of blankets on the small couch by the window.
“I haven’t left since they brought you in,” he says with a nod. “I couldn’t.”
A nurse enters then, breaking the moment. She brightens when she sees I’m awake, hurrying over to check my vitals and ask
questions that I struggle to answer through the fog.
When she leaves, promising to return with the doctor, an awkward silence falls between Arthur and me.
“I should call Brian,” he finally says. “Let him know you’re awake. Miles has been so worried.”
At the mention of our son, tears spring to my eyes. “How is he?”
Arthur’s expression softens. “He misses you. He’s been asking about you constantly.” A small smile tugs at his lips. “He made you a get–well card. It’s right there.” He points to a colorful piece of construction paper propped on the nightstand, covered in crayon scribbles and what looks like an attempt at a drawing of me.
The sight of it breaks something in me.
He’s been by my side. Checking on Miles. Giving me his blood. Running himself ragged for fear of losing me. Even though I’ve
2
been giving him the cold shoulder and fighting him in this legal battle, he’s been so…. selfless.
The wall of ice I’ve built around my heart forms a tiny crack
