C5

"Brooke, can you track my voice? Please, tell me you’re whole," I rasped, my throat raw from the pulverized slate dust.

The air was heavy, thick with the iron scent of fresh blood and the stale, suffocating smell of debris. I couldn't tell if the blood was mine, his, or belonged to the dozen other wolves who had been in the theater. I had felt Logan shove me, the force of his Alpha strength sending me rolling down the aisle steps just before the world ended.

"Logan?" My voice was a thin, trembling thread as I clawed at the darkness. "Logan, answer me!"

I heard him then—a series of low, jagged groans that made my own skin crawl with sympathetic pain. But after a few ragged breaths, the silence that followed was absolute. It was the kind of silence that happens when a heart stops or a mind slips away.

"Logan!"

I tried to lunged toward the sound of his breathing, but a massive steel support beam from the ceiling had created a jagged cage over me. When I tried to force myself upward, my skull cracked against a slab of stone, sending a fresh wave of concrete powder into my lungs.

"Kof! Kof!"

I hunched over, gasping for air that wasn't there. It was a tomb. I couldn't see my own hand, let alone find him. As I fumbled against the jagged edges surrounding me, I realized the collapse had draped the heavy theater ceiling over the rows of seats, pinning us into narrow, claustrophobic pockets of space.

"Is anyone alive? Howl if you can hear me!" I screamed, hoping for the sound of a pack, but the Citadel theater remained eerily still.

The frantic cries for help I’d heard moments ago had flickered out. The weight of the stone had likely silenced them for good. I pushed down the rising panic and began to crawl, my palms scraping against broken glass and splintered wood.

"Ow!"

A sharp spike of pain flared in my knee, but I didn't stop. I felt the texture of heavy wool—Logan’s dark grey sweater.

"Logan! Logan, wake up! Use your shift, heal, do something!" I shook his shoulder, but he was like lead. He had checked out.

The scent of blood was a roar in my nostrils now. I reached for his arm, but my fingers sank into a warm, viscous pool that made my stomach turn. For a second, my mind went totally blank. I forced myself to count to ten, pushing the terror back into a dark corner. I pressed my fingers against the pulse point in his neck.

A beat. Thready, but there. I leaned my ear against his chest and heard the slow, steady drum of a warrior’s heart.

"You’re staying with me, Logan Pierce," I hissed through grit teeth.

I wiped the blood from my knees onto my skirt and began the grueling trek back toward where our seats had been. I needed my bag. I needed a link to the outside world. The floor was a minefield of shattered crystal from the fallen chandeliers, and I moved like a ghost, trying not to slice my hands to ribbons.

I had been sending updates to Johanna throughout the trailers, so I knew my device wasn't in my bag. I found it face-down in the dust. The glass was a spiderweb of cracks, but the glow of the screen felt like a sunrise. I hit the emergency frequency for the Citadel Enforcers.

"This is Brooke White. The Northern Citadel Cinema has suffered a structural collapse. We are pinned in the back rows. Send a recovery team now!"

I followed up with a direct line to the medical wing at Bayview Medical Center. Then, the wait began. In the darkness, seconds stretched into eternities. Every shift of the rubble above us sounded like a final judgment.

"Can anyone hear me?" I shouted when I heard the faint scrape of metal on stone.

There was no vocal answer, but the rhythmic thud-thud-thud from above told me they were digging. I wanted to be optimistic, but I knew the sheer mass of the Citadel theater meant they were hours away from breaching the main hall.

The afternoon bled into evening. I kept my device off to preserve the battery, only checking the time when the silence became too heavy to bear. Eight o'clock. We had been buried for six hours.

My stomach was a knot of hunger, a reminder that my human half needed fuel even if my wolf was running on adrenaline. I found the bucket of popcorn Logan had bought; it was a mess of salt and gray dust. I sifted through it, eating the pieces that hadn't been touched by the debris just to keep my hands from shaking. I found the cup of soda, too—tipped over, most of it soaking into the carpet.

"Just a drop left," I whispered, my eyes stinging.

I crawled back to Logan’s side. A massive slate slab was pinning his torso, the jagged edge having sliced deep into his side. Blood was still weeping from the wound, mixing with the dust to form a dark, muddy sludge. The space was so tight I couldn't even get a good look at the damage.

I cupped his jaw, trying to tilt his head back so I could get the last of the liquid into him. "Logan, honey, you need to swallow. Drink this."

He didn't move. The liquid just ran down his chin.

"Please... Logan, don't leave me in the dark," I sobbed, the tears finally breaking through.

I couldn't stop the bleeding. I couldn't lift the stone. I could only hold his hand and pray to the Moon that he was strong enough. My sobbing must have reached him through the fog because his brow furrowed. He fought his eyelids open, his pupils blown wide. He moved a heavy, trembling hand to wipe a tear from my cheek.

"Don't... cry... Little Wolf," he managed to rasp.

I jammed the cup against his lips. "Drink. The Enforcers are coming. You just have to hold on, okay?"

A ghost of a smile touched his pale lips. He looked like he was fading into the gray. He didn't say anything else before his eyes rolled back and he slipped under again.

I stayed there, stroking his hair and clearing the dust from his face until exhaustion finally claimed me. I woke to the sound of a thunderous crack nearby. A needle of white light pierced the tomb, and I had to shield my eyes.

"Is there a survivor here?" an Enforcer shouted, his flashlight beam swinging wildly.

"Save him first! My mate is pinned under the slate!" I cried, refusing to move even as they reached for me.

The rescue team didn't argue. Four men used hydraulic jacks to heave the slab off Logan’s back. When the weight was gone, I finally saw the true scale of the carnage. His back was a map of raw, torn flesh. The old scars from the fire he’d survived years ago were now cross-cut by deep, angry gashes. I had to cover my mouth to keep from retching as they loaded him onto a hover-stretcher.

The ambulance ride to Bayview Medical Center was a blur of neon lights and the rhythmic thumping of my own heart. I held his hand the entire way, watching the steady drip of the IV. Beal and Johanna were already at the trauma center when we arrived.

"Moon above! Brooke, are you whole?" Johanna cried, her face white as a ghost.

She had been frantic since my call, and seeing me covered in gray dust and dried blood nearly sent her over the edge. Beal looked like he was about to collapse himself, his eyes searching mine for any sign of a concussion.

"Get her an immediate scan. Check for internal hemorrhaging!" Beal barked at the nurses.

"I'm fine, Dad. Truly," I said, my voice cracking. "It’s Logan. He took the entire weight of the ceiling to keep me safe. He hasn't woken up."

A nurse entered the bay, adjusting Logan’s fluids. She saw my swollen eyes and softened her expression. "Steady yourself, Luna. The healers say his vitals are stabilizing. He’s an Alpha; his body is already weaving the tissue back together. He’ll survive this."

I felt the air rush back into my lungs. "Thank the Goddess. What about the others?"

The nurse’s face clouded over as she checked her tablet. "You were the only ones pulled from that section alive. The two sitting directly beside you were crushed instantly when the main support snapped. If your mate hadn't moved you into the aisle and shielded you with his own body, you wouldn't be standing here."

Beal and Johanna exchanged a long, heavy look. The silent tension they had held toward Logan since he arrived in the North shattered in that moment. Johanna turned toward the bed, her voice filled with a new, shaky respect. "When will he be conscious?"

"Hard to say. But he’s out of the red zone," the nurse replied.

The door to the ward slammed open then, and Madison rushed in, her eyes wide and her breathing shallow. "I heard about the Citadel collapse! Is she... is Brooke okay?"

She was ready to play the grieving sister for the cameras, but her face twisted when she realized the focus was on the bed where Logan lay, not on me.

"Brooke is safe," Beal said, his voice flat. "Logan Pierce paid the price for her life."

I watched Madison’s reaction. She froze for a beat, her brain recalibrating. "Oh... thank the Moon. I don't think any of us could have survived losing Brooke so soon after finding her."

She drifted toward Johanna, acting the part of the devoted daughter. "I was at a gala when the news broke. I cut the alliances short and flew straight here."

Johanna squeezed Madison’s hand. "It’s good you're here. Sit. You're trembling."

"Nothing matters more than family," Madison chirped, but I saw the flicker of disappointment in her eyes. I knew what she had been hoping for—a world where I was gone and she was the center of the Lawson pack again.

The next morning, the room was flooded with the harsh, cold light of the Northern sun. The scent of antiseptic was heavy in the air.

"I think his eyes are moving!" I heard Johanna exclaim.

"I'll get the lead healer. Brooke will be relieved when she gets back with the coffee," Beal added.

The healer arrived a moment later, checking Logan’s responsiveness with a light. "He’s coming back to us. His recovery will depend on how fast his wolf can knit those deep gashes on his back."

As the healer left, Johanna leaned over Logan’s bedside. "How are you feeling, Logan? Are you in pain? I can have the Lawson private physician brought in if these healers aren't sufficient."

Logan blinked, his confusion palpable. He looked at her like she’d grown a second head. Why was his mother-in-law suddenly treating him like a favored son?

Before he could find his voice, Beal was there, pressing a cup of water into his hand. "You must be parched. Drink this."

Logan stared at the water with deep suspicion. He probably thought they were trying to finish what the ceiling had started now that I wasn't in the room to witness it.

"Beal, you're overwhelming him," Johanna chided, pulling her husband back. She cleared her throat, her gaze softening. "Thank you for guarding our daughter’s life with your own. You saved our bloodline yesterday, and for that, you have our gratitude."