X3

"It's impossible to pinpoint the moon-cycle. If the stars align, we could see results in ninety to a hundred days. If not, it could be a cold eternity," Dr. Harris said, his voice echoing in the sterile medical wing of the estate.

He adjusted his glasses, offering a tight smile. "You've got the vitality of a young wolf, Collins. I expect your body to accept the essence without much resistance."

The weeks bled into each other until the first frost of autumn settled over the Kingdom of Valeria. The air turned sharp, smelling of pine and upcoming snow.

I stepped out of the steam-filled bathroom, my skin still tingling from the hot spray. Dropping onto the edge of the massive bed, I reached for a tin of heavy winter salve I’d picked up at the village market. The winds were getting brutal, and even a shifter's skin could crack in this climate.

"Hey, Ethan," I murmured, glancing at the silent Alpha beside me. "The mountain air is getting dry. You want some of this? I doubt the nurses think about moisturizing your face."

I shifted closer, dipping my fingers into the cool cream. I began to work it into his skin, tracing the rugged lines of his jaw and the high arc of his cheekbones.

Suddenly, Ethan’s eyes snapped open. They weren't the dull silver of a sleeper anymore; they were a searing, molten amber, glowing like twin hearths in the dim room.

The sheer predatory intensity of his stare hit me like a physical blow. My breath hitched, sticking in my throat. I was used to his eyes opening—it happened almost every day—but this was different. There was a soul behind the glass this time.

"Am I being too rough?" I whispered, my heart hammering against my ribs. I forced my hands to stay steady, continuing the rhythmic circles on his temples. "I'm barely pressing down, I swear."

To settle my own nerves, I started rambling, a habit I’d picked up during these long, quiet months.

"I saw some chatter on the pack links... they said the reason you never took a mate was because your wolf was broken or your body couldn't handle the heat. But looking at you now? I don't buy it. You’ve still got the build of a Captain. These arms... these legs... they’re built for the ice."

I finished with his face and gave his bicep a playful, lingering pat through the fabric of his shirt. It was a light touch, meant for a man who couldn't feel it.

But the world stopped when a sound vibrated through the air—a sound that didn't come from me. It was a low, gravelly rasp.

"Was that you?" I gasped, recoiling so fast I nearly tumbled off the bed. My eyes went wide, fixed on him with frantic intensity. "Ethan? Did you just speak?"

Ethan didn't just look at me; he observed me. The hollow emptiness was gone, replaced by a searing cocktail of emerald rage, bone-deep suspicion, and cold hatred.

"Mrs. Bennett!" I screamed, bolting for the door like a pup fleeing a silver trap. "Patricia! He’s awake! Ethan spoke to me! He’s back!"

My skin was flushed, my pulse was a frantic drumbeat, and I could barely get enough air into my lungs.

Ethan Carter was back.

I was certain of it. It wasn't just the amber glow in his eyes—it was the word he had forced through his throat. Even though his voice was raw, like grinding stones, it carried the weight of an Alpha’s command.

He had looked at me and demanded to know who I was.

My mind went completely white. Every person in Valeria had told me he was a ghost in a shell, a dying legend. I had never actually prepared for the moment the King of the Rink would demand an account of my presence in his sanctuary.

Within thirty minutes, the mansion was swarming. The silence of the estate was shattered by the arrival of the inner circle and the family.

"I knew your spirit was too strong to break, Ethan!" Margaret cried, her face wet with tears of genuine relief.

"Welcome back to the world, brother," Henry added, though his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "You have no idea the shadow that fell over the pack. Mother’s grief nearly turned her coat gray overnight."

After a grueling examination, Dr. Harris turned to Margaret, his voice trembling with awe. "This is a literal miracle. There were no neural markers for this yesterday. Now that Master Ethan is vocalizing, we just need to start the physical restoration. He’ll be back on his skates before the playoffs."

The shock was too much for Margaret; her knees gave out, and she fainted into Henry’s arms. He quickly carried her out to find her a smelling salt.

The doctor, Patricia, and the pack guards remained in the room, while I hovered by the doorframe. I was too terrified to cross the threshold.

The aura rolling off Ethan was suffocating. He was propped up against the headboard now, his shoulders broad and imposing even after months of atrophy. His gaze was like a hawk’s, pinning me to the spot with an icy, lethal stare.

"Who is he?" Ethan growled, his voice a deep, vibrating threat that made the doctor flinch.

Patricia bowed her head, her voice hushed with reverence. "Master Ethan, this is the mate Margaret arranged for you during your slumber. His name is—"

Ethan’s lips thinned into a hard, cruel line. His voice was flat, devoid of any warmth as he cut her off.

"Get him out of my sight. Now."