Chapter 5

Dylan opened his eyes and saw something he hadn't seen in seven years: a morning without shadows. No fire in his veins, no silver burning through his muscles, and most importantly, no nightmares.

"I slept," his wolf whispered in the back of his mind, sounding just as stunned as he was. "Dylan, we actually slept."

Dylan stared at the ceiling of the small clinic. "Impossible," he muttered, his voice a low, gravelly rasp.

"When was the last time we woke up like this?" his wolf asked softly.

Dylan didn't answer. He already knew. Seven years ago. The morning before everything changed. The morning before he watched his father take his last breath, and the nightmares moved in and never left.

"Seven years," he murmured to the ceiling. "And it took one night in a small clinic in Crestwood."

Dylan shifted his head and froze. A woman was sitting in a wooden chair beside his bed, fast asleep. Her head was tilted at an angle that looked painful, and her white lab coat was stained with thick, dark patches of his blood.

"She is beautiful," Dylan thought, his chest aching as he watched her. "But why does she look like she's been fighting a war even in her sleep?"

Even unconscious, her jaw was set. Her brow carried a slight furrow, as if her dreams weren't giving her any peace either. Her hands were still wrapped around a medical folder, knuckles slightly pale from the grip.

MATE. The word exploded in his mind like a physical blow.

"Mine," his wolf roared, pacing behind his ribs. "She is ours, Dylan! A second chance! Do not let her go!"

Dylan's breath caught. "A second chance?" he whispered to the quiet room. "I'm thirty. I thought the Moon Goddess had forgotten I existed."

"She didn't forget," his wolf countered, the bond thrumming like a live wire. "Feel it. The cord is wrapped around our heart, and she's holding the other end."

"I feel it," Dylan admitted quietly. "I feel it."

He studied her silently, his predatory eyes taking in every detail. She looked spent, but even in sleep, her jaw was set in a firm line. There was a hardness to her features that didn't match her gentle profession. He looked at her hands, the hands that had saved his life, and noticed how tightly she was clutching a medical folder.

He moved his hand, noticing his skin was clear. The silver poisoning that should have killed him was gone, replaced by a faint, silver-white scar. He remembered the pain, the ambush, and then those hands touching him. The electricity. The heat. The way the darkness had simply retreated.

"She pulled me back," he murmured. "She actually pulled me back."

Lumina stirred. Her eyes snapped open, and in a second, the softness of sleep was replaced by a sharp, defensive edge. She sat bolt upright, her eyes wide and alert. She didn't look like a woman who had just found her mate; she looked like a woman who had just found an intruder.

"You're awake," she said. Her voice was professional, clipped, and cold.

"I am," Dylan said, his voice husky. "How long was I out?"

She stood up quickly, smoothing her blood-stained coat and stepping back to put distance between them. "Three hours since the procedure finished. I need to check your vitals."

"You saved me," Dylan said, ignoring the clipboard she held up like a shield. "The silver... I was supposed to be dead."

"Your body is strong, Alpha Virelli. I just removed the blockage," she replied, her eyes fixed on the monitors. She didn't look him in the eye once. "How is your breathing? Any burning in the chest?"

"None," Dylan said, watching her move around him with practiced efficiency. "No pain. No fever. Nothing."

"Good," she said briskly. "Any blurred vision? Numbness in the extremities?"

"No. I feel completely fine." He paused. "Better than fine, actually."

"That's the healing. It will wear off slightly over the next few days. You'll need rest and..."

"I slept," Dylan said, cutting her off gently.

She paused. Just for a fraction of a second. "Yes. You were unconscious for…"

"No," he said. "I mean I actually slept. Not unconscious. Not passed out from blood loss. I slept. Deeply. Without nightmares. For the first time in seven years."

Lumina said nothing. She kept her eyes on the monitor.

"I feel better than I have in seven years," Dylan said, pushing himself up. His muscles rippled as he moved, but she didn't blink. "What's your name?"

"I am the healer here. Lumina Thorne."

"Lumina," Dylan repeated, the name resonating with his wolf. "Just Lumina?"

"Just Lumina," she said shortly. "Now, stay still. I need to check your heart rate."

As she leaned in, the bond flared. The scent of jasmine hit him like a physical blow. He could see the pulse jumping in her neck, fast and erratic. She felt it, too; he was sure of it.

"Your heart is racing, Healer," Dylan noted, his voice dropping an octave. "Is that a medical condition, or is it me?"

Lumina stiffened, her hands pausing for a fraction of a second before she pulled away. "It's caffeine and a long night. Nothing more."

"You sat with me all night," Dylan said quietly. "You didn't have to do that."

"I was monitoring your condition," she said without missing a beat. "Standard procedure."

"Is it also standard procedure to hold your patient's hand while they sleep?"

The clipboard came up like a wall between them. "Your heart rate is normal. Blood pressure is excellent. You are clear to leave when you feel ready."

"You're a healer in a small clinic in Crestwood," Dylan said, his eyes narrowing. "A woman with your power should be in a palace, or at least a major hospital. Why are you hiding here?"

Lumina finally looked at him, and for a split second, Dylan saw a flash of agonizing pain behind her golden-brown eyes. It was the look of someone who had been broken and had to glue themselves back together. Then, the wall of ice was back.

"I'm not hiding. I'm working," she said. "I like the quiet. It doesn't ask questions."

"The quiet is a lie, Lumina. I've lived in it for seven years," Dylan said, reaching out. He didn't touch her, but his hand hung in the air. "Which pack raised a healer like you? I know every major lineage on the coast. I've never heard of a Thorne with your gift."

"I don't have a pack, Alpha," she snapped, stepping back toward the door. "I work for myself. I don't belong to anyone."

"Everyone belongs somewhere," Dylan countered.

"Not me." She grabbed a stack of papers from the desk. "I'll go get your discharge forms. Your Beta is outside. He's been pacing holes in my floor."

"Lumina, wait," Dylan called out.

She stopped at the door, her back to him. Her shoulders were tense, like she was waiting for a blow.

"Thank you for saving my life," he said quietly.

A beat of silence. Long enough to mean something.

She finally turned, her face a mask of iron. "Don't thank me. It's what I do. It's a job, Alpha. Nothing more."

"A job," Dylan repeated slowly. "You sat in that chair all night, holding the hand of a man you'd never met, and it was just a job."

Something flickered behind her eyes. There and gone.

"The discharge forms will be ready in ten minutes," she said. And she walked away, her steps hurried and loud in the hall.

Dylan watched her go, his mind racing. He was the Supreme Alpha. People bowed to him. People cleared rooms for him. People fought for the chance to stand in his shadow. But this woman looked at him like he was a burden she couldn't wait to get rid of.

"She's running," Dylan told his wolf. "And she's terrified of the bond."

"Then we follow," the wolf growled back. "She saved us. We don't leave our savior behind."

Cain burst into the room a moment later. "Alpha! Thank the Goddess. We thought we had lost you."

"I'm fine, Cain," Dylan said, his eyes still fixed on the door where she had vanished. "Tell the men we're staying in Crestwood for a few days. Find a hotel nearby."

Cain blinked, looking confused. "But sir, the council meetings in the capital are tomorrow. The elders are expecting you."

"Let them wait," Dylan interrupted, his voice dripping with authority. "I'm not leaving this city yet."

"Is it because of the healer?" Cain asked, lowering his voice.

"She's not just a healer, Cain," Dylan said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He felt the strength returning to his limbs, fueled by a new kind of purpose. "She's the first person who has given me peace in seven years. And I want to know why she's so afraid of me."

"I'm going to see her again," Dylan whispered to the empty room, his jaw setting. "And again. And again. Until she stops running." 

“Now, get me all the information you can get about her,” Dylan said.