THE TRANSFER

Elaris's POV

The healer begins, quick and silent.

I am aware of the pull of the transfer before I understand.

A cold line under my skin that wasn't there before.

Not a pain.

Not yet.

A thread pulled through the hollow in me.

The healer tucks the lines between us and adjusts the measuring devices twice.

"Do not fight the sensation," she instructs. "Let it come."

I try.

The first surge of the transfer rolls through me.

My whole body tenses, reacting, and the extraction rooms flash through my thoughts.

The tables.

The restraints.

The feeling of something being pulled out of me while Caedmon's life hung in the balance.

The sensation is nothing like that.

Nothing is being torn from me.

There is no desperate begging from the hollow in my ribs.

Something else is coming in.

And for a long moment I am as unsettled by that as I am the memory.

I turn my head.

Averic watches me.

He hasn't looked at the devices at all.

The healer checks both of our measurements.

"First transfer is stable."

Averic nods, barely.

His breathing is even.

I notice how his shoulders slump just a fraction.

The color drains from his skin in the next heartbeat.

The healer records the measurement.

"Continue."

Another fraction of him is leaving.

I can feel the difference in the warmth traveling into me.

Averic's breathing deepens.

He doesn't complain.

He doesn't ask how much more there is to give.

I want to tell him to stop.

The words press against my teeth, raw and bitter, but I remember the healer's warning.

Any emotional spikes could disrupt the transfer.

I lie very still and let the warmth wash over me.

It moves lower, filling the hollowness that has been eating away at me for months.

My fingers stop tingling.

The tightness in the back of my eyes eases.

Everything sharpens into focus.

I can see the crack in the wooden beam above my head.

The curve of the lamp.

The healer's hands.

Averic's face.

Then my child moves, once.

And again, stronger.

I press my palm against my stomach.

The movement continues, insistent.

The healer frowns.

"That is a good sign."

I close my eyes.

For the first time in weeks, the life inside me is no longer fighting against the weakness inside me.

It has strength of its own.

A horrifying realization washes over me.

The strength is coming from him.

Every improvement in me is another fraction of Averic that is leaving.

Averic's weakening is slower than I expected.

That is a comfort, almost.

There is no sudden stillness, no final plea for help.

The changes in him are easy to miss.

The slight tightening of his fingers against his knee.

The gathering in his shoulders as he watches me.

The dulling of the color in his cheeks.

His eyes are still on me.

"Look at me," I whisper.

The healer warns me immediately.

"Don't speak."

I obey.

Averic seems to understand what I was trying to say.

He nods, slowly.

The transfer continues, another measurement, another fraction.

Another fraction of him is coming into me and I feel something unfamiliar stirring in my chest.

Reserve.

Not an overabundance, just enough that my body no longer feels like it is borrowing from the future.

The healer adjusts the pace.

Once.

Twice.

The first change is too fast and the warmth inside me flares dangerously.

She eases it almost at once.

"Too fast."

Averic's breathing stumbles.

The healer watches the reading on the device.

"Hold."

The transfer pauses for several seconds.

I hear the fire crackling.

Neryss shifted near the door.

No one spoke.

Then the healer begins again, more slowly.

This time, the sensation is smooth.

The warmth spreads out, slower, but filling all the places that have been aching for weeks.

The healer never takes her eyes off the devices.

She is reading two lives at once, judging the risks of each.

If she gives me too little, I won't be strong enough to survive the journey.

If she takes from Averic too much, too fast, his body could shut down before the transfer is done.

There is no right speed, only the speed that will get us to the end.

I try to turn my hand toward Averic and the healer stops me.

"Don't."

I hesitated.

"I only-"

"No emotional spike."

Her answer is firm.

"Your system is adapting. Stay still."

I swallow the words.

I want to tell him he doesn't have to prove anything to me.

I want to tell him I'm afraid.

I want to apologize.

None of it will change what is happening.

So I lie there and I take what he has taken from me for so long.

It is not the same.

Not at all.

When I gave essence to Caedmon, I always watched it leave, piece by piece.

Tonight, I watch it come into me and I am powerless to send it back.

Time stretches, the transfer grinding on.

The warmth is building, settling into something more steady.

I feel my muscles unclench, first in my limbs, then deep in my ribs.

The tightness in my lungs is gone.

My breathing comes slower, deeper.

I can feel my essence settling around the child, thick and steady.

The baby's movements are stronger now, slower, sure.

I almost cry.

Not because I'm happy.

Because I'm surprised to realize the child is safe enough to grow.

I turn my head toward Averic.

He is quieter now, his head still, but the effort is visible in the strain across his jaw.

I think of everything he used to carry as Alpha.

The palace.

The council.

His pack.

His mother's careful, watchful nursing.

And now he carries this, the thing that made it all possible, until there is nothing left.

I understand what he is doing.

His wolf is coming into me, filling the hollowness.

The knowledge rests inside me with every heartbeat.

Averic's hand begins to shake.

A little.

I can see it.

The healer can see it.

She checks the device, her mouth tightening.

"We're past half."

I want to know how much is left.

She doesn't tell me.

Averic looks at her.

"Continue."

She studies him for a second.

"Stopping now would be dangerous.

"I know.

The trembling in his hand grows worse.

I want to close my eyes.

Instead, I watch.

It is almost too much to see, the slow surrender of everything he has been.

Averic does not look away.

Neither do I.

The healer eases the transfer, just a fraction more, and the warmth floods into me.

My body accepts it.

Averic's breathing eases.

The line between his strength and his weakness is growing thinner.

The final push of the transfer begins without warning.

I know because something inside me shifts.

The warmth is clearer now.

Sharper.

It feels as if I have woken up inside my own skin.

My lungs are full, my vision is sharp, and the ache in my ribs since the beginning of the donations eases.

The child moves hard against my palm and I gasp.

Across from me, Averic's breath catches.

His eyes close, only for a second, and then he lowers his head.

The healer checks his readings.

"Averic."

His eyes open again.

"I'm here."

His voice is quieter than before.

The healer looks at him closely.

Then she studies the devices.

"We need the final portion."

My stomach tightens.

He knows what that means.

So do I.

The last of him will be taken, slowly, and there will be nothing left.

The healer works faster now but she never betrays the care she took with every other fraction.

She moves from one device to the next, steady and sure.

The transfer reaches its final measure and then the healer stops.

It is over so suddenly I feel empty for a fraction of a second.

The lines are removed and the healer presses fresh cloth against the wounds.

"Try not to move."

A stabilizing draught is pressed to my lips.

I swallow.

Across from me, Averic leans forward, his head low, his hands bracing against his knees.

He does not fall, but he does not lift himself either.

The healer gives him another draught.

"Small sips."

He obeys.

Neryss stands near the door.

No one spoke.

The procedure was finished but the room did not exhale.

It was as if something huge had passed through here and left the walls permanently altered.

I test my breathing.

It is deep.

It is steady.

I flex my fingers.

They move without the weakness that has plagued me for so long.

The healer examines my essence again.

She watches the readings, then the child, and comes to a conclusion.

"Stable."

I close my eyes.

A tear slips free before I can stop it.

It is not the pain that makes me cry.

The child is alive.

Stronger.

Safe for now.

I turn my head toward Averic.

He is still braced forward.

The healer looks him over.

The change is visible in the way his body no longer feels entirely present.

His heart is strong.

His essence is not.

There is a great hollow where his wolf should be.

I understand what the change means before she says it.

The title.

The council.

His pack.

None of it will matter to him, not really, but it is all waiting beyond these walls.

For the first time since the donations began, I am strong enough to understand the sacrifice he has made.

I am alive.

My child is alive.

And Averic has given everything that made him an Alpha.

The healer completes her examination.

She checks my pulse, then the resonance of the child, then the essence that remains in Averic.

A troubled expression crosses her face.

"The mother and child will live."

I catch my breath.

The healer looks at Averic.

"The wolf is gone."

Averic lifts his head.

For several seconds he does not speak.

The healer tells him the final truth.

"He will not shift again."

The meaning lingers in the air between us.

I look at Averic.

There is exhaustion in his expression but no blame, no self-recrimination, and no expectation that I will bear any of it.

Only the quiet acceptance of a man who has made a choice and does not intend to change it.

Outside, the dark is beginning to lighten, a pale line of morning pushing against the shutters.

A new day is coming and with it will come the council.

The pack.

The throne.

The future for a man who no longer has a wolf.

I cover my stomach, feeling the life within me move.

Alive.

Averic watches it, and for one, fragile heartbeat, neither of us speaks.

Then, somewhere beyond the house, a single horn sounded and the pack was waking.

And long before either of us could decide what comes next, the consequences of what had happened tonight would come looking for us.