Chapter 8

Luciano's POV 

She's been asleep for two hours.

I know because I've been watching the clock, tracking every minute, making sure her breathing stays steady and her fever doesn't spike higher. Amaya's curled up on my bed—our bed, technically, since all three of us share this apartment now—looking smaller than she should. Vulnerable in a way that makes my wolf pace restlessly beneath my skin.

I hate seeing her like this.

"Her temperature's still too high," Javier says quietly from the doorway. He's been checking on her every twenty minutes, unable to stay away for long. None of us can.

"I know." I adjust the blanket over her carefully, making sure she's covered. "But it's not getting worse. That's something."

Alvaro appears behind Javier, arms crossed, jaw tight with worry. "This isn't just a fever. Something else is going on."

"I know that too." I run a hand through my hair, frustrated. "But she won't let us take her to the pack doctor, and I'm not going to force her into something that'll make her trust us even less."

"So what do we do?" Javier asks.

"We take care of her here." I look back at Amaya, at the way her face is still too pale despite the flush of fever on her cheeks. "Keep her comfortable. Monitor her symptoms. Make sure she knows she's safe."

Alvaro makes a rough sound in his throat. "She's been killing herself trying to avoid us. Fighting the bond. You think that's helping?"

"No." My hands curl into fists. "But pushing her won't help either. She needs time."

"She needs us," Alvaro corrects, but there's pain in his voice. "She just won't admit it."

He's not wrong. I can feel it through the bond—how much she's been struggling, how exhausted she is from resisting something that should be natural. Easy. The bond is supposed to be a gift, but she's treating it like a curse.

Something happened to her. Something that makes her afraid of this.

Amaya shifts in her sleep, making a small distressed sound, and all three of us tense. But she settles again, breathing evening out.

"She needs food," Javier says after a moment. "She barely ate yesterday. I could feel it."

"And medicine," Alvaro adds. "Something to bring the fever down."

I nod, making the decision quickly. "Alvaro, you go get food. Something easy on her stomach—soup, bread, maybe fruit. Javier, hit the pharmacy. Get fever reducers, electrolyte drinks, whatever you think might help."

"What about you?" Javier asks.

I look at Amaya again, at the way her fingers are curled into my pillow. "I stay here. Protect her."

Something flickers in Alvaro's expression—approval, maybe. Understanding. "If anything changes—"

"I'll call immediately," I promise.

They both hesitate, clearly not wanting to leave, but finally head out. The apartment feels too quiet without them, just me and Amaya and the sound of her breathing.

I pull a chair next to the bed and sit down to watch over her properly.

This is what I'm good at—the watching, the protecting. Alvaro's the passionate one, all fire and intensity. Javier's the steady one, calm and controlled. But me? I'm the one who sees everything. Who notices the small things. Who guards what's precious.

And Amaya is precious. More than she knows.

I study her face, memorizing details. The way her eyelashes cast shadows on her cheeks. The small scar above her left eyebrow. The curve of her lips, slightly parted as she breathes. She's beautiful, but that's not what draws me. It's the strength I can see even now, even in sleep. The determination. The fierce independence that makes her fight us even when every instinct must be screaming at her to give in.

What happened to make her so afraid?

My phone buzzes. A text from Alvaro: Got chicken soup, crackers, ginger ale. Heading back.

Then Javier: Pharmacy was packed. Might be another twenty minutes.

I send back confirmations and settle in to wait.

Amaya's been in my space for two hours, and already it feels right. Her scent is mingling with ours—vanilla and something sweet mixing with leather and cedar and rain. The apartment smells like pack. Like home.

If only she'd let herself feel it too.

Around the forty-five-minute mark, she starts to stir. Small movements at first—a shift of her shoulders, her fingers flexing. Then her eyes flutter open, unfocused and confused.

"Easy," I say softly, leaning forward. "You're safe."

She blinks at me, then at the room, processing. When recognition hits, she tries to sit up too fast and immediately sways.

My hands go to her shoulders, steadying her. "Slow down. You're still weak."

"Where am I?" Her voice is rough from sleep.

"Our apartment. You passed out in the parking lot, remember?"

She frowns, like she's trying to piece together memories through the fog. "I need to leave."

"You need to rest."

"Luciano—" She tries to push my hands away, but there's no strength behind it. She's still trembling slightly, still too pale.

"You can barely sit up," I point out gently. "You're not driving anywhere like this."

"I'm fine."

"You're not." I keep my tone firm but not harsh. "And I'm not letting you leave until you're actually stable. So you can either accept help, or you can sit here and glare at me while I make sure you don't collapse again. Your choice."

She stares at me for a long moment. I can see her wrestling with herself—her need for independence versus the reality that her body is betraying her.

The front door opens. Alvaro's back, carrying bags that smell like food.

"She's awake," I call out.

He's in the bedroom within seconds, relief flooding his features. "Thank god. How do you feel?"

"Like I want to go home," Amaya mutters.

"Not happening." He sets the bags down and starts pulling out containers. "You need to eat first. When's the last time you had a real meal?"

She doesn't answer, which is answer enough.

Alvaro gives her a look that's part exasperation, part concern. "You're not taking care of yourself."

"I'm fine—"

"Stop saying that," I interrupt. "You're not fine. You haven't been fine since the bonding started, and you've been making it worse by fighting it."

Her jaw sets stubbornly. "I don't need a lecture."

"No, you need food and rest and to stop running yourself into the ground." Alvaro hands her a container of soup. "Eat."

For a moment, I think she's going to refuse just to be difficult. But then her stomach growls audibly, betraying her, and she takes the container with a muttered curse.

I hide my smile.

The front door opens again—Javier, finally back from the pharmacy. He appears in the doorway with a bag full of supplies, and the relief on his face when he sees Amaya sitting up is almost painful to watch.

"You're awake." He crosses to the bed, setting the pharmacy bag down. "How's the head? Still dizzy?"

"I'm okay," she says quietly, not quite meeting his eyes.

"That's not an answer." He crouches down next to the bed, studying her. "Tell me what hurts."

She's silent for a beat, like she's not used to people actually caring about the answer. "Head. Body. Everything, kind of."

"Fever's making everything ache." He pulls out medicine, reading the label. "This should help. Take it with the soup."

She looks at the pill, then at him, then at Alvaro who's still hovering nearby, then at me. Something vulnerable crosses her face.

"Why are you doing this?" she asks softly.

"Doing what?" Javier asks.

"This. Taking care of me. Protecting me." Her fingers tighten on the soup container. "Why don't you hate me? I've been avoiding you. Fighting the bond. Pushing you away. So why—"

"Because you're our mate," Alvaro says simply. "That doesn't change just because you're scared."

Her head snaps up. "I'm not scared."

"Yes, you are." I keep my voice gentle. "And that's okay. But it doesn't change what you are to us."

"It's not logical," she argues. "You barely know me. The bond is just... biology. Instinct. It doesn't mean—"

"It means everything," Javier interrupts. "To us, it means everything. And whether you want to accept it or not, taking care of you isn't optional. It's as natural as breathing."

She looks like she wants to argue more, but the words seem to die in her throat. I can see the conflict written all over her face—wanting to believe us, but not letting herself.

Something bad happened to her. Something that taught her not to trust this.

I catch Alvaro's eye, then Javier's. We're all thinking the same thing. Someone hurt her. Maybe a previous relationship, maybe family, maybe something else. But somewhere along the line, Amaya learned that depending on people—especially alphas—was dangerous.

And now she's stuck with three of us, bonded for life, and she's terrified.

My chest aches.

"Eat your soup," I say quietly. "Take the medicine. Get some rest. Everything else can wait."

She studies my face for a long moment, like she's looking for a trick. A catch. Something that'll prove we're not genuine.

But there's nothing to find. This is real. We're real.

Finally, slowly, she brings a spoonful of soup to her lips.

It's a small victory. A tiny crack in her armor.

But I'll take it.

I'll take anything she's willing to give us, and I'll prove—however long it takes—that we're not going anywhere. That she's safe with us.

That she always will be.