Page 114 of Between Imminent Fates

Assured the clan was well-taken care of, he returned to the situation at hand. Frowning, Isaiah inhaled and flexed his fingers beneath the soft cover. The movements were jerky and surreal. He doubted if he could hold a pencil properly.

All the strength he’d known throughout his life had vanished, sapped away by what he’d been forced to do to ensure their future.

Slowly, he lifted a hand in front of his face and was startled to see his palm was colored in a sooty black. He quickly checked that both hands bore the stain, tendrils of the inky curling around his thumbs and weaving through the spaces between his fingers. It flooded the lines and painted the creases, rippling as he flexed his hand.

The answer came to him almost immediately: he’d held and wielded the raw power inside him through his hands. No wonder it was the same color as the clan mark inked across his chest.

Letting his hand drop, he felt the outline of his ribs through the blanket and beneath his light shirt. At this point, he didn’t know how long he’d been under, nor how long they’d had to keep him alive.

Suddenly, the need to see and apologize to his mate was all consuming.

It was only then that he realized she was asleep on the chair in the corner of the bedroom. Though his voice was rusty, and his throat was dry, he called out to her.

“Rukia?”

Wild eyed, his mate jerked awake. She scrambled upright in a flurry of movement, freezing as she caught his eyes. “Isaiah?”

“Rukia.”

And then she was sobbing, throwing herself next to him on the bed. As the weight of her devastation bore down on him, he simply held her, keeping her afloat as she had him.

“I’m here, babe. I’m okay.”

The heat of her presence seeped into his skin, and he soaked it up as though he’d been a wrung-out sponge.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, repeating it over and over.

Isaiah didn’t rush her; it was the least he could do after having kept such a devastating secret from her. And when Rukia’s fear and tears morphed to fury, he’d bear the brunt of it without defending himself or condemning her anger. Returning to her was a gift he’d never expected to be given, and every second was a miracle.

“Is Isaak okay?”

“He’s fine—he’s perfect,” she whispered. “Better now that his daddy’s awake.”

Relief flooded him. He repeated his apologies and declarations of love over and over, letting Rukia cling to him with the ferocity of a mate having lost her light. And when she startled, he opened the circle of his arms to allow her to retreat slightly on the bed.

“Jaeda!Jaeda!”

Isaiah’s lips curled slightly at Rukia’s sudden fearfulness. The healer appeared in the doorway only moments later, and he saw the depth of emotion tied to his prolonged absence.

Crossing the room to stand beside him, the visible tremble in her hands accompanied the fearful look in Jaeda’s eyes. With each blink, she seemed to stand up taller, accepting the fact that he was truly awake.

Jaeda checked his vitals without delay, her hands brushing up against him. Her familiarity with the processes gave him reason to believe he’d been comatose for weeks, or potentially much longer.

But the question that came out of his mouth wasn’t for his own sake.

“Did we win?”

Both Rukia and Jaeda softened, but it was his mate who answered him. “We did. We won.” She gently grasped his chin to align their gazes. “Because of you. Because of Nina and Key. We won because the three of you gave everything.”

Then, gingerly, Rukia dropped her lips to his, and he savored the sweetness of her kiss. It was gentle, almost tender, and Isaiah knew then that she’d done it often—and repeatedly—while he’d been away.

“How long?”

Jaeda stiffened, but said, “It’s been more than a month since you went down, Isaiah.”

He should’ve been shocked, but all he could do was nod. Given the fact that he’d expected to be dead—not comatose—waking up hadn’t ever factored into his decisions.

“Where is Isaak?”

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