Page 119 of The Alpha's Fallen Spell
Relief floods through me. The mating bond is working, sharing my strength with his weakened systems. But he still needs proper medical attention.
“What about the kid?” another soldier asks, kneeling beside Alex.
I look over at the boy who risked everything to protect me. His breathing is shallow but steady, the electrical burns on his skin already beginning to heal with typical shifter resilience.
“He’s one of us,” I say firmly. “Artificial shifter. He saved my life.”
The soldier nods and radios for additional medical support. Within minutes, the laboratory is swarming with personnel—medics working on Erik and Alex, forensics teams cataloguing evidence, cleanup crews dealing with the bodies.
Through it all, I stay close to Erik, one hand maintaining contact with his skin so the bond can continue to flow between us. His eyes flutter open periodically, finding mine each time, the connection between us stronger than it has ever been.
“Ma’am?” A medic approaches me carefully. “We need to transport them both to the palace medical facility. Are you injured?”
I shake my head, though every part of me aches from the fight and the emotional toll of the past few hours. “I’m fine. But I’m going with them.”
No one argues. They wouldn’t dare, not when the mating mark on Erik’s throat makes it clear exactly what I am to him.
As they load Erik onto a stretcher, his hand touches mine weakly. “Thank you,” he whispers.
I squeeze his fingers gently. “Thank you for coming for me.”
The transport to the palace passes in a blur of medical equipment and whispered consultations between the healers. Through our bond, I can feel Erik’s systems slowly stabilizing,my wolf’s strength helping his damaged wolf begin the long process of recovery.
But it’s going to take time. A lot of time.
Three weeks later, I stand in the empty café, sunlight streaming through windows that no longer feel like sanctuary. The familiar space looks hollow now, stripped of the warmth and life that once made it home. Tables and chairs sit stacked in corners, waiting to be loaded into trucks. The espresso machine—my pride and joy for over a year—stands silent and cold.
I check another item off my list: Kitchen equipment—contact restaurant supply company for pickup.
The bell above the door chimes, but I don’t look up from my clipboard. “We’re closed,” I call out, making another note about the vintage register.
“I can see that.”
Erik’s voice sends a jolt through me, the mating bond immediately flaring to life with awareness of his presence. For three weeks, I’ve felt him through our connection—his pain during recovery, his frustration at being sidelined, his determination as he threw himself back into the fight against the Silver Ring. But feeling him and seeing him are entirely different things.
“Aren’t you going to look at me?” he asks quietly.
I force myself to turn around, and my breath catches despite myself. He’s here, alive, whole. The wound that nearly killed him has healed completely, leaving only a faint scar that’s barely visible beneath his shirt. But it’s the mating mark on his throat that draws my attention—the permanent reminder of the choice I made, the bond I claimed.
He looks good. Better than good. Strong and vital and very much alive. Relief floods through me so powerfully that my knees nearly give out.
“How are you?” he asks, those green eyes studying my face with careful intensity.
I shrug, not trusting my voice. How am I? Confused. Grateful. Terrified. In love with a man who might not want the mate bond I forced on him to save his life.
“What are you doing here?” His gaze travels around the empty café, taking in the stacked furniture and packed boxes.
“Clearing out,” I say, gesturing to my list. “Selling things off. The worst part was having to tell Margo.”
Surprise is evident in his features. “You’re closing the café?”
“Yes.” The word comes out sharper than I thought it would.
He looks around again, and I can see him cataloguing the details—the care I took in choosing every piece of furniture, the warmth I built into every corner, the life I created from nothing.
“I don’t like that,” he says finally.
“Well, there’s nothing here for me anymore.” I turn back to my list, adding another item. “Besides, I’ll be moving to the palace now.”
