Chapter 14
1183words
"Luci!" she cries, grabbing my arms. "It's bad. Really bad."
My heart drops. "What happened?"
"Blackwater was hit again last night. A coordinated attack on three sides." Her voice breaks. "Mason's hurt—badly. And they don't have enough medical staff. Mason called, asking if Moonhaven could send help."
"Dr. Morris—" I begin.
"Is already preparing to go," she interrupts. "But Luci, they need everyone with medical training. Please."
I don't hesitate. "Let me grab my kit."
The drive to Blackwater territory is tense, Mila beside me in my car while Dr. Morris follows in the pack ambulance with supplies. My mind races with possibilities, each worse than the last. If they're calling for outside help, the situation must be dire.
We arrive at the Blackwater main house to find it transformed into a makeshift hospital. Injured wolves fill the great room, some on cots, others on makeshift pallets on the floor. The scent of blood and pain hangs heavy in the air.
Dr. Morris immediately takes charge, coordinating with Blackwater's healer. I scan the room, my medical training kicking in as I assess who needs help most urgently.
And then I see them—Damon sitting against a wall, his shoulder heavily bandaged, and beside him, Ivan. My mate is still on his feet, but barely. Blood has soaked through his shirt on his left side, and his face is pale with pain and exhaustion.
Yet he's moving from warrior to warrior, checking on them, offering words of encouragement. Still leading, still putting his pack first, despite his own injuries.
My wolf surges forward with such force that I gasp, every instinct screaming to go to him, to help him, to protect what's ours.
"Luci," Mila says softly, following my gaze. "Go. They need you."
I move through the room on autopilot, stopping first at Damon's side. "Hey," I say, kneeling to check his bandages. "How bad is it?"
He manages a weak smile. "Not as bad as it looks. Claw to the shoulder. Others need help more."
"Let me be the judge of that," I say, gently examining the wound. It's deep but clean, already starting to heal with werewolf speed. "You'll live."
His eyes flick to Ivan, then back to me. "He's worse than he's letting on," he says quietly. "Took a hit meant for one of the younger wolves."
My heart clenches. Of course he did.
"I'll check on him," I promise, squeezing Damon's good shoulder before moving on.
Ivan is kneeling beside a young female wolf when I approach, his back to me. Even injured, his presence fills the room, commanding and reassuring at once.
"Alpha," I say softly.
He turns, and the moment our eyes meet, everything else fades away. His silver gaze widens with surprise, then softens with something that looks dangerously like hope.
"Lucille," he says, his voice rough with pain and exhaustion. "You came."
"Of course I came," I reply, moving closer to examine his wound. "You're bleeding through your shirt."
"Others first," he says firmly, though I can see the strain in his face.
"They're being taken care of," I counter. "And you're no good to your pack if you collapse from blood loss."
A ghost of a smile touches his lips. "Are you always this bossy with your patients?"
"Only the stubborn ones," I say, guiding him to a nearby chair. "Shirt off. Let me see."
For a moment, I think he might argue, but then he complies, wincing as he pulls the blood-soaked fabric over his head.
The wound is worse than I expected—three deep gashes across his ribs that are still seeping blood despite what must be hours since the attack. Around the edges, the skin is red and hot to the touch.
"This should have been treated immediately," I scold, opening my kit. "It's starting to get infected."
"My pack comes first," he says simply, as if that explains everything.
And in a way, it does. This is who he is—the Alpha who puts everyone else before himself. The leader who bears the weight of his entire pack on his shoulders.
My wolf whines with concern as I clean the wound, my touch as gentle as I can make it. Ivan watches me work, his silver eyes never leaving my face.
"Thank you for coming," he says quietly. "I know it can't have been easy for you."
I focus on threading my needle, avoiding his gaze. "Mila's cousin was hurt. And your pack needed help."
"Is that the only reason?"
The question hangs between us, loaded with all the things we haven't said. I pause, the needle halfway through his skin.
"No," I admit finally. "It's not the only reason."
Something shifts in his expression—a softening, a hope. "Lucille—"
"Hold still," I interrupt, not ready for whatever he's about to say. "I need to finish these stitches."
He falls silent, allowing me to work. His skin is hot beneath my fingers, his scent—thunderstorm and forest—filling my senses despite the antiseptic and blood. My wolf has never been calmer, more focused, than she is now, helping our mate.
When I finish the last stitch and begin bandaging his torso, Ivan speaks again. "I've respected your distance," he says quietly. "I haven't sought you out, haven't pushed. But seeing you here, feeling your hands on me..." He pauses, his voice dropping lower. "It's getting harder to stay away."
I secure the bandage, my fingers lingering on his skin longer than necessary. "I know," I whisper.
"Whatever's holding you back," he continues, "whatever you're afraid of—I want to help. Let me in, Lucille."
I look up, meeting his silver gaze. The intensity there steals my breath—concern, determination, and something deeper, something that makes my wolf howl with recognition.
"I've been thinking," I say carefully, "that maybe we should talk. Really talk."
Hope flares in his eyes. "When?"
"Not now," I say, glancing around at the injured wolves still needing care. "When things are calmer. When you're healed."
Ivan nods, then reaches out, his hand covering mine where it rests on his bandaged side. "I'll hold you to that," he says softly.
The contact sends warmth spreading through me, my wolf practically purring with contentment. For the first time since discovering our bond, she and I are in perfect agreement—this feels right.
"You should rest," I tell him, reluctantly pulling my hand away. "Doctor's orders."
A small smile touches his lips. "Yes, ma'am."
As I move to help other injured wolves, I feel Ivan's eyes following me across the room. The weight of his gaze should feel intrusive, but instead it's comforting—a reminder that whatever happens next, whatever truth I finally share with him, we're in this together.
Maybe Mila was right. Maybe he deserves to know everything, to make his own choice about our future.
The thought of telling him about the curse still terrifies me. But for the first time, I'm considering that facing it together might be better than facing it alone.
