Branson emerges from the surgical room, his massive frame filling the doorway. Blood stains his forearms up to the elbows, drying rust-brown against his skin. Dark smears mark his shirt from carrying Conan.
Behind him, Olcan strips off red-stained gloves. “Conan is stable. The wound was deep, but missed his vital organs. He’ll need rest and monitoring, but I expect a full recovery.”
The tightness releases from my shoulders.Conan will live. Ethan is lucid. We didn’t lose anyone tonight.
“Akila?” I ask.
“Refusing to leave his side.” Branson’s mouth twitches. Almost a smile. “And I wouldn’t recommend trying to persuade her otherwise.”
A small smile tugs at my mouth. Of course she is. Whatever exists between those two runs deeper than either of them will admit.
“Now for my favorite human.” Olcan approaches Ethan’s bedside.
I have to step back to give him room to work, but when my fingers slip free from Ethan’s, the loss of contact stings like removing a bandage too soon.
No. Ours. Stay with him.My wolf is getting riled up again. I force myself to ignore her, my feet moving me another step backward.
“Ethan.” Olcan rouses him with a gentle touch to his shoulder.
“Hey, doc.” His voice is thin when it emerges. He sounds drained.
“How are you feeling?”
“Been worse.” Ethan grins for a moment. “Or, maybe not.”
Olcan checks his pulse, examines his pupils, and searches for injuries hidden beneath his dark hair and clothing.
His gaze stays fixed on the pendant as he speaks, more to himself than to us. “Magical overwhelm. Significant, but not to life-threatening proportions. Fascinating. . .” He examines the crystal more closely. “The charm absorbed most of the backlash.”
“Guess you could say I’m charmed.” Ethan’s grin is lopsided, barely holding.
My eyes roll despite my worry.
Olcan ignores him, pressing methodical fingers along Ethan’s forearm toward the crystal. “Can you feel this?”
“Yeah. Tingles.”
“Interesting.” Olcan’s brow furrows as he removes the chain from Ethan’s wrist and extends it toward me without looking back. “He doesn’t need this anymore.”
I take the charm as he examines Ethan’s hand and wrist where the crystal touched his skin. “The resonance pattern suggests...” He trails off, lost in clinical curiosity.
Crossing over to Haron, I press the pendant into her palm. “Thank you. It saved his life.”
Haron nods once, fingers closing around the crystal. She clutches it to her chest.
Turning back toward Olcan, I open my mouth to ask for more details about Ethan’s condition. Buta noise from Stasio’s room freezes me in place.
A groan: low and pained. Then, there’s movement — the rustle of sheets, the creak of the bed frame.
“Father!” Haron’s voice breaks on the word. She’s through the door before I can blink, white hair streaming behind her.
Xander and I exchange a glance. Then we follow.
Stasio’s room is dimmer than the main area of the infirmary, lit only by a single lamp burning low on the bedside table. The Elder is propped up against pillows, his silver hair spread across the white linens like spilled moonlight.
“Haron.” His hazel eyes brighten as they find Haron. She drops to his bedside.
“Father, you’re awake.” Tears stream down her cheeks as she grasps her father’s weathered hand. “Thank the gods.”
