The urge is so physical, so urgent, it’s as if every muscle were drawn by a wire.
I steal a glance at Cole. He looks at me, eyes wide and glassy. For the first time, I recognize the same pull in him—a loyalty not taught, but built bone-deep.
A pack bond building.
“I know it’s weird,” Cole says quietly, “but it’s like—I can’t do anything until I know he’s okay.”
“It’s not weird.” There is no finishing school, no etiquette or courtly tradition that prepares you for this kind of raw, wordless panic. Even though Lucas is probably fine. He is, right? If his condition were worse, his parents would be here or Cole would’ve had more information.
I look up at Zane, my standing sentinel, and I realize I am as bound to these men as I am to my own body.
I’m not sure exactly when it happened, but it did.
We wait. Time drags, each second a burning drip of honey in my chest. When the nurse finally calls our names, I jump up too fast and have to steady myself on Zane’s arm. We follow her down a maze of linoleum corridors, Cole practically vibrating with each step.
“Room 214,” the nurse says, gesturing. “He’s awake, just a little groggy.”
I reach for the handle and pause, looking at Zane and Cole. “We go together.”
“Yeah,” Cole says. “Together.”
I hold my breath and open the door.
The smell of disinfectant hits first, although it’s not enough to mask the underlying scent of ocean that still clings to Lucas like a second skin. He’s propped up in bed, hair a wet thatch on his forehead, the hospital gown already rumpled and riding up toexpose tanned thighs and a freckle I’d never noticed before. The monitor next to him beeps out a steady rhythm. He grins when he sees us, but it’s thinner than usual and his eyes are bruised with exhaustion.
“Am I hallucinating, or did you bring the whole pack?” Lucas asks.
Cole barrels forward and nearly crushes Lucas in a cinnamon-scented hug. Lucas groans but returns it, his hand tangling awkwardly in Cole’s hoodie.
“I’m not dead yet.”
“And we’re very happy to hear that,” I say.
Zane stands at the end of the bed with his arms crossed. “You’re an idiot,” he says, but there’s no bite to it. He checks the bandage on Lucas’s wrist and then the IV line. He clearly doesn’t trust the nurses to have done it right.
Cole lets go and it’s my turn. I want to collapse onto the bed and cry, but I settle for perching on the edge and squeezing his hand. His palm is clammy, the callouses more pronounced against my skin.
“What happened?” I ask.
Lucas shrugs, but his bravado is muted. “Kid got sucked out on a rip. I went after him. He was heavy. By the time I got us both back to the sand, everything went a bit… black.” He tries for a laugh, but it sounds like a wheeze.
“Jesus,” Cole mutters.
We sit there, the four of us, the way we have been on late nights after the bakery closed, except this time there’s no hot chocolate or table to huddle around. My heart pounds a wild staccato. The omega in me stirs, desperate to soothe and heal.
Lucas must sense it. His thumb brushes gently over mine. “Hey, I’m okay. See?” He wiggles his toes. “All present and accounted for.”
We laugh, too loud for a hospital. I squeeze his hand tighter.
Zane clears his throat. “You should rest. Cole and I will go sort paperwork with the nurses. Helena, keep an eye on him?”
I kiss the back of Lucas’s hand. “I think I can manage that.”
Cole smiles knowingly. “We’ll give you two a minute.”
The door clicks shut and the room feels suddenly too quiet, too full of everything we’re not saying. I perch on the bed again, closer this time. Lucas doesn’t let go of my hand.
“You really scared me.” It comes out more accusing than I mean.
