Page 109 of The Werewolf’s Wrong Mate

Cassie

Inside, the suite felt smaller than it had that morning.

No Ronan at the door. No Ian at the window. No Lucien with that polished calm. Just Sava, the nurse, the locked windows, and the faint pull beneath my bandage stretching toward the door.

I hated how much emptier the room felt without him.

That was not romance.

It was the mark.

It had to be.

Sava helped me into bed and checked the bite. The black lines were faint now, clustered close around the bandage. She seemed pleased. I distrusted pleased doctors on principle.

“How long will he be gone?” I asked.

Sava didn’t look up. “You mean Ian.”

“No, I mean the other terrifying man my shoulder keeps tabs on.”

“At least an hour if Brenner can speak.”

The mark tightened again and I breathed through it.

Sava paused. “Pain?”

“Not exactly.”

“Explain.”

I stared at the ceiling. “It’s like my body knows he’s gone and keeps waiting for the room to correct itself.”

Sava’s hands stilled.

I turned my head toward her. “Do not look excited.”

“I am not excited.”

“You look like someone gave you a puzzle with organs.”

“I am concerned.”

“That’s worse.”

She covered the bandage again. “The connection is expanding beyond pain response. That does not mean it is permanent.”

“Does saying that make patients less likely to panic?”

“Sometimes.”

“Has it ever worked?”

“No.”

At least she was honest.

The nurse brought water. I drank because Sava watched me until refusal became more exhausting than compliance.