Page 40 of The Werewolf’s Wrong Mate

“Accident near the restricted grounds. Internal injuries. A fall. Liability. Grief. Compensation.”

Ian made a sound low in his chest and the doctor’s eyes flicked to him.

Ronan’s didn’t.

I stared at the man at the foot of my bed and understood him better than I wanted to. He didn’t hate me. He didn’t pity me either. I was not a woman to him. I was exposure. Risk. A body that had fallen into the gears of whatever impossible machine kept his world hidden.

Ian was the one sitting beside me with horror under his skin. Ronan was the one deciding where the blood would be easiest to mop.

“You’ve thought this through,” I said.

“I have to.”

“And if I live?”

He paused. That pause frightened me more than the first answer.

“If you live,” he said, “then we have a different problem.”

I laughed once, or tried to. “Comforting.”

“Do not mistake me,” Ronan said. “There are wolves outside this room arguing that killing you now would be mercy. Others believe it would be law. A few believe it would simply be prudent.”

“Prudent.”

“Yes.”

“Lovely. Hate to be murdered irresponsibly.”

Dr. Sava’s mouth twitched for half a second.

Ronan’s didn’t.

Ian stood so abruptly the chair scraped hard against the floor. The shift in him was immediate. The air pressed down. Henry woke in the corner and lifted his head.

Ronan looked at his brother now. “Sit down.”

“They are talking about killing her outside this door.”

“They are talking. They are alive because they have not done more.”

Ian’s hands had curled at his sides. I saw the tips of claws pushing through his fingers before he forced them back.

My heart stuttered.

His eyes were gold again.

Ronan stepped closer to him. “If you tear through my council, every human on the west terrace hears it. If you kill Silas Thorne on resort grounds, his pack calls it murder before sunrise. If you run with her, she dies before you reach the lower road, and then you go feral with a dead human in your arms.”

“Do not speak as if I do not know consequence.” Ian growled.

“I am speaking because you are one breath from forgetting you care.”

Ian’s jaw worked.

The monitor sped up. Mine. It had to be mine. Unless the machine had decided to track the entire room’s bad decisions.

Dr. Sava looked between them. “Both of you stop measuring antlers and let me keep the impossible patient breathing.”