Page 109 of The Alpha King’s Hidden Mute Mate

I wanted to say "sure, no problem, whatever you say," but my lips wouldn't obey. They felt leaden, impossible to lift. After struggling, all I managed was a muffled sound like a drowning man's last breath.

The feeling was familiar. Five years ago in Moon Valley, I'd opened my mouth like this too, unable to make any sound. Except back then, I'd only lost the ability to howl. Now—I might be losing everything.

"Zane!"

Her voice sharpened with an edge I'd never heard from her before. That edge pierced through my sinking consciousness like a needle, dragging me up slightly.

I forced my eyes open. Her face hovered above mine, backlit by moonlight, silhouetted in silver. Her hair fell around us, creating a private space that belonged only to us.

"Don't you dare die on me here," she said, each word squeezed through clenched teeth. "You hear me? You owe me too much to die. You haven't seen Lily grow up. You haven't—"

She stopped, drew a deep breath like she was suppressing something.

"You haven't made it up to me."

I wanted to laugh. Really. Because when she said "made it up," she sounded like she was discussing an investment she wasn't sure she'd recoup. But my mouth only twitched, probably looking more like a grimace.

"Mia..." I started, voice rough as sandpaper on wood. Each word required all my strength, like drawing water from a dry well. "I—"

"Don't talk," she cut me off, voice commanding. "Save your strength."

"No," I said, stubborn as a mule. "Let me speak. I'm afraid—there won't be another chance."

Her expression cracked for an instant—tiny fractures, barely noticeable, but I saw them. Her eyes reddened, but she didn't let the tears fall. She just bit her lip until it went white, then nodded.

"My whole life," I said, voice breaking up like a radio with bad reception, "I've made a lot of mistakes. The biggest—was not believing you."

She didn't speak. But her fingers pressed tighter against my wound, as if saying, I hear you.

"Those songs you wrote," I continued, each word like pulling nails from my throat, "those lyrics—I should've known the first time I read them. That feeling—that soul-struck feeling—only you could give me that. Not Leah. Never her."

"Zane—"

"Let me finish," I interrupted, feeling my consciousness blur from the edges like someone shutting off lights in my brain from the outside in. "I'm afraid if I don't finish now, I'll never get the chance."

I drew a deep breath. My lungs burned.

"I have regrets. Every day, every night, every minute. Regret not believing you, regret putting you on that path, regret not discovering Lily was my daughter sooner—" I paused, gasping for air. "Regret missing the moment she was born, her first smile, her first steps, the first time she said mama—"

My voice finally trembled.

"I missed too much. Too much."

Something warm dropped on my face. Not my blood. Her tears.

She was crying. That woman who never showed weakness in front of me, who wouldn't shed a tear even when pushed to the edge—she was crying. Tears fell silently, landing on my face, mixing with my blood until I couldn't tell which was hers and which was mine.

"So you can't die," she said, voice hoarse but firm. "You owe me, and you have to live to pay it back. You owe Lily, and you have to live to pay it back. You hear me?"

I looked at her. At her stubborn, undefeated eyes. At the tear tracks on her face. At her fingers covered in my blood.

I wanted to say I heard. Wanted to say I'd try. Wanted to say I'm sorry.

But my eyelids were too heavy. Like someone was stacking lead weights on them, one after another, heavier and heavier. Darkness crept inward from the edges of my vision like a slow but unstoppable tide.

"Zane!" Her voice grew distant, like it was behind thick glass. "Zane! Don't sleep!"

I heard her. But I couldn't respond.