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“What does that fucking mean?” I asked. Deep down, I knew.
“He may have survived, but his wolf didn’t,” he replied. “She killed his wolf.”
Fuck. I hung my head as I processed that. A life without our wolves was life with a fucking empty hole we couldn’t fix. Even with my wolf merged with my own fucking soul, I still felt weird, but I’d be fine once I got used to it. A lifetime of emptiness? That was fucking torture. No one deserved that.
“Do you know of anything that could help him feel normal again?”
“No.” Lane shook his head. “I’ll keep my ears open, and I’ll ask Knight if he’s ever heard of anything.”
I snorted like I did every time he ever mentioned Knight. Knight Harper was a literal knight. From the dark ages. Lane had made him immortal before ever checking if the man wanted to be an immortal weapon. The thing was, Knight wasn’t questionably moral in any way. He was a good guy—a fucking golden retriever—so he flat-out refused to take part in any of the dark shit Lane did. Still, Lane took care of the guy because it was his fault Knight was immortal. That didn’t stop Lane from being a petty asshole every time Knight needed a new identity rotated in. He kept naming the poor fucking man Knight out of spite. And Knight being such a goddamn good man, he just fucking rolled with it. The whole thing was comical.
“I appreciate that,” I told him.
“And Genevieve?” He glanced over his shoulder. He couldn’t see her through the dark glass—well, maybe he could—but with the door shut, I sure as fuck hoped she couldn’t hear us. I finally got her to sleep comfortably. “Is she doing okay?”
All the loaded questions.
“She’ll be okay,” I said. At least I hoped she would be with every fiber of my fucking being. “I finally got her to sleep, so that’s something. We’ll find out tomorrow if she needs surgery on her shoulder. I’m not sure… I think we’ll take shit day by day.”
“Probably a good thing,” Lane murmured. Reaching into his pocket, he held out a black capsule. “Give her this.”
“What the fuck is it?” I took it, holding it close to inspect it. The contents inside swirled unnaturally. “Is that… magic? Why are you giving my wife fucking magic?”
“It’ll make sure she carries to full term without complications,” he replied. What? My head snapped in his direction, eyes widening. Instead of caring, he handed me a folded piece of paper. “Review this and put it in your own words for when you see her OB. Your wife needs to see a hematologist.”
“A what?” I asked stupidly.
“A doctor who specializes in blood and blood disorders,” he explained.
“Oh…” I put both the capsule and the paper into my pocket. His kindness made no sense. “Why would you help her?”
“I had children once,” Lane said honestly, his gaze fixed on the city. I didn’t say a fucking word. Lane didn’t talk about his personal life. I knew what he was and oddball details about his life that he deemed important enough to share, but at his core, he was incredibly private. I knew more about his business than anything else. “Two sons—Charles and Michael. They were good boys. Young.”
He fell silent, lost in a memory that was probably centuries old. I let him have the space he needed. Loss was loss no matter how much time passed.
“No child deserves death.” He sighed. “And I think I’ve grown fond of your wife. Her tenacity entertains me, especially where you’re concerned.”
“What did it cost you?” I asked, fussing with my cigarette. When he cocked a brow, I elaborated, “You’ve always said you can’t use dark magic for inherently good things. You saved Nolan’s life using magic to get him to the hospital and now Genevieve. What did it cost you?”
“My soul.”
“How so?”
“I sold my soul for my magic. It’s why I can do what I fucking do. I don’t feel a fucking thing. But every time I do something inherently good with magic, I regain a tiny fucking sliver of my soul. Maybe saving Nolan is why I even felt something enough to do something for Genevieve. Who knows? I don’t fucking like it.”
“Lane Stevens has fucking feelings.” I chuckled. “What’s next? Maybe you’ll fall in love. What’ll Beau think of that?”
“I’ll take your goddamn tongue, Byrne,” he snarled. “You know I will.”
“I don’t doubt that,” I said. “Thank you. From both of us. From all of us. You kept our family together. Hell, you’re making sure Genevieve and I have a family.”
Who would’ve thought Lane Stevens had a fucking soft spot? Certainly not me, but I was fucking grateful for it. I was also considering never letting him live it down, but there was a good chance he’d hurt me if I did that.
“You’ll make good parents,” Lane commented. “Your daughters are lucky to have both of you.”
“We’ll see about that,” I replied. And then what he’d said hit me. Wait? What? “Did you just say daughters?”
“Yes.”
