Chapter 46

Cora

Riley was so excited, he didn’t even wait for me to tie his skates. He just plopped down on the bench, tugged at the laces with clumsy fingers, and grinned up at me with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes.

“I’ve got it, Mom. I want to learn everything myself.”

I chuckled, even as my fingers itched to help. “You’ll still need me to drive you here, bud.”

The rink echoed with the scrape of blades and shouts of encouragement from coaches. Other parents watched from behind the glass, chatting about equipment brands and competition goals.

It was also so unbelievably and reassuringly normal in the absolute chaos of my life.

I leaned forward, elbows on the railing, trying to let their normalcy ground me. It had been days since the fake engagement, and I wasn’t feeling any better about it. My stomach was still twisted into tense knots at all hours.

Things between us had stayed cool and professional, like the whole thing had never happened. Like the kiss, the look in his eyes, and every secret moment we’d shared had been a dream.

But I had asked for that. Hadn’t I?

I needed this morning. I needed Riley and his wild grin and his tiny legs pumping furiously to keep up with the bigger kids. He wasn’t great yet—his knees wobbled—but he was trying. And my heart swelled with pride watching him try.

Then he fell.

At first, I smiled, expecting him to pop back up like always.

But he then didn’t.

He lay crumpled on the ice, his tiny limbs unmoving, skates at awkward angles.

The shriek that ripped from my throat didn’t sound human. It didn’t even sound like that of a werewolf. It was so primal and anguished.

I jumped the rink barrier, nearly slipping myself, and scrambled across the ice, uncaring of the cold seeping through my jeans. The coach had already knelt beside him. His lips were moving, calling Riley’s name. His eyes fluttered open, then rolled back.

“Call an ambulance!” someone yelled.

I scooped him up, clutching his limp body to my chest. His skin was pale.

He was bleeding from what looked like a shallow cut on his head from falling. But with Riley, even a shallow cut could be a serious problem.

His medical diagnosis made it clear how easy it would be for him to bleed out.

He needed help. Fast.

“Hold on, bud,” I begged, clutching him like a lifeline. “Hold on.”

The sirens were a blur. The hospital lights, the questions from staff, the endless paperwork; I barely remembered any of it.

Hours passed. Or maybe they were only minutes. Time was a broken thing in a hospital waiting room.

When the doctor finally came out, I stood so fast I nearly fell over. “Is he okay? What happened?”

The doctor, a tall woman with steel-gray hair and sharp eyes, held a clipboard tight to her chest. Her voice was calm, but her words were anything but.

“Your son experienced an episode caused by an underlying genetic anomaly. His physiology is putting extreme strain on his circulatory system. Based on the early tests, he has a rare blood condition that affects certain werewolf lineages—specifically those with Silverfang blood markers.”

I blinked, frozen. “Silverfang?”

She gave a slight nod. “It’s not uncommon in older, pure-blooded lines, but in hybrids, it presents differently. More dangerously. He’ll need a minor surgical intervention, but unfortunately…”

She hesitated.

I felt the chill of that pause. “What?”

“There’s a waitlist for the surgical unit that handles werewolf-variant physiology,” she said, too carefully. “Due to your son’s hybrid status and the fact that you’re listed as his sole human guardian, his file doesn’t qualify him for emergency priority.”

I stared at her, uncomprehending. “So because I’m registered as a human, my son has to suffer for longer?”

She didn’t flinch. “I understand how that sounds. But resources are stretched. Unless his condition worsens significantly, we can’t move him ahead in line.”

I wanted to scream. I wanted to break something. But all I did was nod, then return to Riley’s bedside with fury curling like acid in my gut.

I was used to this discrimination against myself. But against my son? I was so horrified that I was rendered numb.

He looked so small in that hospital bed. His chest rose and fell in steady, machine-aided rhythms. There were no more giggles, no cries of “Mom, look at me skate!” Just the hiss of oxygen and the occasional beeping of his heart monitor.

I pulled a chair up beside him and wrapped both hands around his. “I won’t let them make you wait, baby,” I whispered, kissing his knuckles. “You’re not half-anything. You’re everything.”

I brushed back his hair. I would find a solution. “And I will fight for you,” I told him. “I swear it.”

I didn’t cry. Not then. I was past crying. I was something harder now.

Later, after a nurse finally convinced me to take a short break, I sat outside the hospital on a cold iron bench, cradling a coffee I didn’t plan to drink. I stared blankly at the steam rising from the cup, wondering how things had unraveled so completely and running through my list of options.

The universe had picked me up, chewed me through, and spit me back out into a nightmare.

I didn’t even hear Ethan approach until he sat beside me and nudged my arm.

“Got you a real one,” he said, holding out a second cup. “Not the brown water from inside.”

I took it, my fingers brushing his. “Thanks.”

I had asked him to come so that he could try to leverage his Silverfang status to get Riley in. The nurses were unmoved, even when we tried to play the false engagement card.

But even after they had denied us, he had stayed, dutiful and gentlemanly as always.

He studied me for a moment. “I heard about Riley.”

“Does Kingston…?” I couldn’t finish the question. He knew what I was about to ask.

Ethan shook his head. “He knows. I had to tell him before I left to come here.”

Something in my chest twisted at that. I didn’t know if I wanted Kingston to know or not. Part of me ached for him, wanting him to come charging into the hospital, angry on Riley’s behalf, willing to tear down the medical bureaucracy for our son.

But we weren’t a “we.” Not anymore. Maybe not ever.

“This is such bullshit,” Ethan growled.

“Yeah. Welcome to my world.”

A beat of silence stretched between us. I wasn’t sure how to break it, or if I even had the strength.

Then Ethan stood. “I’ll see if I can pull any more strings. Might not be fast, but I’ll try.”

“Thank you.”

He hesitated. “You’re not alone, Cora. I know it feels like it. But you’re not.”

I gave him a weary smile and watched him walk away.

Not alone. Maybe not. But I was exhausted. And my son still lay behind glass walls, hooked up to machines, caught in the crossfire of genetics and politics.

Whatever it took, however long it took, I would get him that surgery. I would fight the system. The Silverfang rules. The coldness in Kingston’s eyes. The whisper campaigns. Amy. Daisy. All of them.

I had survived everything they’d thrown at me.

And I wasn’t done yet.

Not while my son still needed me.