Chapter 77

ELENA

The nurses were shouting.

"Vitals are dropping—get him inside, now!"

"Pediatric trauma team is prepped. Let's move!"

A stretcher appeared like magic, and they lifted Aiden from Derek’s arms. I tried to follow them into the emergency bay, but a nurse stepped into my path. “You can’t go in yet,” she said gently. “We’ll come talk to you as soon as we can.”

“But I—he’s my—” My voice cracked, splintering at the edges.

They were already disappearing down the hall.

Someone handed me a clipboard. Another nurse gently took it back when I couldn’t hold my pen steady enough to sign. There were voices, monitors, beeping. So much motion. Too much.

And then it stopped.

The double doors swung shut.

And the quiet swallowed me whole.

I stood there in the silence, blinking at the space where my son had just been. My arms ached, phantom limbs searching for the little body that wasn’t there anymore. For the weight, the warmth, the life.

I took one step back, then another. Turned. And stumbled into Derek’s embrace.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t flinch. Just opened his arms, and I stepped into them like I was stepping off a ledge.

His arms came around me immediately—strong, warm, anchoring me to something that wasn’t the screaming in my head.

I clung to him.

Not because I had forgiven him. Not because I wasn’t still angry and confused and broken. But because I needed to breathe.

Because he was solid and warm and here. Because my son’s blood was still on his skin, and it felt like the closest thing I had to Aiden.

His breath was steady against the side of my head. Mine was ragged.

I didn’t know I was crying until I felt the tears dripping down my cheek. And I shook. Trembling from fear and cold and shock.

And after a few moments, he noticed.

“You’re freezing,” he murmured. His hand moved gently against my back, the heat of his palm soaking through the blanket someone had draped over me.

I hadn’t realized how cold I was until he said it.

Derek looked over my shoulder and caught Joe’s eye. “Get us clothes,” he said softly but firmly. “Whatever you can find. Now.”

Joe gave a quick nod and disappeared through the doors.

And Derek just kept holding me.

As if he could shield me from what came next. As if he already knew he couldn’t.

After a few more moments of drawing on his warmth, I pulled back slightly, composing myself.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured, brushing a tear from my cheek. “I didn’t mean to fall apart.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” he said softly. His voice was steady, but his eyes looked wrecked. “You held it together longer than most would have.”

I nodded, accepting the complement and then, finally noticing just how much of our bare skin was touching, I pulled back, stepped away him.

Derek followed me into the waiting area and sat down beside me. Not too close. Just close enough.

I didn’t look at him. Didn’t speak. Just stared down the hallway where they’d taken my son.

“I don’t remember the last thing I said to him,” I said vacantly.

He reached out and put a hand on my shoulder. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “You’ll remember the next thing. And so will he.”

I finally turned to him. It was such a kindness he was paying me. Had paid me.

Goddess, he had saved our lives.

"You don’t have to stay," I said finally, my voice raw. "You’ve done enough."

"I’m not leaving," he said simply.

I didn’t argue. I couldn’t.

Joe arrived not long after, carrying a department store bag in each hand. I hadn’t even realized he’d left. He handed Derek a clean shirt and jeans, then turned to me.

"This is for you," he said quietly. "There’s a sweatshirt and leggings inside. A jacket, too."

I took the bag with numb fingers and nodded. "Thank you."

The fluorescent lights flickered slightly above the women’s restroom. I slipped inside and locked the door, grateful for the moment of privacy. The clothes were soft, warm, and mercifully simple.

I peeled off the swimsuit with trembling hands, the fabric stiff with dried saltwater, sand, and blood.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

Red eyes. Streaked mascara. Blood on my shoulder that wasn’t mine. Blood on my hands.

I stared for a long moment. I looked like someone I didn’t recognize—haunted and hollow. Like the version of myself I’d once promised I’d never become. The kind who couldn’t keep her child safe.

The faucet groaned when I turned it on. I washed my hands in the sink, scrubbing until my skin stung, until the water swirling down the drain turned from pink to clear.

It felt like I was washing him away. Like every trace of Aiden—his warmth, his breath, his light—was being pulled into the pipes.

I braced my palms against the cool porcelain, bowing my head.

“You’re a Luna,” I whispered to myself, closing my eyes. “Get it together.” But the words came out cracked.

I dried my hands. Pulled the sweatshirt over my head. Tugged the leggings up my shaking legs. Zipped the jacket with fingers that barely worked.

Then I stepped back into the hall—and found Derek waiting just outside.

He was leaning against the wall, arms folded, jaw clenched tight like he’d been holding himself together by sheer will. He had cleaned up as well, was dressed in crisp linen pants and a white-button-down shirt.

His eyes snapped to mine the second the door opened, and for a beat, we just looked at each other.

He didn’t speak.

He just reached out and gently tucked a strand of damp hair behind my ear.

I finally, finally came back to myself.

"Why are you here?" I asked. "Why did you come to Barbados?"

He looked at me, serious and unflinching.

"I came for you."

I didn’t have time to ask what he meant.

A doctor appeared at the end of the hallway, walking briskly toward us.

"Are you the parents?" he asked.

I froze. I felt Derek do the same beside me.

"I’m the mother," I said quickly.

The doctor nodded. "Can I speak with you privately?"

He led me a few steps away and folded his hands.

"Your son’s wounds were severe. He lost a significant amount of blood. We’re treating him for silver poisoning. We’ve done what we can for now—but we need to perform a transfusion."

"So do it," I said. "Give him a transfusion. Is there something I need to sign? Do you need—"

The doctor interjected.

"It’s not that simple.” He hesitated. “Are you aware that your son has a very rare blood type?"

I remembered our pediatrician mentioning something about this just after he was born, but I was so high on meeting the new little life I’d created that I hadn’t given it much thought since.

"Shifters already have a limited donor pool—we can’t give them human blood. And Aiden has an even rarer type than most: ABX. Are you… Are you ABX?”

My mouth had gone dry. "I’m not."

The doctor sighed. "That’s what we were afraid of. We don’t have nearly enough on the island. We’ve already contacted our off-site partners, but—"

"Can’t you fly it in?!" I said, panic rising in my chest.

He shook his head. "Not in time."

He looked at me gently but firmly. "We’re going to do everything we can. But without a transfusion—and soon—it’s unlikely your son will make it through the night."

My knees gave out, and I grabbed the wall beside me to stay standing.

Not like this.

Not my boy.

Not Aiden.