Chapter 109

The days that followed became a strange rhythm of hope and despair, marked by the steady beep of monitors and the soft shuffle of nurses' shoes on linoleum. The medical facility became my world, reduced to the narrow space between my mother's bed and the uncomfortable chairs that Kane somehow kept replacing with better ones.

I lost track of time. Meals arrived when Kane brought them. Coffee appeared at my elbow when my eyes grew heavy. Blankets materialized when the air conditioning made me shiver. It was like having a guardian angel who refused to acknowledge his own existence.

My mother's condition rode a roller coaster that left everyone exhausted. One hour she'd be sitting up, asking pointed questions about Kane's marital status. The next, alarms would sound and healers would rush in, their faces tight with professional worry.

During the worst episode, when her breathing turned shallow and the monitors screamed warnings, I found myself gripping Kane's hand without thinking. He didn't pull away. For those terrifying minutes while the medical team worked, he anchored me to something solid while my world threatened to collapse.

"She's fighting," he said quietly, his thumb brushing across my knuckles. "She's stronger than she looks."

When the crisis passed and my mother was stable again, I realized we were still holding hands. Kane noticed at the same moment, his eyes widening slightly before he carefully disentangled our fingers.

"Status update for the Alpha King," he said, his voice rougher than usual. But he didn't step back to his normal three-foot radius.

The nursing staff had started treating Kane like furniture—permanent, reliable furniture that brought coffee and moved chairs and somehow always knew when someone needed help. They'd stopped questioning his constant presence, accepting him as part of the landscape.

"Your boyfriend never sleeps," Nurse Patricia commented while checking my mother's vitals. "Three days straight, I've seen him here."

"He's not my—" I started automatically.

"Course not, honey," she said with a knowing grin. "That's why he looks at you like you hung the moon and rearranges his entire schedule around your mother's treatment."

Kane, standing precisely four feet away and pretending not to hear, developed a fascinating red flush that spread from his collar to his ears.

My mother, despite her weakness, continued her campaign of gentle observation and pointed comments. She had the advantage of being flat on her back with nothing to do but watch Kane pace the room like a caged wolf.

"You know," she said during one of her clearer moments, her voice carrying just far enough for Kane to hear, "I might be older now, but I can spot someone who's lovesick from across a battlefield."

Kane's military posture somehow became even more rigid, if that was possible.

"He's just doing his job," I said weakly.

"Darling," my mother's voice held gentle amusement, "his job is to protect you from assassins. Not to research experimental treatments, consult with specialists from four different territories, and personally taste-test your food to make sure you're eating properly."

I glanced at Kane, who was suddenly very interested in studying the window blinds. "You've been taste-testing my food?"

"Quality control," he said without turning around. "Poison detection protocols."

"The apple slices I brought yesterday?"

"...Potentially compromised fruit."

My mother's laugh was weak but delighted. "Oh, you two are hopeless."

The nights were hardest. When visiting hours ended and the facility grew quiet, anxiety would creep in like fog. My mother looked so small in the hospital bed, surrounded by machines that breathed for her when she couldn't manage it herself.

Kane had taken to sleeping in the chair beside my cot in the family room. Every night, I'd tell him he could go back to his own quarters. Every night, he'd find some official reason why he needed to stay.

"Security protocols require twenty-four-hour surveillance during medical crises," he'd say, settling into the chair that couldn't possibly be comfortable for someone his size.

"Kane," I said softly during one of these nights, "thank you. For everything."

He was quiet for a long time, and when I looked at him, I saw he was deeply asleep. I smiled and gently placed a blanket over him.

During one of my mother's worst episodes, when her temperature spiked and she became delirious, she started talking about my father. Not the bitter, angry man who'd blamed me for her illness, but the young man she'd fallen in love with years ago.

"He used to bring me flowers," she whispered, her eyes unfocused. "Wild ones from the forest edge. Said store-bought flowers didn't have any soul."

Kane listened to her rambling stories with the same attention he gave intelligence briefings. When she mentioned being cold, he found extra blankets. When she complained about the harsh lighting, he somehow procured softer lamps for the room.

"You remind me of him," my mother told Kane during a brief moment of clarity. "Back when he was young and thought love was stronger than fear."

Kane's face went through several expressions before settling on carefully neutral. "I'm not sure I understand, ma'am."

"Oh, I think you do," my mother said with a weak smile. "The question is whether you're brave enough to admit it."

The breakthrough came during my mother's fifth day in intensive care. I was dozing in the chair beside her bed when she started talking, her voice stronger than it had been since the crisis began.

"Aurora?" she said clearly.

I jerked awake, immediately alert. "I'm here, Mom."

"Where's Kane?"

I looked around the room, realizing for the first time in days that he wasn't within sight. "I... I don't know. He's usually here."

"Find him," she said with sudden urgency. "I need to talk to both of you."

I found Kane in the corridor, pacing like a man trying to walk off nervous energy. His hair was disheveled, his usually perfect uniform wrinkled. He looked like he'd been running his hands through his hair and hadn't slept in days.

"She's asking for you," I said.

Relief flooded his face before he could hide it. "She's better?"

"Much better. And she wants to talk to both of us."

When we returned to her room, my mother was sitting up slightly, more alert than she'd been since the crisis started. Her eyes moved between Kane and me with the calculating look I remembered from my childhood.

"Sit down, both of you," she said, her voice carrying echoes of the authority she'd once wielded as pack advisor. "We need to have a conversation about all this foolishness."

Kane remained standing, maintaining professional distance even in the face of a direct request from my recovering mother.

"Young man," my mother said firmly, "I'm not going to crane my neck to look at you. Sit down."

Kane sat. I hid a smile at seeing someone actually order him around successfully.

"Now," my mother continued, "I'm not going to live forever. This illness has reminded me that time isn't guaranteed to any of us."

"Mom, don't—"

"Hush, dear. I need to say this while I have the strength." She turned her sharp gaze on Kane. "You love my daughter."

It wasn't a question. Kane's mouth opened, then closed without sound.

"And you," she looked at me, "love him back, even though he's too scared to let you close enough to tell him so."

The room fell silent except for the steady beep of monitors. Kane looked like he was trying to disappear into his chair.

"I've watched good people waste years being afraid of feelings that could make them happy," my mother continued. "Don't let fear keep you from love, either of you. Life is too short to waste on walls that don't protect anything worth protecting."

Her words settled over us like a challenge neither of us knew how to answer.