Chapter 37

Nicholas’s POV

The smell of twisted metal and gasoline burned my nostrils as I tore at the car door, muscles straining until my fingers ached and my knuckles cracked. Rain plastered my hair to my forehead, poured down my face, mingling with the sweat and blood that already coated my skin. The wreck was a crumpled cage, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except her.

“Esther!”

Her head lolled against the seat, slick with blood, her dark hair stuck to her face and neck in matted strands. Her body felt frighteningly limp in the seatbelt, and for a heartbeat, the world stopped. My wolf howled inside me, a raw, primal sound that vibrated through bone and muscle alike.

No. She couldn’t be—

I grabbed her shoulders, shaking her lightly, desperation clawing through every nerve. “Esther! Open your eyes!”

Nothing.

Rage collided with terror, a storm that made my chest ache. The road was deserted, slick and shining beneath the streetlamps, the rain hissing as it struck the asphalt. My hands, capable of crushing bones without effort, shook violently as I freed her from the seatbelt. She was too light, too fragile, a small bundle of life and blood and fear pressed into my chest.

She smelled of iron, of gasoline, of fear—and of me.

My throat tightened. I had hated her. Punished her. Tried to deny the bond, to bury it beneath years of cruelty and resentment. And yet here she was, broken and bleeding in my arms, and I realized with brutal clarity: if she died, a part of me would die too.

I carried her bridal-style through the rain, ignoring the danger, ignoring the slippery streets. Each step was an agony of fear, each second a countdown to the worst-case scenario I refused to name.

The hospital doors loomed ahead, sterile light spilling into the darkness. Staff snapped to attention the moment I burst through, water dripping from my coat, hands stained with her blood.

“She needs immediate attention,” I barked, voice rough and unsteady, echoing in the quiet waiting room. “Now!”

Doctors and nurses swarmed, gurneys rolling, hands grabbing, but I held her a moment longer, lingering on the warmth—or lack thereof—of her arm in my grip. Her skin was cold. Too cold.

I almost didn’t let them take her from me. The instinct to protect, to guard, was suffocating. I could not relinquish her, even to those who could save her. But I stepped back, fists clenched so tight my nails bit into my palms.

The hours crawled. Time stretched and folded, every minute a knife in my chest. I sat outside her room, the sterile pale blue walls blurring into each other. The hum of fluorescent lights, the distant shuffle of shoes on linoleum, the occasional sharp cry of a nurse’s radio—each sound shredded my nerves.

Dan came, hesitant, trying to pull me from my vigil. “Alpha, you should—”

“I’ll stay,” I said, voice tight, barely controlled. “You go.”

He looked at me with pity that burned, but he obeyed, vanishing with a reluctant nod.

I was alone. And yet, not alone. Norman prowled the edges of my mind, growling low, restless. My wolf blamed me for her state, for her pain, for every wrong I had done to push her into this life of shadows and lies.

I pressed a hand to my temple, muttering, “Shut up.”

But I could not shut down the truth. The thought gnawed at me: my cruelty had driven her here. My obsession, my punishment, my hatred—had it all led to this?

I thought I hated her once. I thought I had buried all traces of care and devotion beneath layers of anger and fury. And yet, sitting here, listening to the muted beeps and shuffles beyond the wall, I realized I had not hated her at all. I had been wrong.

I needed her alive. I needed to see her survive. To breathe. To fight.

Hours bled into each other. I barely moved, save for pacing like a caged animal when the silence became unbearable. My eyes never left the door. Every footstep in the hallway sent fresh terror twisting through me.

When the doctor finally emerged, weary and pale, I pounced. “She’s—?”

“She’s stable,” he said, voice cautious, surprised at my intensity. “She’ll wake soon. Rest would help most now.”

Relief slammed into me so hard my knees nearly buckled. I forced myself inside, ignoring his protests.

She lay there, pale and still, dark hair spread across the pillow like a shadow, lips parted slightly with shallow breaths. Bandages wrapped her head and shoulder, but she was alive. And that was all that mattered.

I sank into the chair beside her bed, the world outside ceasing to exist. I should have walked away. I should have left Kevin to tend to her, left her to the world that had pushed her into danger. But my body refused to move. My hands itched to touch her, to check that she was real, that she was breathing.

I stayed. Watching. Guarding. Wrestling with feelings I could neither name nor fully control.

When the first fragile light of dawn spilled through the hospital window, I was still there, hunched over in my chair, unmoving.

Esther’s POV

I woke to the sterile smell of disinfectant and the soft hum of machines. My head throbbed, every pulse a sharp reminder of the night before. Pain radiated through my ribs, my side, my head, a relentless chorus of agony that made me gasp every time I shifted.

For a moment, I did not know where I was. Panic crept in, small but sharp, a needle in my chest.

Then memory struck like a hammer.

Carl.

I bolted upright, but pain lanced through my side and back, forcing me to collapse back against the pillows with a groan.

“Easy.”

The voice froze me in place. My head turned slowly, and my heart nearly stopped.

Nicholas.

He sat in the chair beside my bed, massive and solid, hunched forward with elbows on his knees. His eyes, dark and stormy, were locked on me with a weight that pressed against my chest. Shadows under his eyes betrayed the hours he had spent awake, keeping vigil. His hair was damp and messy, his coat still clinging to him in the remnants of the night’s storm.

I swallowed, dry and shaky. “What are you doing here?”

His jaw flexed, tight with anger and worry. “You nearly died. I brought you here.”

The words did not compute. Nicholas—saving me? Sitting here beside me? Watching over me like a guardian instead of the tormentor I had spent six years imagining him to be?

I shook my head, clutching the blanket tighter. “I don’t need you.” My voice cracked, betraying the desperation I could not hide. “Where’s Carl? I need to see him.”

“Esther—”

“No!” I swung my legs over the bed, ignoring the stabbing pain that shot through my torso. My feet hit the cold floor, my balance unsteady. “Take me to him!”

“You’re not ready,” he growled, rising instantly. His presence loomed, controlling, protective. “You’ll tear your stitches.”

“I don’t care!” My voice rose, ragged, fraying with every ounce of fear and fury. “My son needs me!”

I swayed, my body trembling. My ribs protested each step. Nicholas’s hands caught my arms before I fell, strong and warm against my trembling frame.

For a moment, our eyes locked, the bond thrumming between us, sharp and undeniable. Every pulse, every heartbeat, seemed to echo between us, pulling tighter with the urgency of my desperation and the inevitability of his obsession.

I tore myself free, stumbling forward. “Don’t touch me. Just—don’t.”

The hallway blurred as I forced one step after another, bracing my hands against walls, grinding forward through pain and fear. Every nerve screamed at me to stop, to collapse, to let someone else carry the burden.

But my heart screamed louder.

Carl was all that mattered.

I would see him. I would not falter.

I would survive for him.

I would survive for them.