Chapter Twenty: Fractured Ties and Healing Touch

Cade's gasps rasped under my jaws, shallow and wet, blood pooling warm in my mouth. I bit harder, his grey wolf going limp, fur matted with crimson—seconds from death. My wolf relished it, claws flexing in the torn grass, the alpha title a breath away.

"STOP!" Mr. Harris's voice boomed, his old alpha command slamming through the crowd like a thunderclap. I froze, instinct warring with obedience, then reluctantly unclamped my jaws, growling low. Cade rolled, hacking, paws scrabbling as he sucked air, alive—damn it. My wolf snarled inside, cheated, but the man in me exhaled, conflicted. Killing him wasn't the goal; ending his control was.

Callie bolted from the circle, sobs tearing free, her dark blonde hair wild as she dropped beside him, clutching his bloodied fur. "Cade—oh Goddess, no—" Her cries pierced the dusk, hands trembling over his neck.

"SHIFT NOW!" Mr. Harris roared, his broad frame cutting through the stunned pack—grey hair streaked white, hazel eyes blazing like Cade's, authority unshaken despite years off the throne.

I rolled my eyes, shifting human with a groan—bones popping, fur receding—naked under a hundred stares, blood and dirt smeared across my chest. Someone tossed me shorts—rough denim, pack standard—and I yanked them on, wincing as the fabric scraped my torn hip. Another pair sailed to Cade, landing near Callie's knees as he shifted, coughing, a scarlet spray splattering the ground. Good. His grey fur faded, leaving him pale, clutching his neck, eyes glassy with pain.

Mr. Harris stormed over, boots crunching, his weathered face a mask of fury. "I don't know what the hell's going on, but both of you—hospital wing, now! We're sorting this tomorrow!" His order cracked like a whip, brooking no argument.

I groaned, stepping forward—pain lanced through my leg, the deep gash throbbing, blood seeping through the shorts. Tingles sparked on my arm, soft and warm—Electra, her green eyes wide with worry. "Are you alright?" Her voice trembled, flicking between me and Cade, torn. She hovered close, wildflower scent grounding me, her cream sweater streaked with field dust.

"Yeah, I'll be fine," I muttered, gritting my teeth as I limped again, my wrapped hand stiff but movable, fingers flexing despite the ache. She slid under my arm, lifting it over her shoulder—tingles flared, soothing the pain as she braced me. We shuffled toward the hospital wing, just past the pack house's cedar walls, her steps steady despite her worried glances back at Cade. Callie and two wolves hefted him onto a stretcher—his chest heaved, her hand locked in his, Blake's absence a silent weight. Electra's choice to help me first swelled my chest—mate pull or trust, it didn't matter. It meant something.

The walk was quiet, her silence heavy with unspoken words. I hated this—our first day as mates, tainted by blood and growls instead of peace. The hospital wing loomed—whitewashed brick, sharp with antiseptic—bustling as we staggered in. Nurses swarmed, eyes widening at my state: ear half-gone, hip oozing, leg a mess, hand wrapped tight. They shoved me onto a cot, springs creaking, and hooked a drip to my arm—clear fluid dripping, a needle's sting. "Sedative," one muttered, grey braid swinging. "You'll heal faster asleep—those wounds are too deep for quick fixes." My eyes drooped, the room blurring, and I was out.

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Darkness cloaked the room when I woke, the beep of a monitor faint, my eyelids lead-heavy. Sleep tugged, but Electra's absence clawed sharper—my wolf paced, restless, her wildflower scent a ghost I couldn't shake. I sat up slow, pain dulled but present, and spotted the gown—flimsy, ass-out nonsense. A chair held clean shorts and a white shirt, folded neat. I ripped the drip free, a bead of blood welling, and stood—each step ached, hip stiff, leg bandaged tight, hand wrapped but movable, fingers curling with a dull throb. Werewolf healing was fast, but Cade's blows were savage; it'd take a day or two to knit fully.

I peeled off the gown, grimacing at the bandages—chest wrapped, hip patched, leg a lattice of gauze. He'd got me good, the bastard. Shorts on, shirt tugged over my head, I limped out, catching Cade's room across the hall asleep, neck swathed in white, arm slung up, Callie curled in a chair beside him, her face drawn. I turned away, hobbling toward the exit.

A nurse—short, brown curls—blocked me, hands on my chest. "You can't leave!" She pushed, insistent.

I growled, low and warning; she yanked her hands back, eyes wide. "I'm fine," I snapped, limping past. Her touch rankled—only Electra's should linger there. She tutted, but didn't stop me.

The trek to Electra's room felt endless—hallways dim, hardwood cool under my bare feet, every step a dull thud of pain. A clock read past midnight; I hesitated, fist hovering over her purple door. Too late? No—I needed her, wolf and man both. I knocked soft, wood smooth against my knuckles, and heard her stir—sheets rustling, a sleepy mumble. The door swung open, her face lit by a bedside lamp—shocked, then soft, green eyes bleary, hair a tangled halo in a loose tee and shorts.

"What are you doing here? You should be in the hospital!" She fussed, hands darting to my chest—tingles bloomed, warm and sweet—trying to nudge me back down the hall.

I stood firm, grinning despite the ache. "Missed you." Her touch eased me, a balm. "Besides, they say mates heal you faster." I winked, leaning on bravado.

"You need the hospital—they'll take care of you," she said, sad, eyes flicking to my bandages.

I stepped closer, wincing but close enough to catch her scent—wildflowers, lavender from her room. "Don't need it. Just you." I pouted, playful, watching her fight a smile. "You smiled! Means I can stay!" I laughed, slipping past her into the purple haven—stuffed wolves on the dresser, plush toys piled high, fairy lights strung along the walls casting a soft glow.

I flopped onto the left side of her bed, springs squeaking under my weight, propping up on my good elbow—wrapped hand flexed, stiff but workable—and patted the empty space, grinning. She raised an eyebrow, arms crossed, hesitating by the door.

"I swear, no funny business," I said, voice softening. "My wolf's on edge—hurt, restless. I need you close." The instinct gnawed—protect her, hold her, or I'd unravel. She'd seen me bleed; I couldn't shield her from a cot in the medical wing.

She huffed, rolling her eyes, but shut the door with a click and padded over—bare feet silent on the rug. She slid in beside me, mattress dipping, her warmth a quiet promise. I lay still, every fibre screaming to pull her in, but I held back. "Goodnight," I murmured, voice low.

"Goodnight," she yawned, sleepy and soft.

Minutes ticked, her breathing steady, but my wolf wouldn't settle—her nearness a taunt, my arm itching to move. "Electra?" I whispered, nerves tightening my throat.

"Mmmm?" she hummed, half-gone.

Confidence faltered, but I pushed through. "Can I hold you?" A beat, then—

"Yes," she sighed, like it was absurd I'd ask.

I scooted close, arm circling her waist—tingles flared, warm and right. She pressed back, her spine flush against my chest, hair tickling my chin. I sighed, content, the ache fading under her touch. This—her in my arms, purple room glowing soft, mate bond humming—was the dream I'd buried after Natalie. Sleep hit fast, deep, and peaceful.