“Then let me go with you,” I say, frustration making me impatient.
She meets my eyes, the conflict there cutting deep. “No. This isn’t something you can fix for me.”
“I don’t want to fix it. I just don’t want you walking in there alone. I want to support you. To help you.”
“That’s not your place,” she says. “You’ve done enough.”
I step between her and the door. “He has to have someone else who can go be with him.”
Emily slides past me, grabbing her keys from the workbench. “He only has his new Alphas, and if one of them hurt him…” She swallows hard. “I can’t leave him there, alone and scared. I wouldn’t do that to anyone.”
“Emily—”
She doesn’t look at me this time. “I’ll be back. Just wait for me.”
Her chin lifts with the same determination I’ve seen her show on the construction site when tackling a difficult dilemma.
The door opens, a blast of cold night air rushing in and raising goose bumps along my arms. Wind lifts strands of her silver hair, swirling them around her face. For a heartbeat, she pauses in the doorway, silhouetted by the darkness.
Then the door closes with finality, leaving me alone in the warm workshop with the heat of her still on my lips and the dragon lying on its side, its wing caught in mid-repair.
The echo of her footsteps fades, followed by the distant rumble of her truck’s engine.
The urge to call a rideshare and go after her nearly drowns out my inner voice, reminding me that she needs time alone, not another Alpha telling her what to do.
Instead, I pick up the fallen dragon and set it upright. The clamp holds firm, keeping the broken pieces aligned until the bond sets strong enough to stand on its own.
I hope Emily proves stronger than the dragon.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Emily
My boots squeak on the tile as I follow the blue line toward the emergency room, each step heavier than the last, as if my body understands what my mind refuses to acknowledge.
I shouldn’t be here.
The air holds the sting of antiseptic and pheromone blockers that burns my nose, and the ceiling lights buzz with the electric hum of overuse.
At the check-in desk, a nurse in pale blue scrubs taps her pen on a clipboard. “Can I help you?”
“I’m here for Auren Dovelle.” Saying his name gives me none of the old flutters. Now, I just feel resigned. “I received a call. I’m his emergency contact.”
Her fingers click on the keyboard. “Room 112. Down the hall, third door on your right.”
“Thank you.”
I pass a couple deep in discussion outside a closed door and a janitor pushing a mop across the tiles.
Outside Auren’s door, I pause to gather myself.
Through the narrow window, I catch sight of Auren curled on the bed, lavender hair spread out over the white pillow. His slight frame appears even smaller beneath the thin hospital blanket. A bandage wraps his left wrist, and from this angle, I can see the purple bloom of a bruise on his cheekbone.
My Alpha instincts flare with the demand to protect. Someone hurt what was once mine. But then my rational mind catches up, and doubt follows close behind.
This isn’t the first time I’ve visited Auren in the hospital. I’ve seen his self-inflicted wounds before. Always visible in places that would draw sympathy, but never severe enough to cause permanent damage.
Always after a big fight, when I refused to back down and give in to his demands.