The moon healers’ robes swept the marble floor as they bowed slightly to Alpha Logan, eyes trained downward, too afraid to meet his gaze. Their voices were hushed, sacred almost, as they passed their verdict.
“She needs rest. She needs food. Her body’s in survival mode.”
That was all.
No dramatic cure. No magical chant to fix whatever the hell was tearing Maya apart.
The Alpha’s jaw clenched. He could hear every damn second that ticked by like a countdown in his head. His entire mansion was silent, except for Maya’s shallow breathing and the fading footsteps of the moon healers.
He sat by her bedside, his hand never leaving hers. She stirred, her lips parting slightly, her lashes fluttering like wings weighed down by a storm.
Then her voice came out low and broken, “Alpha…”
“I’m her
