Chapter 102: Chapter 102
I woke up to the feeling of Christian’s arms wrapped around me like a vise grip, and honestly? I wasn’t complaining.
My arm throbbed like someone had taken a blowtorch to it, which wasn’t far from the truth. Silver wounds were a bitch, and Vanessa’s claws had done a number on me. I shifted slightly, trying to find a position that didn’t make me want to scream.
"Don’t move," Christian’s voice rumbled against my ear. "You’ll tear the bandages."
I craned my neck to look at him. His eyes were already open, dark circles underneath them like he hadn’t slept at all. Knowing him, he probably hadn’t.
"Have you been watching me sleep like a creeper?" I mumbled.
"Yes."
At least he was honest.
"How’s your pain?" he asked, his hand moving carefully to hover over my bandaged arm without touching it. "Scale of one to ten."
I considered lying. Really, I did. But the mate bond made that pretty much impossible—he could feel my pain through it anyway.
"Seven," I admitted. "But I’m alive, so I’ll take it."
His jaw clenched. "Seven is too high. I’m calling Diana."
"Christian—"
"Nope. Not arguing about this."
He was already reaching for his phone on the nightstand, and I knew better than to fight him when he got that protective Alpha tone. I’ve learned that lesson about a hundred times over the past few months.
Twenty minutes later, Diana burst through our door like a woman on a mission, medical bag in one hand and a look that could freeze hell over.
"Let me see it," she ordered, not bothering with pleasantries.
I extended my arm while Christian hovered beside me like an anxious mother hen. Diana unwrapped the bandages with careful precision, and I tried not to look at the damage. The glimpse I caught was enough—angry red claw marks that looked like they were still burning.
"Silver wounds heal slower for werewolves," Diana said, her fingers gentle as she examined the torn flesh. "These will take at least a week, maybe two."
"Two weeks?" Christian sounded horrified.
"Be grateful it’s not permanent," Diana shot back. She pulled out antiseptic from her bag. "This is going to sting."
"Sting" was a generous understatement. I bit down on my lip hard enough to taste blood as she cleaned the wounds, and Christian’s hand found mine, squeezing tight.
"You’re doing great," he murmured.
"Liar," I gasped.
Diana wrapped fresh bandages around my arm, then turned her stern gaze on Christian. "Your turn."
"I’m fine."
"Christian Wolfe, sit your ass down and let me check those injuries, or so help me—"
He sat.
I almost laughed at how quickly he obeyed. Diana had that effect on people.
She examined the wounds Vanessa had left across his chest and shoulder, her expression darkening. "These are healing better than Sophie’s, but they’re still fresh. No strenuous activity for either of you. That means *no Alpha duties* for at least a week."
"Diana—"
"Did I stutter?"
Christian looked at me for backup. I shrugged with my good shoulder. "Don’t look at me. I agree with her."
He groaned but nodded. Diana packed up her supplies, gave us both one more warning glare, and left.
The second the door closed, Christian was moving toward me with that determined look that meant he was about to do something overprotective and annoying.
"Don’t even think about it," I warned.
"You need to use the bathroom."
"I can walk by myself."
"Sophie—"
"I’m injured, not helpless."
He ran a hand through his hair, frustration radiating through our bond. "I almost lost you. Can you just... let me do this? Please?"
The raw vulnerability in his voice made my resistance crumble. I sighed. "Fine. But I’m walking tomorrow."
"We’ll see."
He scooped me up bridal style, careful of my arm, and carried me to the bathroom. I wanted to be annoyed, but honestly? It felt nice being taken care of. I’d spent so long being the strong one, the fighter, the survivor. Letting someone else carry the weight for a change wasn’t the worst thing in the world.
A knock on our bedroom door interrupted us before Christian could insist on helping me with anything else embarrassing.
"Come in!" I called.
Marcus stepped inside, looking uncomfortable in a way I’d never seen before. He held a tablet and a stack of papers, but his usual confident demeanor was replaced with something almost... awkward.
"Sorry to interrupt," he said, not quite meeting our eyes. "But I need to talk to Christian about pack business."
Christian’s whole body tensed beside me on the bed. "What’s wrong? Is there a problem?"
"No, no problems." Marcus set the tablet on the dresser. "Actually, I wanted to tell you that I’m taking over all Alpha duties for the week. Possibly two, depending on how your recovery goes."
"Marcus, I can’t ask you to—"
"You’re not asking. I’m telling you." Marcus crossed his arms, looking more like his usual self. "You and Sophie both nearly died yesterday. You need rest. The pack will survive without you micromanaging everything for a few days."
Christian looked ready to argue. I squeezed his hand. "He’s right. You need to heal properly."
"Listen to your Luna," Marcus added with a smirk. "She’s the smart one in this relationship."
"Hey," Christian protested weakly.
But I could feel his resistance fading through our bond. He was exhausted, hurt, and running on fumes. Marcus taking over was precisely what he needed, even if his Alpha pride wouldn’t let him admit it.
"Fine," Christian finally said. "One week. But I want daily updates."
"Deal." Marcus headed for the door, then paused. "And Christian? You did good. Really good. Harold would be... well, he’d be proud. The good version of Harold, anyway."
The door closed behind him, and I felt Christian’s emotions through our bond—grief, relief, and exhaustion, all tangled together in a messy knot.
"Come on," I said, standing up carefully. "I’m making breakfast."
"Sophie, you’re injured—"
