Midnight struck, and as the clock chimed, Malcolm’s eyes finally snapped open, a full hour after Dr. Liana had finished her frantic examination.

The room was deathly quiet, the air thick with the scent of antiseptic and the lingering, metallic tang of blood.

"Malcolm," I whispered, my voice soft as I leaned over him, searching his face for any sign of the man I knew. "How are you feeling? Talk to me."

"Feel like shit, sweetie," he mumbled, his voice gravelly and stripped of its usual Alpha authority.

He didn't move, his eyes tracing the ceiling as if he could still see the ghosts of the past his father had...