Chapter 48 Bleeding Out
ZADE
Mason stood across the desk in my study, flipping through the thick stack of reports in his hand. Security logs, border patrol rotations, surveillance summaries from the eastern ridge, and my schedule for the next two weeks. Normal Alpha shit. Routine.
Except nothing felt normal anymore.
My head throbbed in slow, sick waves. The edges of my vision kept graying out, then snapping back to focus. I gripped the armrests of my chair harder than necessary, my knuckles white.
Mason's voice droned on, steady as ever.
"...three new cameras installed at the blind spot near the river bend. We caught two unauthorized scents last night—neither wolf nor vampire, but they didn't linger. Could be scouts. I've doubled the night watch there until—"
He stopped mid-sentence.
I realized I hadn't responded in too long.
I forced my eyes up. Mason was staring at me now, the report forgotten in his hand.
"Zade?"
I cleared my throat. It hurt.
"Keep going."
He didn't. Instead, he set the papers down carefully and rounded the desk.
"You look like shit," he said flatly.
"Thanks."
"I'm serious." He crouched in front of me so we were eye-level. "You're pale and you're sweating. When is the last time you shifted?"
I tried to shrug. The motion made the room tilt.
"Last week?"
Mason's frown deepened. He reached out without asking—something only he could get away with—and pressed two fingers to the pulse point under my jaw.
I let him.
His expression changed instantly. A frown creased his brow, his mouth tightening into a thin line.
"Too slow," he muttered. "Way too fucking slow for a wolf. Even for you."
I exhaled through my nose. "It's nothing. Just tired."
"Bullshit." He didn't move his hand. "Pulse like that and you're dizzy—I can see it in your eyes. You're about to pass out in your own chair, Alpha."
I closed my eyes for a second. Bad idea. The darkness behind my lids swirled with violet flashes—Sweetpea's stare from last night, the bite on Leon's arm, the way my own body had betrayed me again in front of Indie. Heat crawled under my skin, uninvited.
"I said keep going with the report."
Mason exhaled hard through his nose. He stood but didn't back off.
"You need Giselle. Now. Not tomorrow, not after the next meeting. Now."
"Giselle can wait." I opened my eyes and forced them to focus on the papers. "Finish the schedule."
He stared at me for a long moment, then he sighed.
"Fine." He picked the report back up, but his voice had gone flatter. "Council meeting tomorrow at dawn. Elders want updates on border stability and... other matters."
He paused again.
"They're asking about the vampire."
Of course they were.
I didn't look up. "Let them ask."
"Zade." His tone dropped. "They're not just asking. They're deeply unsettled. Rumors are flying faster than ravens about Leon's scent all over the pack house, the way he moves like he owns the place, and the fact that he's still breathing after walking into our territory. The elders think you're compromised. Some are whispering that you're under compulsion. Others think you're... distracted."
I laughed humourlessly. "Distracted."
Mason sighed.
"They want assurances. They want to know if the vampire is a threat or if he's..." He hesitated. "If he's more than a guest."
My claws flexed against the armrests, the wood creaking under them.
"He's my mate," I said. "Same as Indie. That's all they need to know."
Mason rubbed the back of his neck. "They won't accept that. Not from a vampire. Not when half the pack still remembers what happened the last time vampires crossed our border."
I knew exactly what he meant. The raid from fifteen years ago. The blood. The bodies. The way I'd torn through the attackers until there was nothing left to tear.
They still looked at me like I was half-feral from that day. And now I was letting one of them sleep under our roof.
I dragged a hand down my face. The dizziness worsened. Black spots danced at the corners of my vision. I gripped the desk to stay upright.
Mason saw it.
"That's it." He stepped forward again. "You're seeing Giselle. I'm not asking."
I bared my teeth. "I said—"
"You're shaking, Zade." His voice cracked a little. "Your pulse is crawling. You can barely keep your eyes focused. If you collapse in front of the elders tomorrow, they'll have every excuse they need to call for a challenge. Or worse—force you to step down until you're 'stable.'"
The room spun.
I hated how right he was. I hated how weak I felt.
"Fine," I rasped. "After the report."
Mason exhaled.
"Thank fuck."
He flipped the page again, but his eyes kept darting to me every few seconds.
I stared at the map pinned under the dagger, our territory lines bleeding red ink where patrols had marked recent intrusions.
Everything felt too far away.
My own heartbeat sounded distant.
And somewhere in the back of my skull, a small, sweet voice whispered:
'Daddy, are you feeling better?'
I clenched my jaw until my teeth ached.
Not today, Sweetpea.
Not fucking today.
The dizziness rolled in again, heavier. So, I closed my eyes for one second. Just one. And everything tilted sideways. Mason's voice pushed through the fog.
"Zade—!"
Too late. The chair hit the floor just as everything went black.
...
"...pulse is still thready. 48 beats. That's not right for him. Not even close."
Giselle's voice. She sounded worried in that clinical way she usually gets when shit is bad and she can’t fix it fast enough.
I cracked my eyes open.
The room swam into focus slowly. I was back in my bedroom. The curtains were half-drawn. The bed felt too big, like I was sinking into it.
Four figures hovered around me.
Indie sat closest to me, perched on the edge of the mattress, one hand wrapped around mine. Her thumb stroked slow circles over my knuckles. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but she tried to smile when she saw me stir.
"Hey," she whispered. "You're back."
Mason stood at the foot of the bed, his arms crossed tight across his chest, his jaw locked like he was holding back a growl.
Leon leaned against the wall near the window, his golden eyes fixed on me. He looked… worried? Weird.
Giselle was already moving with her stethoscope around her neck and a blood pressure cuff in hand.
She didn't waste time on greetings.
"Zade. Can you hear me?"
I nodded once. It hurt.
"Good. I need you to stay still."
She wrapped the cuff around my upper arm and pumped it tight. The pressure squeezed like a vice. I hated being handled like this, like I was fragile. But I let her.
Everyone watched the gauge.
Giselle's face tightened.
"Forty-six over thirty," she said. "That's critically low. For a wolf your size and age... this should be impossible."
Mason cursed under his breath, and Indie's grip on my hand tightened.
Giselle deflated the cuff and peeled it off, then she pressed her fingers to my wrist again. She counted silently, her lips moving.
"Still slow. Too slow. And your temp is down to 96.8. You're hypothermic on top of everything else."
She set the cuff aside and pulled out a small penlight, shining it in my eyes. I winced.
"Pupils reactive but sluggish. No focal deficits that I can see, but..." She trailed off, frowning deeper. "This isn't infection. It's not poison—at least not the kind we usually see. It's systemic. Like your body's shutting down piece by piece."
Leon pushed off the wall.
"What could cause that?"
Giselle shot him a look.
"In a werewolf? Extreme blood loss. Severe trauma. Or..." She hesitated. "Something pulling on his life force. Like a drain. Something metaphysical."
Indie sucked in a breath.
"Varak," she said softly.
Giselle's eyes darted to her.
"The dead-plane bastard? Possibly. If there's a link—resurrection magic, anchoring, vessel shit—it could be siphoning him slowly."
Mason moved closer.
"Then how do we stop it?"
"We don't know yet." Giselle rubbed her temple. "I can give him fluids, electrolytes, and stimulants to prop up his vitals short-term. But if it's a metaphysical drain..." She looked at me. "We need to find the source. And cut it."
I tried to sit up. The room spun violently. Indie caught my shoulders, easing me back.
"Easy," she murmured. "You passed out in your study. Mason carried you up here."
Mason grunted. "You dropped like a stone. Scared the shit out of me."
I swallowed hard.
"Sweetpea," I rasped. "Where is she?"
Silence lingered for a moment.
Indie exchanged a glance with Leon.
"She's with Lila," Indie said carefully. "In the playroom. Enid's watching them."
Giselle packed up her kit with quick movements.
"I'm starting an IV. Indie, you’ll stay with him. Keep him talking, keep him present. Mason, double the guard on the kids. No one in or out without your say-so. Leon..."
She fixed him with a hard stare.
"If you're staying, you're helping. No bullshit.”
Leon met her eyes steadily.
"I'm not the one draining him," he said. "But I'll help find out who—or what—is."
Giselle nodded curtly.
"I'll be back in ten with the line."
Then she left. I looked at Indie first. Her face was pale, her eyes glassy with unshed tears.
"I'm sorry," I muttered.
She shook her head fiercely.
"Don't. Just... stay with us. Okay?"
I nodded.
Mason shifted his weight.
"I'll check the kids. And the elders—they're already circling. If they hear you're down..."
"Let them circle," I said. "I'm not stepping down."
He gave me a short nod, then he left.
Leon stayed. He moved closer, pulled the chair up to the bedside, and sat down.
"You scared us," he said gently.
I didn't have the energy to snap. I just closed my eyes.
"Feels like I'm bleeding out," I admitted. "But there's no wound."
Leon leaned forward.
"Then we find the wound," he said. "And we cut it. But, Zade. Don’t you think it’s weird? You only started having these symptoms after that little girl’s arrival. What if…she’s the key?” He asked, and I stiffened.