Chapter 48
The night had fallen deep into silence.
Only the whisper of wind moved through the open window, brushing against the curtains like a ghost.
Hardin lay awake, still, his eyes tracing the faint lines of moonlight that spilled across the floor. Rhianna was curled against his chest, her breathing light and even. Or at least—it had been.
Until it wasn’t.
At first, he thought she’d shifted in her sleep. But then her body twitched, and her breath caught—a small, broken gasp.
He frowned, his hand moving instinctively to her back.
“Rhi?” he whispered.
No response.
Her body trembled again, a low, strangled sound escaping her lips—half whimper, half gasp. Panic gripped his chest as he pulled back just enough to look at her face.
Her skin was pale. Too pale. Beads of sweat gathered along her temple. Her lips parted as if searching for air, but her chest barely moved.
“Rhianna.” His voice was sharper this time, urgent. “Hey—open your eyes. Come on, look at me.”
Nothing.
Her breaths came out shallow, uneven—like she was drowning on dry land. Then her entire body seized for a second before going frighteningly still.
“Damn it—no, no, no.”
Hardin threw the blanket aside and lifted her into his arms. She was limp, frighteningly light. Her heartbeat was weak, fluttering under his palm like a dying bird.
He kicked the door open. “Tia!” he roared, his voice cutting through the quiet night. “Tia, wake up!”
Lights flickered on across the packhouse. Doors opened, confused faces peeking out. But all Hardin saw was Rhianna—her head slumped against his shoulder, her breaths growing fainter by the second.
Tia came running from the end of the hall, still half asleep, clutching her robe. “Hardin? What—what happened?”
“She’s not breathing right,” he said hoarsely. “We need Alden. Now.”
Without hesitation, Tia turned and sprinted ahead of him, yelling for someone to open the gates. The night guards scrambled to obey as Hardin bolted through the front doors and into the cold air.
Wolves stirred from their beds, whispers spreading through the yard like wildfire.
“Is that Rhianna?”
“What happened to her?”
“Was she attacked?”
Hardin didn’t stop. He didn’t answer. He ran.
The healer’s ward wasn’t far, but every step felt like a lifetime. The world blurred around him—trees, shadows, startled faces—all melting into streaks of fear and moonlight.
When they finally reached Alden’s door, Hardin kicked it open with his boot.
“Alden!” His voice thundered through the quiet building. “Get up! It’s Rhianna!”
The old healer stumbled out of his room, his robe half-tied and eyes wide. “What—Moon above—put her here, now!”
Hardin laid her gently on the cot, his hands shaking. “She just—she wasn’t breathing right, and then she—she wouldn’t wake up—”
Alden was already moving, checking her pulse, her temperature, pressing his ear against her chest. His face darkened. “Her heartbeat’s unstable,” he muttered. “This isn’t good.”
Tia stood frozen by the door, pale as a ghost. “Is she—?”
“Quiet!” Alden snapped, then lowered his tone. “She’s alive, but barely. Get me warm water and the blue vial from the cabinet.”
Tia rushed to obey, while Hardin stood there, every muscle in his body trembling with helpless rage. He’d faced bandits, fought beasts twice his size—but this? Watching her body twitch weakly on the cot while he couldn’t do a damn thing?
It was unbearable.
Alden worked quickly, mixing herbs and liquids until the air filled with a sharp medicinal scent. He tilted Rhianna’s chin, forcing a few drops between her lips. She didn’t respond.
“Come on, Rhi,” Hardin whispered, gripping her cold hand. “You don’t get to do this to me. You hear me? Not like this.”
Her fingers twitched faintly, almost imperceptibly.
Alden exhaled, his movements slowing. “It’s her heart,” he said quietly, more to himself than to anyone else. “Her wolf isn’t strong enough to regulate it anymore. I told her this might happen.”
Hardin’s head snapped toward him. “You knew?”
Alden froze.
“You knew something was wrong and you didn’t say a word?” His voice cracked with fury. “She could’ve died, Alden!”
“I told her to tell you,” the healer said, guilt weighing his voice down. “She made me promise to stay quiet until she was ready.”
Hardin ran a hand through his hair, turning away before he punched a hole through the wall. “Ready?” he muttered. “She’s dying and you’re talking about ready?”
Tia returned with the water, her eyes wide and terrified. “She—she can’t die, can she?”
Alden sighed deeply. “Not tonight. Not if the Moon Goddess still has mercy. But she’s fading. And if her wolf keeps weakening like this…”
He didn’t finish.
Hardin turned back toward the cot. Rhianna’s chest rose shallowly beneath the thin blanket, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks. She looked peaceful—but only because her body was too tired to fight.
Tia’s voice broke the silence. “Hardin… what do we do now?”
He swallowed hard, forcing down the fear clawing at his throat. “We stay with her. Both of us. She’s not waking up alone.”
Alden placed a gentle hand on Hardin’s shoulder. “She’ll need more than comfort, Hardin. She needs to stop pretending she’s fine. Her body’s giving up. If she keeps pushing herself, she won’t last the year.”
Hardin stared at Rhianna, his heart twisting painfully.
“She’s not going to die,” he said finally—his tone quiet but unyielding. “Not while I’m still breathing.”
He sat down beside her, fingers brushing her hair back from her forehead. Her skin was clammy, her lips pale. Every breath she took felt like a fragile thread pulling her back from the edge.
Outside, dawn began to bleed into the horizon—soft, pink, indifferent.
The packhouse was awake now. Murmurs spread through the corridors like wildfire, whispers of the Alpha’s mate collapsing in the night.
But inside that small healer’s room, none of that mattered.
There was only Hardin.
And Rhianna.
And the unbearable sound of a heartbeat struggling to stay alive.