Chapter 156

Chapter 156
Seraphina's POV

The morning after I first regained consciousness, I woke to find myself alone in the treatment room. Ember had left a note saying she'd taken Vitalis for his morning checkup with Donny. My body still ached with exhaustion, but my mind was clearer than it had been since the ceremony.

Yesterday's revelations about Mira haunted me. The shadow moon toxin. Her calculated sabotage. Her cowardly escape. She had tried to kill my son and nearly succeeded.

I pushed myself up slowly, wincing at the protest of my muscles. Through the bond, I could sense Lucian nearby, his presence a steady warmth that called to me.

I needed to see him. Not as the Alpha who'd declared Mira rogue. Not as the man who'd helped save our son's life. But as the person who'd shared that terrible moment when we thought we'd lose everything.

I wrapped a shawl around my shoulders and padded barefoot down the hallway. The treatment center was quiet in the early morning light. I found Lucian's room easily—the door slightly ajar, moonlight stones still glowing softly from the night before.

What I saw made me freeze.

Lucian was trying to get out of bed, his movements slow and unsteady. One hand gripped the bedpost, the other reached toward the door.

"Lucian!" Just as his legs gave out, I rushed forward.

I caught him in time, my arms wrapping around his waist to steady his stumbling body.

Lucian's hands gripped my shoulders tightly, steadying himself.

"Seraphina." My name spilled from his lips like a broken whisper. "I needed to see you. Both of you. I needed to know—"

"You should be resting." My voice came out harsher than I intended, but my heart was racing. Being this close to him, feeling his warmth, his solid presence—it was almost unbearable.

"I couldn't." His grip tightened slightly. "Not until I saw you with my own eyes. Not until I knew you were okay."

I felt his body trembling—not just from weakness, but from emotion. Through the bond, I sensed the guilt, fear, and burning love he'd been suppressing.

"Come on." I guided him back to the bed, supporting his weight. "You're going to hurt yourself."

He let me help him sit, but didn't release my hand. "I thought I'd lost you. When the vessel shattered, when the energy went wild—I thought I'd lose both of you. And then I realized..." His voice broke. "Without you, without Vitalis, my life means nothing."

The vulnerability in his voice shattered something inside my defenses. This wasn't the cold, distant Alpha I'd lived with for two years. This wasn't even the conflicted man who pushed me away while claiming to protect me.

This was Lucian stripped of all pretense, every wall demolished.

"We survived," I said softly. "All of us."

"Because you're strong." His free hand came up to cup my face, the touch gentle despite his trembling fingers. "Stronger than I ever imagined. I was so focused on protecting you that I never saw you were also protecting me. Protecting everyone."

"Lucian, I—"

"Don't." He closed his eyes, his voice hoarse. "Don't say anything yet. Just let me hold you. Please."

I should have refused. Should have reminded him of all the times he chose duty over me, reminded him of the nights he left me to sleep alone, to face everything alone.

But I was so tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of the walls between us.

I sat beside him on the bed, and he carefully pulled me close, his arms wrapping around me gently, as if I might break. I felt his face bury into my hair, felt the shudder that ran through his entire body.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "For everything. For every moment I made you doubt my love. For every wrong choice I made. I'm truly sorry, Seraphina."

I didn't answer. I just let myself be held, feeling safe in his arms for the first time, a feeling that seemed eternal.

Time passed quietly in exhaustion and emotion. Eventually, a healer knocked softly, reminding me I needed rest too. Lucian reluctantly released me, but as I returned to my room, his gaze followed me, and the bond between us seemed to come alive again.

Over the next few days, something shifted between us. We didn't talk about the future or make grand promises. We simply existed together, focused on Vitalis.

On the third night, our son suddenly woke screaming. I stumbled out of bed, my body still weak, and rushed to his cradle. No matter how I tried to soothe him or nurse him, he wouldn't calm down.

His cries grew more desperate, tiny fists flailing. Panic gripped my heart.

"What's wrong?" Lucian appeared in the doorway, hair disheveled, face full of concern.

"I don't know." My voice trembled. "Nothing's working. He won't calm down."

Lucian strode over quickly and gently lifted Vitalis, cradling him against his chest, and began humming a low melody.

It was an old wolf lullaby, passed down through generations. The lyrics spoke of moonlight, protection, and home. Though Lucian's voice was somewhat rusty, it was exceptionally tender.

Vitalis's cries gradually subsided. His little fists unclenched. Within minutes, he was peacefully asleep, his cheek resting against Lucian's shoulder.

I stood there, stunned, watching Lucian hold our son so tenderly, humming softly. This scene tore something open inside my heart.

"Where did you learn that?" I asked softly.

"My mother." Lucian's voice was barely audible. "She used to sing it to me before she died. I never thought I'd sing it to my own son."

He carefully placed Vitalis back in the cradle, tucking the blanket around him. When he turned to look at me, tears glistened in his eyes.

"Thank you," he said. "For giving me this chance. For giving me him. Even after everything I put you through."

I couldn't speak. I simply reached out and took his hand.

We stood there in the dim moonlight, watching Vitalis sleep, fingers intertwined. The moment stretched between us, fragile and precious. Finally, Lucian gently squeezed my hand before withdrawing, leaving me alone with my thoughts and Vitalis's steady breathing.

The pattern continued for several days. Lucian was there for every feeding, every diaper change, every fussy moment. He never complained, never acted like it was beneath him. He just quietly stayed.