Chapter 102 102
EMMANUEL
We run, the forest falling away behind us, the weight of Lois in Ezequiel’s arms pressing against my back. My wolf form cuts through the air, claws sinking into the earth, the scent of Lois’s dried blood flooding my nose. I don’t think about Aidan, don’t think about the witches—only about her, her faint breathing, her body hanging limp as if she’s already slipping away. The pack is close; the familiar smell of wolves and scorched wood reaches me, and I push harder, Ezequiel gripping my fur as we cross the last clearing.
We reach the edge. The hospital sits at the foot of the hills—a low building of stone and metal I’ve never liked. I shift, fur giving way to skin, and Ezequiel slides down with Lois in his arms, his face hard but his hands trembling as he holds her. We burst inside; the doors screech open, and the doctors see us—their eyes widening at the sight of her condition.
“This way!” one shouts, short-haired, white coat, pointing to a gurney.
Ezequiel lays her down gently, and the doctors swarm, hands moving fast—checking cuts, pulse, closed eyes. One inserts an IV into her arm; another hooks up a monitor that beeps slowly—too slowly. I stand there, fists clenched; Ezequiel beside me, breath hitching.
“She needs a transfusion,” the doctor says, turning to us, voice firm but strained.
“Transfusion…?” I say, the knot in my throat tightening. “Her blood is special—not just any type will work.”
“Do you know anything about a donor?”
My mind spins. I remember university, months ago, when Lois had an episode—when we both marked her and she didn’t react afterward. They gave her a transfusion then, but I don’t remember who the donor was. I only know Dad does.
“Stay with her,” I tell Ezequiel, voice sharp, and I bolt outside.
I run toward Dad—the only place he’ll be right now—his strong scent guiding me like a beacon. I find him in the back clearing, talking to Darius.
Dad turns at the sound of me, face hardening, fresh scars gleaming on his cheek.
“What now? I have very important matters to attend to.”
“Lois is with us,” I blurt, stopping in front of him, chest heaving. “She’s in the hospital. She needs blood. Who’s the donor?”
Dad looks at me, eyes narrowing, and a low, dry laugh rasps from his throat.
“If she dies now… it would be best for everyone,” he says, voice a growl that freezes my blood.
Rage burns through me, fire rising in my chest. I growl, fists clenching, taking a step toward him. I want to hit him, wipe that damn calm off his face, but a voice cuts through the air—soft but firm.
“Enough, Thorne,” Mom says, appearing suddenly.
Her eyes move from Dad to me, and her hand rises, stopping me without touching. Dad frowns but stays silent. She steps closer.
“It’s Lois,” I say immediately. “She’s in really bad shape and needs blood.”
“I can help,” she says, her voice an anchor, cooling the fire in my chest. “Come on, Emmanuel.”
I don’t look at Dad again. I run with her—her pace matching mine—and we reach the hospital in minutes. Ezequiel is outside the room, hands braced against the wall, face pale. The doctor comes out, wiping her hands, and looks at us with tired eyes.
“She’s in very bad condition,” she says bluntly. “She’s lost too much blood. Even if we find the donor, it might be too late—and we don’t have that time. Her pulse is weak; she’s barely breathing.”
“What can we do?” I ask, voice coming out harder than I mean it to.
Mom steps forward, hands clasped, gaze fixed on the doctor.
“There’s an experimental treatment,” she says, voice steady and precise. “It’s been used rarely, but it has shown effectiveness in extreme cases. We extract a precise amount of her remaining blood, dilute it with a synthetic compound that stabilizes her cells, and reintroduce it to regenerate the lost volume. The compound mimics the structure of her special blood, tricking the body into accepting it.”
“Extract more blood?” Ezequiel hisses, stepping toward her. “She barely has any left!”
“I know,” Mom replies, tone calm but grave. “It’s risky. We need to draw enough for the compound to work, but taking that much could collapse her system. If we don’t do it, she’ll die before we find the donor. If we do… it might save her—or she might not survive it.”
Silence falls—heavy, sharp. I look at Ezequiel; his eyes shine with something unnamed, and my chest tightens, a knot I can’t release. I don’t want to lose her. I can’t. But hunting for the donor, waiting days—that’s a luxury we don’t have. The image of Lois, pale and convulsing in Aidan’s arms, slams into me, and my breath catches.
“How effective is it?” I ask, voice low, looking at Mom.
“In the recorded cases, sixty percent survived,” she answers, eyes softening but not lying. “It’s the best we have right now.”
Ezequiel growls, hand slamming the wall; the sound echoes down the hall. He looks at me, waiting. I stare at the closed door, knowing Lois is behind it, hanging by a thread. I don’t want to make this decision. I don’t want to be the one who loses her. But there’s no time, and every second that passes, her breathing fades more.
“If we do nothing, she dies for sure,” I say, voice trembling even though I don’t want it to. “If we try… she might live.”
“She might die anyway,” Ezequiel hisses, but his shoulders slump, and I know he understands.
“I won’t let her go without a fight,” I say, and look at Mom. “Do it.”
She nods, turning to the doctor, voice shifting to precise commands I don’t fully understand but that ring with urgency. Ezequiel stays beside me, hand gripping my shoulder. The hallway closes in; the beep of Lois’s monitor seeps through the door. I don’t know if I made the right choice. I don’t know if we’ll lose her. I only know I can’t let her go without trying.