Chapter 111 Chapter 111

Chapter 111 Chapter 111
Adnar's POV

The emergency room was controlled chaos when we arrived, nurses plus doctors moving with practiced efficiency while someone shouted orders about trauma bays. They pulled Natasha from the ambulance, the gurney wheels hitting the ground before racing toward the entrance.

"Are you family?" someone asked, clipboard in hand while trying to keep up with the moving gurney.

"I'm her husband," I said, following despite a nurse trying to redirect me.

"We need information," the clipboard person said. "Insurance, medical history, allergies."

"She's four months pregnant," I said, ignoring everything else. "The baby, you need to save the baby."

"We're aware," a doctor said, appearing beside the gurney. "What's her blood type?"

"O negative," I said, that detail surfacing from some conversation we'd had months ago.

They pushed through double doors into a trauma bay, nurses already pulling equipment while the doctor started barking orders. Someone tried to stop me from following but I pushed past, needing to see Natasha, needing to know she was still alive.

"Sir, you can't be in here," a nurse said firmly, physically blocking my path this time.

"That's my wife," I repeated.

"I understand," she said. "But we need space to work. Please wait in the family area, someone will update you as soon as possible."

She guided me out despite my protests, steering me toward a waiting room filled with uncomfortable plastic chairs plus outdated magazines. I collapsed into one, staring at my hands that were still covered in Natasha's blood.

The bond between us stayed quiet, that muted awareness not giving me any information about whether she was alive or dying just feet away. I focused on it, trying to feel something, anything that would tell me she was going to be okay.

My phone buzzed. Multiple calls from pack members who'd somehow already heard what happened. I ignored them all, unable to form words when all I could think about was Natasha bleeding out while doctors tried to save her.

Footsteps approached, multiple sets. I looked up to see Eli entering the waiting room, followed by Sarah who looked like she'd run here. Then more pack members, filtering in until the small space was crowded with familiar faces.

"How is she?" Sarah asked immediately.

"I don't know," I said, my voice rough. "They won't tell me anything yet."

The Elders arrived next, Aimone moving slowly because of his own injuries from weeks ago. Elena plus Thaddeus flanked him, all three looking grave while they took seats across from me.

"We came as soon as we heard," Elena said.

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. The pack gathering here should have meant something, should have provided comfort through their presence. But all I felt was emptiness where the bond should be humming with Natasha's emotions.

More footsteps, these ones hesitant. I looked up to find Derek standing in the doorway, looking uncomfortable about being here. He met my eyes briefly before looking away.

"Is she..." he started then stopped.

"I don't know," I said again.

He nodded, taking a seat in the corner despite clearly not being welcome. The fact that he'd come at all said something about how serious this was. Derek hated Natasha, had tried to kill her, but even he understood that losing your mate was a pain no one deserved.

Hours passed with no news. The waiting room clock showed time moving but it felt wrong, too slow or too fast or just fundamentally broken. I paced, unable to sit still while Natasha was somewhere fighting for her life.

"You should clean up," Sarah suggested at some point, gesturing at the blood covering my clothes.

"No," I said. Cleaning up meant accepting that this was real, that Natasha had been shot, that I'd held her while she bled. I wasn't ready to accept any of that.

The bond stayed quiet. I kept checking it compulsively, reaching for that connection between us just to feel the faint awareness that meant she was still alive. But it was so muted I couldn't tell if she was stable or if it was fading as she got closer to death.

"She's strong," Aimone said suddenly. "She'll survive this."

"She was shot protecting me," I said, the guilt crushing. "Threw herself between me and the bullet."

"Because she loves you," Aimone replied simply.

I wanted to argue but what was the point? He was right. Natasha had seen the gun pointing at me, had made a split second decision to take the bullet herself rather than let me get hit. That was love, the kind that made you sacrifice everything for someone else's survival.

The waiting room doors opened. A doctor in surgical scrubs appeared, looking tired while scanning the crowd. "Mr. Morrison?" he called.

I was on my feet before he finished saying the name. "That's me," I said, crossing to him in two steps. "How is she?"

"Your wife is in surgery," the doctor explained. "The bullet entered her lower abdomen, missed major organs but caused significant bleeding. We're working to repair the damage now."

"The baby?" I asked, the question I'd been dreading.

His expression softened slightly. "We're doing everything we can," he said, which wasn't an answer. "The fetus appears stable for now but it's too early to know if there will be complications."

"Can I see her?" I asked.

"Not yet," he said. "She's still in surgery, probably another hour at least. I'll update you when we know more."

He left before I could ask anything else, disappearing back through those doors that separated me from Natasha. I stood there staring after him, trying to process what he'd said. Stable for now. Probably another hour. Doing everything we can. None of it gave me real answers.

"She's alive," Eli said from behind me. "That's what matters."

I nodded, going back to my seat because standing was suddenly too much effort. My legs felt weak, exhaustion plus fear catching up all at once. The pack stayed, no one leaving despite having no real reason to be here. Their presence should have been comforting but all I felt was the terrible quiet of the bond.

More time passed. The clock showed another hour gone, then another. My phone kept buzzing with messages I didn't read, calls I didn't answer. The only thing that mattered was the door opening again, someone coming to tell me Natasha was okay.

Finally the surgeon emerged, different from the doctor before, this one older with gray hair. "Mr. Morrison?" he called.

I stood up again, my heart hammering. "Yes."

"I'm Dr. Chen," he said, shaking my hand despite the blood still covering it. "Your wife came through surgery. She's stable."

Relief hit so hard my knees nearly buckled. "The baby?" I forced myself to ask.

"Also stable," Dr. Chen confirmed, a small smile appearing. "It was close but they're both going to be okay."

The pack behind me erupted in quiet celebration, people hugging while others thanked whatever gods they believed in. I stood there trying to process what I'd just heard. Stable. Both of them. Going to be okay.

"Can I see her?" I asked.

"She's in recovery right now," Dr. Chen said. "Give us about thirty minutes to get her settled then we'll take you back."

"Thank you," I managed to say. "Thank you for saving her."

"She's a fighter," Dr. Chen said. "Her body wanted to survive, we just helped it along."

He left, other hospital staff guiding me back to the waiting room while they prepared Natasha's room. Those thirty minutes felt longer than all the hours before, knowing she was alive but not being able to see her, to touch her, to confirm with my own eyes that she was really okay.

The bond was still quiet but maybe slightly stronger now, that awareness building back slowly. She was coming back to me.

"You can go in now," a nurse said finally, appearing in the doorway. "Room 432, fourth floor. ICU."

I followed her directions, pack members calling out encouragement while I walked toward the elevators. The fourth floor was quiet, ICU having its own separate atmosphere. Room 432 was at the end of the hall, door partially open.

I pushed through, stopping immediately at what I saw. Natasha lay in the hospital bed, unconscious but breathing. Monitors beeped steadily, showing heart rate plus blood pressure plus oxygen levels that all looked better than I'd feared. An IV ran into her arm, bandages covered her abdomen, but she was alive.

I crossed to the bed, taking her hand carefully while settling into the chair someone had positioned beside it. Through the bond I felt something shift, that muted awareness strengthening as I made contact. She was coming back. Slowly but surely, she was coming back.

Pack members rotated through over the next few hours, checking on both of us before leaving to give us privacy. Sarah brought clean clothes I didn't change into. Eli brought food I didn't eat. The Elders stopped by, offering words of support I barely heard.

Derek appeared in the doorway at some point, looking uncertain about entering. "I was wrong about her," he said quietly. "She's got more fight than half the pack."

"She does," I agreed.

He nodded then left, that reconciliation happening without fanfare. Under normal circumstances it might have meant something. Right now all I could focus on was Natasha, watching her breathe, waiting for her to wake up.

Finally, after what felt like forever, her eyes fluttered open. She blinked against the harsh hospital lights, her face scrunching up before she turned her head toward me.

"Hey," she rasped, her voice rough from intubation.

"Hey," I choked out, unable to form more words.

"Baby?" she asked immediately, one hand moving toward her stomach.

"Safe," I said quickly. "You're both safe."

She smiled weakly, tears sliding down her temples. "Told you I'd be careful."

I laughed despite everything, the sound coming out wet with tears I didn't realize I'd been crying. "Your definition of careful needs work."

She squeezed my hand, the pressure weak but there. "I heard you," she said after a moment. "When you said you loved me. In the ambulance, I heard you."

"I meant it," I said. "Every word."

"I love you too," she said, her eyes finding mine. "For real. Not the contract. Not the arrangement. Just you."

"I know," I said. "I felt it. When you threw yourself in front of that bullet, I felt exactly how much you love me."

"Don't get shot again though," she said, attempting humor despite the pain I could see on her face. "Once was enough."

"Deal," I agreed. "As long as you don't get shot either."

"Also deal," she said.