Chapter 7: The Recovery
933 Words
Declan’s POV
The doctor’s hands are covered in Mara’s blood.
I’ve seen blood before. I’ve spilled oceans of it. But never hers. Never like this.
She lies on the operating table, pale, chest barely rising beneath the oxygen mask. The bullet left an ugly hole just above her ribs, dangerously close to her lung. Every beep of the heart monitor feels like someone is scraping claws down my spine.
“She’s strong,” Dr. Avery murmurs, stitching her wound with steady fingers. “But she lost a lot of blood. More than I’m comfortable with.”
I grip the edge of the counter until the metal bends. “She’s going to live.”
It’s not a question. It’s a command.
A snarl escapes me before I can stop it.
“She’s fighting, Declan. But you need to prepare yourself—”
“No.” I slam my fist against the wall. The tile cracks. “She’s not dying. Not her.”
Avery doesn’t argue. Smart man.
I look at her again.
Mara.
Her lashes lie dark against her cheeks, her lips parted slightly. She looks breakable in a way she never does when she’s awake. When she’s awake she’s all fire and fury and sharp edges.
Now she looks like a ghost losing her shape.
The bond between us pulses weakly, a thread stretched thin. Too thin.
I move to the table and take her hand, careful not to disturb the IV lines. Her fingers feel cold. Too cold.
I lift her knuckles to my lips. “You promised me six months,” I whisper against her skin. “You don’t get to break that contract.”
Avery clears his throat. “We’re done. She needs rest now. I’ll monitor her vitals from the next room. If anything changes—”
“I’ll know.”
Avery meets my eyes, swallows, and nods. “Right. Of course.”
He leaves quietly.
The room is silent except for the monitor beeping steadily. I sit on the edge of the bed and pull her gently into my arms, ignoring every medical suggestion not to move her. Her head rests against my chest, her hair spilling over my arm.
She fits there too well.
“Mara.” Her name tastes like grief in my mouth. “You i***t. Why did you jump in front of that bullet?”
Because she was protecting me. Because she thought I would die.
No one has ever saved me before. Not in twenty years. Not since my mother.
And the moment she fell, I felt something rip open inside me.
I bury my face in her hair.
“You cannot leave me,” I say into the quiet. “I won’t survive it.”
For hours, I hold her. Her breathing is faint, but steady. Her heartbeat is weak, but present. The mate bond glows dimly, flickering like a candle fighting the wind.
Then—
A twitch.
Her fingers curl faintly against my chest.
I freeze.
“Mara?”
Her eyelashes flutter. Slowly, painfully, her eyes open just enough for me to see the dark brown I thought I’d never see again.
“Declan...” Her voice is a breath, barely a sound.
Relief slams through me so hard it knocks the air from my lungs.
I cup her face like she’s something sacred. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
She tries to speak. I lean closer.
“You should’ve let... let me hate you,” she whispers.
I swallow. Hard. “I can live with your hatred. I can’t live without you.”
Her eyes soften—not with forgiveness—but with something raw and vulnerable.
Then her gaze flicks downward, to where my hand rests protectively over her stomach.
“You’re trembling,” she murmurs.
“I thought I lost you,” I admit.
She closes her eyes, just for a moment, then opens them again with more strength than before.
“You didn’t.”
I kiss her forehead, slow, lingering, unable to stop myself.
She exhales shakily but doesn’t pull away.
For the first time since the warehouse, my wolf settles inside me. Not calm. Not peaceful. Just... steady.
A promise.
I smooth a hand over her hair. “You’re staying in this bed until I say otherwise.”
She tries to glare. It comes out weak and adorable. “Bossy.”
“You nearly died. Get used to it.”
Her lips twitch. The closest thing she can manage to a smirk.
Then her eyes drift to the bandages covering her chest. “What happened to Kieran?”
“I’ll handle him,” I say darkly.
Her fingers tighten faintly over mine. “I don’t want you starting a war just because of me.”
I lean down, brushing my nose against her cheek. “I’m ending a war because of you.”
Her breath catches. The bond pulses warm between us—faint but alive.
“Mara,” I whisper, brushing my thumb across her lower lip, “don’t ever do that again.”
She looks at me, eyes softening even more. “I wasn’t going to let him kill you.”
“And I’m not letting anyone take you from me.” My voice drops, rough and low. “Not now. Not ever.”
Her gaze lingers on mine.
She doesn’t say she hates me.
For the first time... she doesn’t say anything at all.
Instead, she leans her head against my chest, resting there as she belongs.
And for the first time in my life, I feel something terrifying and indescribable:
Hope.
- Writer
