BLOOD & RHYTHM

Chapter 14: Her Mother

The phone rang at 3 AM.

I was in Alexander's arms, curled against his cold chest, when the sound shattered the silence. For a moment, I didn't move—didn't want to move, didn't want to leave this warmth, this peace.

Then I saw the caller ID.

*St. Mary's Hospital.*

My heart stopped.

"Luna?" Alexander's voice was instantly alert. "What is it?"

I couldn't answer. Could only stare at the phone, at those words, at everything they meant. My hand shook as I pressed accept.

"Hello?"

"Miss Marchetti?" A nurse's voice, professional but gentle. The kind of gentle they used when delivering bad news. "Your mother has taken a turn for the worse. You should come immediately."

The world tilted. I felt Alexander's arms steady me, felt his presence like an anchor in the storm.

"I'm coming," I heard myself say. "I'm on my way."

The call ended. I sat there, frozen, the phone clutched in my hand.

"Luna." Alexander's voice was soft. "Talk to me."

"My mother." The words came out broken. "She's—I have to go. I have to—"

I tried to stand, but my legs wouldn't work. Too much fear. Too much grief already gathering in my chest.

Alexander moved. In seconds, he'd dressed me—somehow, I don't remember how—and was carrying me through the manor, out to a car I'd never seen before, a sleek black thing that purred to life beneath us.

"Address," he said.

I gave it. The car surged forward.

The drive was a blur. Lights flashing past. Alexander's hand in mine, cold but steady. My own heartbeat, too fast, too loud, drowning out everything else.

"Tell me about her," Alexander said quietly.

"What?"

"Tell me about your mother. While we drive. Keep talking."

I understood. He was giving me something to hold onto. Something to keep the panic at bay.

"Her name is Rosa," I began. "She's sixty-three. She was a nurse, before she got sick. She met my father when he was a patient—he broke his leg falling off a ladder, and she was the one who took care of him." A shaky laugh. "He used to say he fell in love with her before the cast even dried."

Alexander's thumb traced circles on my hand. "She sounds remarkable."

"She is. She's... she's everything. After my father died, she kept going. For me. She never gave up, never stopped fighting, even when the cancer came back again and again." Tears spilled down my cheeks. "I can't lose her, Alexander. I can't."

"You won't."

"You don't know that."

"I know." His voice was quiet but certain. "I won't let it happen."

I looked at him—really looked, for the first time since the phone rang. His face was calm, focused. The face of someone who'd faced worse than this and survived.

"What are you going to do?"

"Whatever I can."

The hospital loomed ahead, all harsh lights and sterile smells. Alexander parked and was at my side before I could open the door, his arm around my waist, holding me up as we walked inside.

The nurse at the desk recognized me. "Miss Marchetti—" She stopped, staring at Alexander. At his height, his beauty, the way he seemed to absorb light instead of reflect it.

"My mother," I said. "Where is she?"

"ICU. Third floor. But visitors are limited to family only—"

Alexander moved. Not fast enough to be inhuman, but fast enough to be intimidating. He leaned over the desk, and something in his eyes made the nurse shrink back.

"We're family," he said quietly. "Aren't we?"

The nurse nodded, unable to look away. "Yes. Of course. Third floor."

The elevator ride was interminable. Alexander held my hand, and I felt his calm flowing through the bond, steadying me, keeping me from shattering.

The ICU was everything I remembered—beeping machines, hushed voices, the smell of antiseptic and fear. My mother's room was at the end of the hall, a small space crowded with equipment.

She looked so small in that bed.

Tubes and wires everywhere. Her face gray, her breathing shallow. The machines beeped their terrible rhythms, and I couldn't tell if they were keeping her alive or just measuring her dying.

"Mama." I was at her side, clutching her hand, so thin and frail in mine. "Mama, I'm here. I'm here."

Her eyes fluttered open. For a moment, they were unfocused, lost. Then they found me, and she smiled.

"Tesoro," she whispered. "My treasure."

"I'm here, Mama. I'm not leaving."

"Good." A cough racked her, and the machines beeped faster. "Good. I wanted—wanted to see you. One more time."

"No." Tears streamed down my face. "No, Mama, you're going to be fine. You're going to get better. I have—I have someone who can help."

I looked back at Alexander, standing in the doorway. His face was unreadable, but I felt his emotions through the bond—concern, determination, and something else. Something I couldn't name.

"Please," I whispered. "Please help her."

He crossed to the bed in three silent steps. My mother's eyes widened as she saw him—saw what he was, or sensed it, maybe. The same way I had, that first night in the gallery.

"Who—" she began.

"Shh." Alexander's voice was soft, hypnotic. "Don't be afraid. I'm here to help."

He reached out and placed his hand on her forehead.

For a moment, nothing happened. The machines beeped. My mother stared up at him, her eyes wide.

Then color flooded back into her cheeks.

Her breathing eased. The lines on the monitors smoothed, steadied. Her hand, the one I was holding, grew warmer—healthier.

I watched, stunned, as my mother transformed before my eyes. The gray pallor faded. The tension in her face relaxed. She took a deep, easy breath—the first one she'd had in days, maybe weeks.

"What—" I started.

"Shh." Alexander's eyes were closed, his face concentrated. I felt through the bond what he was doing—pouring something of himself into her, some energy, some life force. It was draining him. I could feel it.

"Mama?" I whispered.

Her eyes opened again. Clear now. Aware. "Luna? What happened?"

"You're okay. You're going to be okay."

Alexander's hand fell away. He staggered slightly, catching himself on the edge of the bed. His face was pale—paler than usual, which I hadn't thought possible.

"Alexander?" I reached for him.

"I'm fine." But his voice was strained. "Just... need to rest. A moment."

My mother sat up. Actually *sat up*, for the first time in weeks. "What did you do to me?"

"He helped you," I said quickly. "He's—he's a friend. A special kind of doctor."

She looked at Alexander with eyes that saw too much. "No. Not a doctor. Something else."

"Mama—"

"It's all right." Alexander straightened, meeting her gaze. "You're right. I'm not a doctor. But I couldn't let you suffer. Not when your daughter loves you so much."

My mother studied him for a long moment. Then, slowly, she smiled.

"You love her too," she said. "I can see it. In your eyes."

Something shifted in Alexander's expression. Vulnerability, maybe. Or hope.

"Yes," he said quietly. "I do."

My mother reached out and took his hand. Her skin against his—warm against cold, living against undead. She didn't flinch.

"Then you're welcome in my family," she said. "Whatever you are."

Alexander's breath caught. I felt his emotion through the bond—a wave of feeling so intense it nearly knocked me over. Gratitude. Wonder. Love.

"Thank you," he whispered.

The moment was broken by footsteps in the hall. A doctor, rushing in, drawn by the sudden change in monitors.

"What happened? Her vitals—" The doctor stopped, staring at my mother sitting up in bed, color in her cheeks, breathing easily. "This is impossible."

"Apparently not," my mother said mildly.

The doctor moved to the monitors, checking readings, shaking his head. "I need to run tests. This doesn't make sense. Her blood work—"

My blood ran cold. "Her blood work?"

"Something's changed. Dramatically. I've never seen anything like it." The doctor looked at me, at Alexander, at my mother. "I'll need to take samples. Run some panels. This could be—I don't know what this could be."

Alexander's hand found mine. Squeezed.

"We'll wait," I said. "Do what you need to do."

The doctor nodded, already pulling out equipment. My mother watched him with calm eyes, but I saw the question in them. The same question I had.

What had Alexander done?

And what would the tests find?