Lycan King's Fated Mate

Chapter 6 – A Stranger’s Name

Beeping dragged Sylvia up out of the dark.

She lay still for a moment, listening. Somewhere to her left a monitor ticked in soft, regular chirps. Footsteps whispered along a corridor. The air smelled of antiseptic and overwashed sheets instead of pine, wolves, and pack.

Hospital, she thought.

She forced her eyes open. A white ceiling swam into focus, then pale walls, a narrow bed, a thin blanket tucked too neatly around her legs. Tape tugged at the back of her hand where an IV line disappeared into her skin. A bandage pulled tight against her temple. When she tried to breathe deeper, a dull ache bloomed under her ribs.

Her wolf stirred, sore and sulky. We hit that tree, it muttered. Brilliant idea.

Memory came back in pieces—wet road, headlights in the wrong lane, the oak rushing up, the shriek of metal, the punch of the airbag, a stranger's voice saying he had her.

“You're awake."

The same voice, closer now.

Sylvia turned her head carefully.

A man sat in the plastic chair by her bed, elbows on his knees, dark hair falling over his forehead until he pushed it back with two fingers. Plain black T‑shirt, jeans, boots. Strong jaw, tired eyes. He looked wrong in the small human room and somehow completely at ease inside it.

He was also unfairly handsome.

“How do you feel?" he asked.

“Like I lost a fight," she croaked. “With a car. And a tree."

One corner of his mouth lifted. “The doctor said mild concussion, bruised ribs, a few stitches. No breaks." He tipped his head. “You'll live."

“Lucky me," she muttered, wincing as her head throbbed. “Who are you?"

“Adam," he said. “Adam Black."

The name fit him—simple, clean, with no title attached.

“You were the other car," she said slowly. “On the bend."

“That was me." He didn't bother to dress it up. “I came around the corner too fast. You overcorrected. I'm sorry."

Guilt pricked sharper than the pain. “You weren't the one driving like an i***t to cool off," she said. “That part was all me."

“Then we can argue about our shares of blame when you're not full of painkillers," he said. “For now, call it even."

Despite herself, a small breath of laughter escaped her. It hurt, but it felt better than the cold knot sitting in her chest since the engagement hall.

“I am sorry," she added. “For wrecking your night."

“I've had worse nights," he said. “At least this time I got to hand someone straight to competent nurses." He watched her face. “Do you remember anything after the crash?"

“Airbags," she said. “Noise. Someone saying they'd got me. Then nothing."

“That was me." Adam leaned back a little, giving her space. “I pulled you out and brought you here. The human hospital was closest."

Of course. That explained the thinner feel of the air—no hum of pack bonds, no familiar scents layered in the walls.

“How long?" she asked.

“It's a little after eight," he said, glancing at the clock above the door. “You've been out most of the night."

Eight. Morning. She had walked out of Iris's hospital room the previous afternoon, driven until the world blurred, then slammed into a tree and vanished into the dark.

Her father didn't know. Michael didn't know. As far as the pack was concerned, their future Luna had stomped off in a temper and simply…never come back.

They'll be furious, her wolf said. Maybe worried, it added grudgingly.

Adam's gaze sharpened. “Head worse?"

“Just realizing my day gets to be even more fun," she said dryly. “My family doesn't love surprises."

“They'll love that you're breathing," he replied. “They can yell later."

He reached into the jacket hanging over the back of his chair and pulled out a small white card.

“I was going to leave this with the nurse if you were still out," he said, offering it. “But since you're awake…"

She took it. Their fingers brushed. A quick spark skipped across her skin, sharp as static.

Her wolf's ears pricked. Not nothing, it murmured.

Sylvia ignored it and looked down at the card.

Thick stock. Simple logo. One name.

Adam Black.

A number and email underneath. No pack name. No rank.

“You carry business cards," she said. “Very efficient."

“Occupational hazard," he said. “I'm in Silvercrest territory for a while. Work. If you need anything with the car, insurance, or explaining yourself to your terrifying relatives, call me."

“You already dragged me out of a wreck and waited for me to wake up," she said. “That's more than enough."

“Humor me," he said. “It's easier than listening to you apologize again."

Her throat tightened. Most people in her life claimed to care because duty required it. This stranger had simply helped.

“Thank you," she said, softer.

His gaze held hers for a heartbeat, something unreadable in his eyes.

“You're welcome, Sylvia," he said.

Her name sounded different in his mouth. Warmer. She looked away.

“How do you know who I am?" she asked.

“The nurses checked your bag for ID," he answered. “And you've been on a lot of pack news feeds lately. Hard to miss."

Engagement photos. Smiling faces. Perfect Luna.

Adam rose.

“The doctor will be in soon," he said. “He'll tell you to rest and not do anything stupid for a while. Try listening to him."

“You're leaving?" The question slipped out before she could stop it.

“For now." That half‑smile again. “I have things to handle. But I meant it—I'll be around. Use the card if you need something."

He gave her a small nod and crossed to the door. The soft click as it closed sounded louder than it should have.

Sylvia stared at the card until the letters blurred. Her fingers curled around it until the corners dug into her palm.

We owe him, her wolf said.

“We owe everyone," she whispered.

The monitor kept beeping.

After a while, she noticed her phone on the bedside table, plugged into a charger. Someone must have fished it out of her bag.

Very slowly, she eased herself upright and dragged it closer. The movement made her ribs complain, but she gritted her teeth and ignored it.

The screen lit up.

Dozens of missed calls. Michael's name filled most of the list. Beta Gray's close behind. A few unknown numbers she guessed were warriors or pack staff.

Her stomach twisted.

Of course they'd called. She had walked out of the hospital without a word and then simply disappeared. Whatever they deserved, they hadn't deserved that.

Call him, her wolf said.

She hesitated, thumb hovering over Michael's name. The memory of him walking away from the altar to chase Iris flashed behind her eyes, sharp as broken glass.

He ran after her, it growled. He left us standing there.

“Yes," she murmured. “But he still called."

He had called over and over, even when the line went straight to voice mail. It meant he had cared enough to keep trying…didn't it?

Or he cares about what you can do for him, her wolf said. Not about you.

“He sounded worried," she insisted, even though she hadn't heard his voice yet, only imagined it. “He must have been out of his mind."

Or out of options, the wolf shot back. Iris in a hospital bed, you the convenient solution. Our mate does nothing by accident.

Guilt slipped in anyway, low and sour. She should have kept her phone on. She should have texted someone before driving off like that. Whatever Michael had done, he didn't deserve hours of not knowing whether she was alive.

“I'll call," she said.

Her thumb tapped his name before she could think herself out of it.

The call barely rang once.

“Where are you?" he snapped.

No greeting. No are you all right. Just three words, sharp as claws—sharper for the raw edge under them that sounded too much like sleeplessness.

He didn't sleep, her mind whispered. He's been looking for you all night.

The thought made her chest ache. She swallowed.

“I'm—" she began.

His voice cut over hers. “Do you have any idea what time it is? We've been calling you all night. Your phone went straight to voice mail."

“I know," she said quickly. “My battery died and I…" Her gaze flicked to the IV line in her hand, the bandage at her temple. “Something happened. I couldn't—"

You're about to tell him, her wolf warned. Hospital. Crash. Blood. Don't.

“If you tell him, he'll come," it added, voice a rough whisper inside her skull. “He'll stand by your bed, he'll look guilty, he'll say the right words. And the moment Iris needs him, he'll walk out again."

She bit down on the rest of the sentence.

“I should have called," she said instead. “I'm sorry I scared you."

For a second there was only his breathing on the line, too fast, too harsh. She pictured him in some corridor like this one, shoulders tight, hair a mess, phone clamped in his hand.

He was scared, she thought. Of losing you.

Or scared of losing what you can give him, her wolf said. Don't be stupid.

“Of course you should have called," Michael said. “You storm out after a fight, vanish while Iris is in the hospital, and when I finally reach you, you're acting like this is nothing."

The words hit harder than the crash.

“I'm not acting like it's nothing," she said, keeping her voice level. “I know I worried you. I just—"

You're explaining, her wolf said dryly. Groveling. Does he sound relieved that you're alive, or just angry that you were inconvenient?

He was angry. He sounded hoarse, exhausted, but the dominant note was anger.

Still, some warmer part of her clung to the fact that he had called, that he hadn't simply given up and gone back to Iris's bedside.

“He's still my mate," she told her wolf silently. “He still cares."

The wolf snorted. If he cared about you, he would have been at your door last night. Not hers.

On the line, Michael drew a breath that rasped in her ear.

“Listen," he said, sliding into the cool, commanding tone he used in training drills. “Whatever mess you've gotten yourself into can wait. Get to the pack hospital. Now."

Her fingers tightened around the phone.

“Why?" she asked quietly.

For a heartbeat he didn't answer. When he spoke, the words were hard and impatient.

“Iris needs you."

The sentence dropped between them like a stone.

Not I need you. Not are you hurt, are you safe. Iris needs you.

Something in Sylvia's chest went very, very still. The faint warmth she'd been foolish enough to feel at the sound of his voice drained away, leaving nothing but a clean, brittle cold.

She stared at the white wall in front of her, phone pressed to her ear, Adam's card digging into her palm, and understood exactly where she stood.

“...I see," she whispered, though she wasn't sure if she said it out loud or only in her head.

Her heart turned to ice.