QUENNOR’S POV
I don’t stop running. My lungs burn, my legs scream for rest, but I can’t, won’t slow down. Not until I reach her. Not until she’s safe.
The pack hospital comes into view, its lights glowing in the distance like a promise I can’t afford to lose. The scent of blood and her faint lavender clings to my chest, where she lies limp in my arms. Her head rests against my shoulder, too still, too quiet. My heart pounds, erratic, and not just from the run.
I burst through the hospital doors. The sharp smell of antiseptic hits me, but I barely register it.
“My King!” someone calls.
Nurses and doctors rush toward me, their faces morphing from confusion to alarm as they take in the blood-soaked girl I carry. But none of them dare to touch her. Not yet. Not while I’m holding her like
