50: Emma

I stared at the remnants of dried blood on my hotel room door, now being scrubbed away by a uniformed staff member whose eyes never quite met mine. The crimson letters had spelled out "NOT MY QUEEN" in what I knew was not paint but actual blood—Benjamin Thorne's idea of a calling card. My fingertips tingled with a strange numbness, but my chest burned with something heavier, something that settled between my ribs and sank down into my stomach. The weight of consequences. The acid taste of blame.

Theo stood beside me, his shoulder close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from him without actually touching. His presence was both comfort and anchor, keeping me from drifting into the darker currents of my thoughts. The hallway buzzed with activity—security personnel speaking in hushed tones, hotel staff trying to maintain normalcy, the occasional flash of a camera documenting the scene. I felt exposed, like a nerve ending in winter air.

"Almost done, Your Majesty," the head of security murmured to Theo, his voice pitched low as if the volume might somehow mitigate the violence of what had happened here. "We've collected all the evidence and have enhanced security throughout the hotel."

Theo nodded, his jaw a tight line of controlled fury. "And the surveillance footage?"

"Being reviewed as we speak. We should have—"

The sharp trill of Theo's phone cut through the conversation. He glanced at the screen, his expression shifting from irritation to concern as he answered.

"This is King Theodore." A pause. His eyes flashed to me, then away. "I see. Yes. Keep me informed the moment she wakes up. Ensure she has round-the-clock protection."

My stomach clenched before he even ended the call. Something in his eyes—a flash of protective rage, quickly masked—told me all I needed to know.

"Sophia Newington," he said, confirming my fears. "She was found unconscious in the east corridor by security. She's been taken to the hospital."

"Sophia?" My voice cracked around her name. The Beta female I'd warned Theo about just hours ago. The one I'd specifically identified as being loyal to me and therefore at risk from Benjamin. "Is she—will she—?"

"She's stable," Theo said quickly, his hand finding mine, squeezing gently. "But unconscious. The doctors are running tests."

I felt the hot press of tears behind my eyes, a burning that matched the guilt spreading through my chest. Another person hurt because of their association with me. Another casualty of Benjamin Thorne's obsession.

"This is my fault." The words fell from my lips before I could stop them, quiet enough that only Theo could hear. "He's targeting anyone connected to me. Anyone who chose me over him."

Theo turned to face me fully then, his hands coming up to cup my face. His amber eyes burned with an intensity that made my breath catch.

"No," he said firmly. "This is Benjamin Thorne's fault. Only his. He's making these choices, Emma, not you."

I swallowed hard, feeling a tear escape despite my best efforts. Theo caught it with his thumb, the gentleness of the gesture at odds with the fierce determination in his expression.

"I warned her," I whispered. "I told her to be careful, but I should have done more. I should have—"

"You did everything you could," Theo interrupted. "Benjamin is the one who chose violence."

I knew he was right—logically, rationally, I knew it—but the cold knot in my stomach wouldn't unravel. Artemis, my wolf, whined softly within me, distressed by my distress.

Around us, the investigation was winding down. The blood on my door had been cleaned away, leaving only a faint pinkish shadow where the words had been. Security personnel were dispersing, and hotel guests were being allowed back to their rooms. Life moving on as if nothing had happened, while Sophia Newington lay unconscious in a hospital bed.

I straightened my shoulders, forcing my expression into something composed. "We need to increase security for everyone associated with me. My pack members, especially."

Theo nodded, his eyes never leaving my face. I could feel him seeing through me—seeing past the calm I was projecting to the churning mess underneath. But he wouldn't call me on it, not here in this public hallway. That understanding, that respect for my need to maintain control, made something warm flutter beneath my ribs.

"I've already ordered additional protection for all Blood Moon Pack members and those you identified as at risk," he said. "Thank you," I said, meaning it more than the simple words could convey.

We spent the next half hour going through the practical details—security protocols, communication channels, hospital updates. I focused on each task with deliberate precision, clinging to the logistical problems as a way to keep the guilt at bay. If I just kept moving, kept planning, kept acting, I wouldn't have to feel the weight of what had happened.

But the cracks were there. I felt them splintering beneath my carefully constructed composure—tiny fractures that threatened to spread with each passing minute. Theo saw them too; I caught his glances, the subtle way his hand would brush mine when my voice faltered or my fingers trembled.

Finally, when there was nothing more to be done from the hallway, Elijah approached, Elena at his side. My brother's expression was grim, the green eyes we shared dark with worry.