68: Theodore

He moved to gather the clothes, then hesitated at the bathroom door, looking back at his sister. The fear and love I saw in his eyes mirrored my own tangled emotions so precisely that for a moment, I felt a kinship with him that transcended politics and species divisions.

When the bathroom door closed, I brought Emma's hand to my lips, pressing a kiss against her knuckles. The gesture felt both foreign and natural—I'd never been one for physical displays of affection, yet with her, the need to touch, to confirm her presence, overrode my usual reserve.

"I'm sorry," I whispered against her skin. "I should have protected you better. Should have anticipated his move."

A hot ache built behind my eyes, the threat of tears I hadn't shed since I was a child. My throat constricted around words I wasn't sure she could hear.

"Come back to me, Emma. Artemis." I addressed both woman and wolf, hoping to reach either or both. "You've fought so hard. Just a little longer."

I traced the veins visible beneath her pale skin, following the delicate blue lines to her wrist, then back to her fingers. Our connection hummed between us—faint but persistent. Three days should not have been enough to form even the beginning of a true mate bond, and yet there it was, a gossamer thread linking us, growing stronger with each passing hour despite Benjamin's attempts to sever it.

I wondered if she'd felt it too, this impossible, immediate recognition. If Artemis had sensed my Lycan from the start, recognized him as her counterpart across the artificial division of our species.

The shower cut off, and moments later Elijah emerged, his hair damp, my clothes hanging a bit loose on his frame. He looked younger somehow, without the weight of his Alpha presence fully engaged, just a brother worried for his sister.

"Your turn," he said, crossing to the bed. "I'll watch over her."

I nodded, reluctantly releasing Emma's hand and standing. My muscles protested after the tension of the past hours, but I forced myself to move, gathering fresh clothes before heading to the bathroom.

Under the hot spray of the shower, I allowed myself thirty seconds—no more—to lean against the tile wall and breathe through the storm of emotions that threatened to overwhelm me. Rage at Benjamin and his conspirators. Fear for Emma's recovery. Relief that we'd found her in time. And beneath it all, a possessive, primal certainty that she was mine to protect, to cherish, to avenge.

The water ran red, then pink, then clear as I scrubbed her blood from my hands. I dressed quickly in clean jeans and a simple black t-shirt, unwilling to be away from her any longer than necessary.

When I returned, Elijah had taken my place, holding Emma's left hand between his own. Without a word, I moved to her other side, taking her right hand. We sat like that in silence for several minutes, two men from different worlds united by our care for the woman between us.

"I'm glad you're her mate, Theo," Elijah said at last, his voice rough with emotion. "I know you'll do whatever you can to keep her safe and happy."

I looked up, surprised by the acceptance in his words. The Alpha of the Blood Moon Pack, acknowledging a Lycan—even a royal one—as his sister's mate was no small thing. I gave him a small, grateful smile.

"I'll do everything I can for her, always," I promised, meaning every word with an intensity that should have frightened me. Three days, and already I couldn't imagine my world without her in it.

Elijah's expression softened slightly, then hardened again into something more brotherly. "Don't forget though, King or not, if you hurt her, I'll come down on your ass like a tonne of bricks."

I opened my mouth to laugh—to tell him I'd expect nothing less—but before I could speak, a small, pained voice interrupted us.

"You don't need to threaten my mate, big brother."

Emma's eyes fluttered open, hazy with pain but alert. My heart leapt at the sound of her voice, at the sight of consciousness returning to her beautiful face. I leaned closer, squeezing her hand gently.

"Emma," I breathed, her name a prayer of thanksgiving on my lips.

She turned her head slightly toward me, wincing as the movement pulled at her wounded neck. Despite the pain evident in her expression, a small smile curved her lips as her gaze locked with mine.

"Artemis chose you," she whispered, her voice scratchy but determined. "That's why Benjamin's mark didn't stick, because I'm not his." Her fingers tightened around mine with surprising strength. "I'm yours."

Those two words washed over me like a baptism, cleansing the last of my doubt and fear. Whatever came next—the political fallout, the trial of the conspirators, the long road of healing—we would face it together. My mate. My Emma.