69: Emma

I drifted through darkness punctuated by flashes of light, voices floating around me like leaves on a stream – sometimes clear, mostly muffled. The memory of Benjamin's grip, the needle, the sick feeling of violation as he tried to force his mark upon me – these fragments spun through my mind as I struggled to surface from the murky depths of drugged sleep. Beneath it all, Artemis, my wolf, pulsed with renewed strength, her presence a golden thread pulling me back toward consciousness.

Time stretched and contracted. I caught snippets of concerned voices – my brother Elijah's deep timbre, Elena's gentle murmurs, and most frequently, Theo's steady, commanding tone never far from my side. His fingers would occasionally brush mine, and even in my half-conscious state, I felt that spark – not static this time, but something deeper, something that belonged to the bond forming between us.

By the second day, Artemis had recovered her full strength, her vitality flowing through my veins like liquid sunshine, accelerating my healing. The fog began to lift, the periods of lucidity stretched longer, and the ache of Benjamin's attempted marking faded to a dull throb.

On the third day, I finally clawed my way fully back to consciousness. My eyelids felt less weighted, and when I blinked them open, the ceiling came into focus – not the bland ceiling of my hotel suite, but the ornate moldings of what I recognized as Theo's. I turned my head slowly, wincing at the stiffness in my neck, and found him sitting beside the bed, his fingers dancing across the keyboard of my laptop.

"Are you writing my memoir?" My voice came out rough, scratchy from disuse.

Theo's head snapped up, his amber eyes widening before crinkling at the corners with unmistakable relief. He set the laptop aside with careful precision, as if the sudden movement might somehow break me.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty," he said, sliding from the chair to perch on the edge of the bed. His hand found mine, fingers intertwining. "How are you feeling?"

I took mental inventory of my body – the lingering tenderness at my throat where Benjamin had tried to mark me, the residual heaviness in my limbs, the hunger gnawing at my stomach. "Good," I said, surprising myself with the honesty of it. "Not up to sparring yet, but good."

Theo leaned forward and pressed his lips to my forehead, the gesture so tender it made my chest ache. "No sparring for another few days, Emeline Maxwell," he murmured against my skin.

I pushed out my lower lip in an exaggerated pout. "Fine."

His thumb traced the curve of my chin, and I watched a shadow pass behind his eyes – concern, anger, something protective and fierce that made Artemis stir contentedly inside me.

"What happened to Benjamin and the others?" I asked, the memory of that night sharpening in my mind – Benjamin's face contorted with rage, the silver-tipped needle, the other Lycans holding me down.

Theo's jaw tightened. "They're in the cells pending interrogation and trial. Our priority had to be helping you recover." His fingers traced absent patterns on the back of my hand. "Benjamin won't hurt you again."

The simple promise carried weight, the quiet authority of a king who would move mountains to keep his word. I nodded and leaned against him, resting my head on his shoulder. His scent – cedar and citrus with undertones of something uniquely him – wrapped around me like a protective cloak.

"I need to have a shower," I said, suddenly acutely aware of my unwashed hair and the stale taste in my mouth. "I feel gross. And then can we go downstairs for something to eat?"

Theo studied my face with such concentration I might have been a particularly complex diplomatic treaty. "There's no rush, Emma," he said, his voice gentle. "If you're not up to it, we can just have room service bring something up."

I shook my head, wincing slightly at the residual dizziness the movement caused. "Your suite is lovely and all, but I might go mad if I have to stare at just the same four walls for too much longer."

A rich chuckle rumbled through his chest. "Fine," he conceded. "It's six p.m., so have your shower, then we'll go downstairs for dinner."

I nodded with exaggerated docility, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips. What I intended as a brief thank you quickly deepened as Theo's hand slid into my hair, cradling the back of my head with careful pressure. Warmth unfurled in my belly, Artemis stretching luxuriously beneath my skin.

I broke the kiss reluctantly. "My mouth tastes funny," I murmured against his lips.

Theo laughed, the vibration of it pleasant against my chest. "Go have your shower, my Queen," he said, the title sending a strange thrill through me despite the teasing lilt in his voice. "But don't take too long or I might have to come get you."

I smirked at him, rolling out of bed with as much dignity as I could muster given my stiff limbs and tangled hair. The floor was cool beneath my bare feet as I padded toward the bathroom, an enormous sanctuary that reflected the extravagance expected of the King's quarters.

The water pressure was divine, hot water sluicing over my shoulders and down my back, washing away the lingering vestiges of my ordeal. I hummed to myself, some half-remembered tune from childhood, as I worked shampoo through my hair. Artemis stretched beneath my skin, reveling in the sensations of being clean, being safe, being alive.

The past few days felt like a fever dream – the attack, the kidnapping, the searing pain as Benjamin tried to force his mark on me. And beneath it all, the startling revelation that had slipped from my lips in the moment of crisis: Artemis had chosen Theo.