Chapter 255: The Hospital Room
Vivian’s POV
Luke pulled our vehicle into the hospital parking lot with the kind of frantic speed that suggested he thought the building was actively collapsing. He did not even bother turning off the engine before twisting around in his seat, his eyes scanning over my body as if he expected me to break apart at any second.
"I am fine. Really," I said, waving him off and nodding to Mila to push the door open so I could step outside. The moment my boots touched the pavement, the rest of them swarmed around me Mila, Luke, Cort, Johnson, and Joshula all of them hovering close like I might faint without warning.
I rolled my eyes at their collective overprotectiveness, though deep down, I knew it came from a place of genuine care. They could not possibly understand why we had suddenly driven here or why I had felt such an overwhelming urge to visit this specific hospital. Honestly, I could barely explain it myself. It was not my own personal grief driving me forward, but something much deeper and older. It was a sorrow born not from memory, but from pure instinct.
I could not adequately describe the heavy, crushing weight in my chest, the way it clawed and ached like mourning, but not for anything I had personally lost. No, this pain belonged to complete strangers. Wolves, families, pack members, and people who were hurting in the aftermath of the recent chaos. And somehow, I was feeling every bit of it for them.
As the Luna of the pack, maybe that was simply a burden I had to carry.
I walked through the automatic sliding glass doors of the hospital entrance, my steps remaining steady even though my heart trembled inside my ribs. The others followed silently behind me, their gazes constantly scanning the busy lobby like they were hunting for whatever invisible force had summoned me here. Truthfully, I was not even entirely sure what I was looking for. I just knew something had pulled me toward this place something that needed my presence.
Logic was not guiding me at all. It was pure intuition.
I closed my eyes for a brief moment and let the strongest pull of emotion take over, like grasping an invisible thread woven tightly from pain and quiet need. The sensation tugged me to the left, pulling me down a long, white corridor past wide-eyed nurses and dazed patients. Some people stepped respectfully aside as I passed, while others simply stared, sensing something strange and heavy lingering in my aura that they could not quite name.
Before reaching the closed door at the very end of the hallway, I turned around to face my entourage.
"Wait out here," I instructed quietly.
They obviously did not like the command. I could see the reluctance clearly in the way Luke’s jaw tightened hard, or how Mila took a hesitant step forward as if to protest. But they obeyed my orders, staying back against the wall even though every protective instinct in their bodies was flaring up.
I pushed the door open and stepped into the quiet room alone.
The scent hit my sensitive nose first the sharp, metallic tang of blood lingering just beneath the sterile smell of antiseptic wipes. A large, broad-shouldered man lay sprawled across the hospital bed, his body a chaotic patchwork of thick white bandages and angry red scratches. Despite the severe damage, he was still alive. His chest was rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm.
Beside the bed sat a woman slumped forward in a plastic chair. Her head was bowed low, her dark brown hair falling forward like a heavy curtain to shield her from the harsh lights of the room. Even in deep exhaustion, she looked tense, her entire body curled protectively toward the injured man.
I stepped softly across the tile floor to her side and gently placed a warm hand on her trembling shoulder.
She jerked awake with a sharp intake of breath, blinking rapidly as she looked around in absolute disorientation. Her eyes immediately darted to the man in the bed, panic overtaking her features for a split second until she saw the slow, reassuring rise of his chest.
Relief instantly softened her tired features. That was the exact moment she finally noticed me standing beside her.
Her gaze shifted slowly to mine. I found myself looking into deep brown eyes, wide and red-rimmed from hours of heavy crying. Her exhaustion was palpable, rolling off her in quiet, suffocating waves. Even though she was staring right at my face, I could tell her mind was still tightly tethered to the man beside her, holding onto him like a fragile lifeline.
As I looked closer, I noticed something fascinating an almost imperceptible, warm orange glow faintly outlining her frame. The exact same comforting color surrounded the man resting in the bed. Mates. She was his, and he was hers, and she was sitting right here doing the only thing a true mate could do in moments of sheer terror: wait, worry, and hope against all odds.
She did not even bother to stand up.
"Who are you?" she asked, her voice sounding low, raspy, and worn out.
I offered her a gentle, reassuring smile, and the heavy tension in the room seemed to lift just slightly, as if my presence brought with it something soft and calming. I did not speak right away because I knew I did not need to. The invisible energy between us shifted, becoming subtle and comforting. She looked older than me, weathered by life and sudden hardship, but I felt an overwhelming urge to protect her anyway.
Not because she was weak, but because she was someone who simply needed someone else to hold her up, even if just for a little while.
Something deep within my soul clicked neatly into place. This was what being a true Luna truly meant not just leading battles, not just giving commands, but healing the broken pieces. Soothing the hurting. Simply being present when the world fell apart.
And right then, surrounded by the steady beeping of hospital machines, the smell of sterile air, and the lingering thrum of invisible heartache, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I was exactly where I was meant to be.
It felt entirely right.
I was not even shocked that she did not immediately sense I was a Luna. After all, if Zahliver were the one lying in that hospital bed, battered and unresponsive, it would not matter if the president, the high council, or a celebrity stood in my way I would bulldoze right through them just to reach his side. My entire universe would narrow down to him alone.
"I am Vivian," I said softly, keeping my tone as gentle as possible. "That is your mate over there, isn’t it? How is he holding up?"