Mate Me in Moonlight

Chapter 77

POV: Adeline

Three days.

Three days of sitting beside him, leaving only when Freya physically pulled me away to eat or wash or rest for a few desperate hours. Three days of holding his hand, of pouring myself through the bond, of watching his chest rise and fall with the shallow breaths that meant he was still fighting.

Three days of waiting.

The pack moved around us in a blur of activity I barely registered. Battles continued. Wolves fell. Ironclaw probed our defenses with constant small attacks, testing for the weakness that Aiden's absence might create. Luca led, and I should have helped, but I couldn't—I couldn't leave this room, couldn't release his hand for longer than it took to stretch my cramping fingers.

If he woke and I wasn't there—

If he slipped away while I was gone—

I couldn't risk it.

On the third morning, as gray light filtered through the healing quarter's small window, his eyes opened.

I had been half-dozing in my chair, our hands still entwined, my head resting against the edge of his bed. The shift in his breathing woke me first—a deeper inhale, a longer exhale. Then the subtle tension of consciousness returning to a body that had been empty.

I lifted my head.

His eyes—black as midnight, deep as the spaces between stars—were open. And they were looking directly at me.

"Adeline."

His voice scraped like gravel, rough from disuse, barely more than a whisper.

But it was my name. First word. First thought upon waking.

Something in my chest cracked open.

"You idiot." The words tumbled out before I could stop them, thick with tears. "You absolute, complete, stubborn idiot."

His brow furrowed weakly. "Adeline—"

"Three days. Three days I sat here not knowing if you were ever going to open your eyes again. Do you have any idea what that was like? Do you have any concept of—" My voice broke. The tears I had been fighting spilled over, running down my cheeks in hot tracks. "You almost died."

He tried to move, winced, settled back against the furs. His free hand—the one I wasn't clutching like a lifeline—rose slowly, trembling, to touch my face.

"I'm okay." His thumb brushed a tear from my cheek. "I'm here."

"You almost weren't." I pressed my cheek into his palm, desperate for the contact, for the proof that he was real and warm and alive. "I felt it through the bond. The moment you—when you—" I couldn't finish the sentence.

"I know." Something soft moved through his eyes. "I felt you too. Adeline, I felt you the whole time."

"What?"

"The bond." His voice was gaining strength, though exhaustion still pulled at every word. "I was... somewhere dark. Lost. The pain had stopped, which should have been a relief, but it wasn't—it just meant I was fading. Drifting."

His hand moved from my cheek to the back of my neck, holding me close.

"But there was this thread. This... pull. Like a light in the darkness, showing me which way to go. And it felt like you. Your presence. Your stubbornness." A ghost of a smile crossed his pale lips. "Your refusal to let me go."

"I told you." My voice was barely a whisper. "You promised. You don't get to break promises."

"I wouldn't dare." His eyes held mine with an intensity that made my breath catch. "You kept me here. You kept me anchored when everything in me wanted to just... stop fighting. Every time I started to fade, you pulled me back."

"I didn't know if it was working."

"It was. It's the only reason I'm here." His hand tightened on the back of my neck. "You saved my life, Adeline. Again."

I wanted to argue. Wanted to point out that he was the one who had done the fighting, the one who had refused to give up. But the words wouldn't come.

Instead, I did the only thing that made sense.

I leaned forward and kissed him.

Soft. Desperate. Grateful.

His lips were dry, chapped from days of fever. He tasted like the healing herbs Elara had been forcing between his lips. He was weak, still broken in ways that would take weeks to fully mend.

And I didn't care.

I kissed him like he was oxygen and I had been drowning. Like the world was ending around us and this single moment was all we had. Like I had been waiting my whole life to do exactly this, and the wait was finally over.

When I pulled back, his eyes were brighter than they had been moments before. Something had settled in his expression—a certainty, a completion, as if the kiss had answered a question he had been carrying.

"Well," he said quietly, a real smile tugging at his lips now. "That's worth waking up for."

A laugh bubbled up through my tears. "You impossible man."

"Impossible, maybe." His thumb traced circles on the back of my neck. "But apparently very difficult to kill."

"Don't joke about that."

"Too soon?"

"It will always be too soon." I pressed my forehead against his, breathing him in—sweat and healing herbs and the underlying scent that was uniquely him. "Don't ever do that to me again."

"I'll try my best." He closed his eyes, exhaustion already pulling him back toward sleep. But his hand didn't release its hold on my neck, and when he spoke again, his voice was barely audible.

"Stay?"

"Always."

"Promise?"

I kissed his forehead, soft and sure.

"Promise."

He slept. Real sleep this time—healing sleep, the kind that would knit his wounds and restore his strength. I stayed exactly where I was, our foreheads still touching, our hands still entwined.

The war wasn't over. Ironclaw was still out there, still circling, still waiting for the perfect moment to strike. There would be more battles. More pain. More loss.

But he was alive.

And for now, that was enough.