Chapter 535
“His strict orders,” Duncan repeated, his jaw clenching. “If his heart failed, you were to be kept away. He would rather you hate the memory of a King, Luna, than pity the sight of a dying man.”
The heavy steel doors of the transport slammed shut. I screamed his name as the armored vehicle tore out of the alley, its sirens wailing into the night, leaving me standing alone in the freezing downpour.
Dr. Vance stepped out into the rain beside me, his white coat stained with Dallas’s blood. He looked utterly defeated.
“Even if we restart his heart, Adella,” the doctor whispered, his voice hollow. “The silver has saturated his marrow. The lack of oxygen—the damage is done. His beast, Ragnar… he’s already gone.”
The rain pounded against my skin, but the cold couldn’t touch the sudden, terrifying heat igniting in my chest. The despair that had been drowning me evaporated, replaced by a feral, blinding resolve. Dallas had fought a war inside his own body just to keep me safe.
I slowly turned to Dr. Vance. My tears stopped. My eyes narrowed, fierce and unyielding.
“He is not gone,” I snarled. “He is Dallas Marshall. And as long as his Mate breathes, his fight is not over. I will not let him go without a war.”
Without waiting for a response, I turned and sprinted down the wet pavement, heading straight for the Pack medical wing.
My bare feet slapped against the sterile linoleum as I sprinted into the hallway of the Blackwood Pack’s private medical wing. At the far end, the red light above the steel-reinforced double doors glared like a bleeding eye.
I slammed my fists against the cold metal. “Let me in!” I screamed, my voice tearing. The mate-bond inside me was a frantic, bleeding thing, clawing desperately to reach him.
Gamma Vance Decker stood nearby, his face ashen with guilt, unable to meet my eyes. “Duncan,” he choked out, looking at the massive Beta guarding the doors. “Just let her in. She’s his Mate.”
Duncan Whitaker didn’t flinch. His expression was carved from granite. “It is the Alpha King’s direct command, Gamma. No one enters.”
Pack security guards stepped forward, their hands gripping my arms firmly but gently, pulling me back from the doors. The invisible wall between Dallas and me felt thicker than the steel blocking my way.
The red light above the doors suddenly clicked off.
Dr. Alistair Vance pushed through, his scrubs stained with dark blood. Before he could even draw a breath, Vance Decker lunged forward and grabbed the doctor’s collar. “Is he alive? Tell me!”
Dr. Vance shoved the Gamma back with a look of absolute disgust. “He’s alive. Barely. Your military sedative tanked his LVAD. But that’s not the worst of it.” His voice dropped to a clinical, merciless whisper. “The prolonged hypoxia caused irreversible damage. Complete nerve death in the pelvic region.”
The hallway went dead silent.
“What does that mean?” Vance Decker breathed, trembling.
“It means his reproductive system has failed,” Dr. Vance said, his voice cold and cutting. “He is completely sterile. And he will never be able to complete the Marking ritual. Congratulations, Gamma. You finished what the silver started.”