Chapter 416 Betas Don’t Act On Incomplete Intelligence
“I have been sitting in this chair for an hour.”
“I know. I just, I was thinking.”
The matebond spiked. Guilt. Right on schedule. Hale felt it land in his chest like a stone dropped from a height.
He kept his voice even. “Where were you?”
“Checking on Gav.”
She said it immediately. Without hesitation. Without the pause that would have indicated deception. She said it because it was true, and the truth was the most damning piece of evidence in Hale’s file, because a woman hiding an affair would have lied, and Elara was telling the truth, which meant whatever she was feeling for Gavriel Sterling was genuine enough that she saw no reason to hide the visits.
She was hiding the reason. She was telling the truth about the destination.
“How is he?” Hale asked, and his voice was so steady it frightened him, because the steadiness was discipline and the discipline was the only thing keeping his wolf from howling.
“The same. Still unconscious. Vitals are stable. Alaric says the coma could lift any day.”
She moved toward the dressing room. Paused. Looked back at him.
“Do you want to come visit him with me later? I was going to check on him again before dinner.”
Hale’s jaw worked. She was inviting him. She was inviting him to the room where she spent her secret mornings, and the invitation was either transparency or cover, and Hale could not tell which because the matebond was delivering love and guilt in equal measure and the combination was making him insane.
“Sure,” he said.
“Great.” She smiled. The smile was genuine, warm, carrying the affection of a woman who loved her mate and was happy he would join her, and the warmth made the conclusion worse because the warmth was real and the guilt was also real and both things were coexisting in a way that made Hale want to punch a wall.
He did not punch a wall. He stroked Avalon’s head and breathed through his nose and reminded himself that he was a Beta, and Betas did not act on incomplete intelligence, and the intelligence was incomplete, and the investigation was ongoing.
✦✦✦
DRAKENFELL — GAMMA QUARTERS
They went together. Before dinner. As planned.
Hale walked beside Elara through the corridor leading to Gavriel’s chambers, and his stride was measured, and his hands were clasped behind his back, and his posture was the posture of a man attending a briefing he did not want to attend but had determined was necessary for operational clarity.
Elara pushed the door open. The room was dim. Fire low. Gav was in his bed, breathing steadily, color returned, still unconscious. The bandage on his shoulder was fresh, because Elara had changed it this morning at five AM while Hale was in their bed pretending to be asleep and cataloguing the exact duration of her absence.
She moved to the chair beside the bed. Sat. Reached for Gav’s hand and squeezed it once, brief, the gesture of a friend checking on a friend.
Hale watched the gesture. The squeeze was gentle. Brief. Carrying the specific care of a woman whose friend was in a coma and whose concern was genuine. It was also the gesture of a woman touching a man she had feelings for, and Hale could not tell the difference because both gestures looked identical and the matebond was providing zero clarity.
He stood by the door. Arms crossed. Observing.
Elara looked at the bandage on Gav’s shoulder. Her eyes lingered for half a second longer than necessary. The linger was the tell. The linger was the thing that confirmed Hale’s conclusion, because a woman checking a bandage looked at the bandage once, and a woman with a secret checked it twice, and Elara had just checked it twice.
“He looks better,” Hale said. His voice was normal. His chest was a war zone.
“He does,” Elara agreed. She released Gav’s hand and leaned back in the chair. “His color is good. Alaric said the dark veins are completely gone. The shift in his vitals happened the night Serena gave him her blood.”
“Serena’s blood healed him.”
“Partially. Alaric thinks the coma is the body’s way of integrating the healing. He could wake up tomorrow. He could wake up next week.” She paused. “I just want to be here when he does. He should see a familiar face.”
Hale absorbed the sentence. Filed it. The sentence was kind, considerate, and exactly what a friend would say. It was also exactly what a woman with feelings would say, and the dual interpretation was going to drive Hale Ironholt out of his mind before the week was over.
He pulled a second chair beside Elara’s and sat. If his mate was going to sit vigil for Gavriel Sterling, then Hale Ironholt was going to sit vigil beside his mate for Gavriel Sterling, because wherever Elara went, Hale followed, and the following was non-negotiable regardless of the reason for the destination.
They sat in silence. The fire crackled. Gav’s breathing was steady, rhythmic, the breathing of a man whose body was somewhere between repair and consciousness.
Five minutes passed.
Ten.
Hale’s hand found Elara’s. She took it. Squeezed. The squeeze was warm, genuine, carrying the love that had never wavered, and Hale held her hand and felt the love and felt the guilt and sat in the contradiction and breathed.
Gavriel stirred.
Both of them leaned forward. The movement was simultaneous, involuntary, the shared reflex of two people who had been waiting for signs of consciousness and had just received one.
Gav’s head turned on the pillow. His brow furrowed. His lips moved, forming a shape that was trying to become a word, and the word was climbing through layers of unconsciousness with the slow, determined effort of a man whose brain was surfacing from a depth it had occupied for days.
The word arrived.
“Serena…”
It came out on an exhale, soft, aching, carrying the specific sound of a man who was dreaming about a woman and the dream was vivid enough to make her name the first thing his unconscious mouth produced. The sound was tender. Intimate. Unmistakable.
The room went very still.