Two Surgeries and an Alpha Husband's Choice

The next afternoon, I held my matte-black phone up so the red recording light faced her.

"You texted me about a permanent solution," I said. "Let's hear it."

Emma stood two steps above me on the wide oak staircase of the Luna Gallery. She wore no brace today. Her signature silver cane was nowhere in sight.

She dropped the gentle, fragile smile she always wore whenever my husband was in the room. Her gaze turned flat and calculating.

"Cole chose you because of the mate bond and the pack's need for a Luna," Emma said, her voice entirely stripped of its usual weakness. "He didn't pick you because he moved on from me. You know that, don't you?"

"I refuse to play this game," I said, sliding the phone into my coat pocket. "I came here to settle the gallery schedule, not debate the foundation of my marriage."

"I don't want the Luna title," Emma continued, taking a half-step down. Her eyes locked onto mine. "I don't want your house. I don't even want the pack's adoration. I just want to know the truth. If we both need him at the exact same time, who does he walk toward?"

"Keep your twisted tests to yourself," I snapped. "And stop dragging Finn into this. He is a child, not a pawn for your unresolved history."

A cold laugh escaped her lips. "Finn already knows who is lonelier, Serena. Children are incredibly perceptive. He spent hours drawing me a card yesterday because he pities me. I just need one honest choice from Cole."

Her eyes darted over my shoulder.

"Dad!" Finn's voice echoed from the ground floor foyer.

I turned my head. Cole strode through the heavy glass side doors, shaking rain from his dark coat.

Before I could take a single step down, Emma's fingers clamped around my wrist like a vice.

"Release my arm," I ordered, yanking backward.

The force of my pull should have simply broken her grip. Instead, Emma threw her weight backward. Her heel slid over the edge of the wooden tread. Her fingers snagged the cuff of my sweater, locking us together.

Gravity took over.

We tumbled down the steep flight. I twisted my spine mid-air, throwing my arms over my swollen belly to take the brunt of the impact. My hip slammed against the mid-level landing platform. A sharp crack echoed through the open gallery space.

Warm, wet heat rushed down my inner thighs.

Emma lay sprawled on the steps below me. She let out a piercing wail before I could even draw oxygen into my lungs.

Cole took the stairs three at a time.

Emma looked up at him, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. "Serena, why did you push me?" she asked, her voice trembling violently.

I pressed my palms against the hardwood floor, trying to push myself up. A violent cramp seized my lower abdomen, pinning me back down.

Cole stepped right past my bleeding form.

He dropped to his knees beside Emma, his hands hovering over her legs. "Are you injured? Tell me where it hurts," he demanded, entirely focused on her face.

Footsteps padded up the stairs. Finn stopped two feet away from me. He stared at the dark puddle spreading beneath my skirt. His small chest rose and fell rapidly.

"Finn," I gasped, reaching a shaking hand toward him.

He flinched, then ran past me, grabbing tight to Cole's coat sleeve.

"She pulled me down with her," I forced the words out, fighting another wave of agonizing cramps.

"I tried to catch you!" Emma sobbed, clutching Cole's arm. "It's okay, Cole. Don't be mad at her. The pregnancy hormones make people lash out. I shouldn't have stood so close to the edge."

Cole turned his head. His eyes met mine, entirely devoid of warmth.

"You knew she was terrified of losing her shift permanently," Cole said, his tone sharp enough to cut bone. "And you decided to start a physical fight on a staircase?"

The mate bond flared inside my chest, burning like a lit match dropped on dry leaves. The physical pain of the fall merged with the agonizing rejection radiating from him.

"Cole, please," I whispered, holding my hand out to my mate.

He looked away from my outstretched fingers. "The healers are already here."

Paramedics flooded the stairs. Two separate teams swarmed the landing.

A medic pressed a monitor to my stomach. The rapid, frantic beeping of the fetal heart rate filled the air, erratic and terrifying.

Below us, Emma cried out again. "My leg is going numb. Cole, I have no feeling in my toes."

"Finn," I gritted my teeth, pointing to the cracked phone resting against the banister. "Get my phone."

He grabbed the device and handed it to me without looking at my face.

I tapped the cracked screen, pulling up the audio file I had just recorded. I pressed play.

An error message popped up. File corrupted.

Cole watched the silent screen from a few feet away. His jaw tightened in obvious disgust. "Making up excuses while they load you onto a stretcher. Unbelievable."

They lifted me onto a backboard. The sterile ceiling lights blurred as they rushed me out the doors.

Twenty minutes later, the emergency bay at the Pack hospital descended into chaos.

"Her blood pressure is dropping," Dr. Mara shouted over the noise of the room. "Get another IV line started. Serena, stay awake."

"The baby," I choked out, gripping the metal rail of the bed.

"We are doing everything we can," Dr. Mara said, her face grim. "We have a suspected placental abruption. Fetal distress is escalating. Prep an OR for an immediate procedure."

Across the wide hallway, another medical team clustered around Emma.

She gripped the fabric of Cole's shirt. "Don't let them take my wolf, Cole," she pleaded, her voice echoing off the tile walls. "Please. I refuse to live like a human. You promised you would protect me."

"I'm right here," Cole said, his hand covering hers.

My chest hollowed out. The mate bond pulsed with a sickening ache.

"The trauma aggravated the old fracture," Emma's private surgeon announced loudly to the room. "If we don't stabilize the nerve damage right now, she will permanently lose the ability to shift."

Nurses pushed both our beds toward the double doors of the surgical wing. The wheels squeaked loudly against the linoleum floor.

I turned my head on the thin pillow.

Cole walked between the two stretchers, his face pale, his jaw locked tight.

A senior nurse stepped directly into his path, holding two digital tablets.

"Alpha Ashford," she said, blocking the entrance to the surgical corridor. "Both patients require emergency intervention, but we need you to sign the authorization forms to proceed."

She held out a single plastic stylus.

"Which one do you want to authorize first?"