Kira
When I found out D'Angelo was still alive, I felt a wave of relief and joy wash over me. Words could not express the intensity of such a powerful emotion. My heart burst into a fever of excitement, pounding against my chest like a drum.
Before Zina came, I was already grieving D'Angelo's loss and in a deep, painful sorrow. My mother tried to cheer me up by pointing out that the announcement was unofficial. But something was wrong, judging by the warriors' expressions when they emerged from the van.
Excitement replaced all of my sadness after learning of Zina's news. I could breathe again because of how light my chest felt.
My mate survived!
Zina was driving us to the clinic. We drove out of the estate into the commercial part of town. Soldiers returning home and families getting back together made the pack rowdy.
I noticed that Zina was holding herself rigidly as if someone had cut open a recently healed wound in her heart. Her lips were pinched tight, and she said nothing to me, which was very unusual for her. Her lively energy seemed distant, and the silence was heavy and oppressive.
"Zina, you seem shaken up. Is everything okay?"
She sighed deeply, and my stomach dropped.
Something was wrong.
She dismissed my question with a raspy, "I'm okay. It's probably fatigue and stress."
I didn't believe her. Everyone was supposed to be happy tonight. She was hiding something.
"Have you seen Grey? Is he with D'Angelo?"
Her face went awash in emotions the instant I said those words as if she were experiencing inner torment. Her hands were gripping the steering wheel, and I noticed that.
She then delivered devastating news to me.
"He's dead."
I fell silent, stunned into total shock at what she said. My mind went blank and I was unable to form any words. Then, the shock caused me to have severe chest pain.
How could Grey be dead? Why?
"The... He... Why..."
I began speaking in fragments.
Zina gave me a sidelong glance but remained silent. Then she choked out and fixed her gaze on the road. I covered my mouth with my hand to keep from screaming.
"He's gone like the wind. Poof,” she uttered with a weak attempt at humor, mimicking Grey’s action with her thumb and forefinger. “Out of all the males who went to war, he didn't make it back."
My body temperature dropped suddenly, and though I tried to process this information, I was unable to.
I so badly wanted a relationship like Zina's with Grey. Zina has expressed her hurt at not having children and has cried on occasion, but I have never witnessed her display such devastation and sorrow.
She drove in silence until we arrived at the clinic, at which point I hurried to relieve myself of my full bladder and hurried back to her. I broke down in tears when I saw her leaning against her car and gazing into space.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Zina," I managed to say between sobs, and my heart ached for this wonderful woman who didn't deserve this kind of sorrow.
Placing her hand on my back, she guided me to a medical room populated by doctors in white coats. As soon as we stepped inside, the quiet chattering stopped and everyone turned to stare at me.
The doctors all looked to be older than forty; some had graying beards and all bore the marks of years spent in the medical field. They were watching me closely, and I could feel their eyes following every step I took.
"Who is she?" one of them asked Zina, and she hesitated before speaking.
It was getting out there that D'angelo and I were mates. Certainly, if five of these men knew about it, they would surely tell their friends and family.
"She is his mate," Zina stated simply, as they exchanged startled glances.
I kept my eyes closed and crossed my legs, shrinking away from them. The one who seemed to be the oldest got up when I opened my eyes.
“Have you received a mark, my dear?”
I shook my head in response, setting off a chain reaction of whispers among them.
"That doesn't matter. Come with us."
Zina showed me the way to D’Angelo's room with two of the physicians. The closer we got, the heavier my stomach got, and the more I fought against the urge to pass out.
My face was covered in cold sweat as I stepped in. Surrounded by wires and tubes, D'Angelo looked unrecognizable.
His face was deathly pale and a bruise slashed across his forehead. Zina walked over to the side of the hospital bed, my breath quickened and my heart pounded rapidly in my chest.
I was not prepared for the shift. Seeing such a strong, vibrant alpha reduced to a pale, sick man was beyond shocking.
"Move closer to him," the physician instructed me, with his voice barely above a whisper. "There is enough space on the bed for you to lie next to him. Just make sure not to disconnect the wires. Communicate to him how much you need him by touching him. Only your hands and voice can bring him back."
I exchanged a fearful look with Zina, who encouraged me with a nod. I crept toward his bed, my legs threatening to buckle. Taking slow deliberate steps, I reached for D'Angelo's arm and took his hand gently in mine, hoping to comfort him as best as I could and my fingers traced patterns on his skin.
My heart raced, filled with intense love for my mate. I knew D'Angelo would make it through because he was a fighter.
They excused themselves, one by one, from the room. Zina was the last person to leave. With her face backing me, she headed to the door and gave me a side glance.
"You're lucky," she uttered in a huskier, lower voice. "I wish my husband and I had the same grace. I would have pleaded with him to stay alive."
I whimpered and pressed my lips tightly to prevent them from quivering from the intense mental anguish in her voice.
She left after saying, "Let me know if you need anything. There's a private nurse stationed in the next room. Ring the bell if there's an emergency.”
Alone, I lay gingerly next to D’Angelo and studied the angles of his face. The same face that relaxed into a smile and lit up a cocky grin when he was happy with me, the expressive face that beyond words showed me how much he loved me was now lifeless.
As I gazed upon his peaceful face, my insides mixed in pain and agony. This was too much to take in. His skin was unnaturally clammy, his breathing shallow and his lips tinged blue. I wanted to wake him up. To kiss him. To hold him close.
“D'Angelo, please my love. You need to wake up. Don't leave me alone."
I buried my face against his chest and cried, while rocking back and forth, desperate for his return.
Tears dripped down my cheeks as I clutched onto him like an infant to its mother.
“Please wake up. Your friend, Grey, is dead. We can't afford to mourn two deaths at once.”
I leaned over his sleeping face and placed a soft peck on his eyelid. “You and my mom are the most important people in my life right now and I want you to stay alive for me, please my love.”
A painful silence greeted me. I felt like someone ripped out my heart and stomped on it, crushing it flat and leaving me wrecked.
I carefully lay beside him and peppered his face with feather-light kisses. Then I noticed something unusual.
There was a slight twitch in his mouth and his eyelids fluttered slightly. My heart began racing but when he remained still, I felt it was a figment of my imagination.
A few seconds later, he did it again, this time, slowly blinking.
I felt bottomless happiness and blissfully alive to see that he was stirring awake. I caressed his face and pressed my forehead against his.
“D'Angelo!” I exclaimed, tears flowing freely down my face. “Wake up, my love, please.”
His lids finally cracked open, revealing a bloodshot pair of hazel, glassy eyes that searched around aimlessly.
"Grey," he called out softly, almost hoarsely. His voice sounded raspy and he winced in pain, a grimace appearing on his face. “Please, save Grey.”
I jumped off the bed and rushed to press the emergency button. A young nurse rushed in immediately, followed closely by a doctor.
“He's awake, but was hallucinating,” I said and they nodded.
I watched quietly while the doctor worked feverishly to stabilize him and monitor his vital signs and also tried to ease some of the pain he felt.
While they did their thing, I sat beside D'angelo and held his limp hand within both of mine. I squeezed it gently trying to calm his nerves and provide whatever comfort I could.
When he opened his eyes again, they were more focused this time and rested on me. My hands tingled when he cracked open a smile.
“Kira,” he rasped with a very tired voice as if his lungs were still unable to produce air. He closed his eyes again, exhausted from the battle of consciousness.
“I'm here,” I whispered to him. “I'll always be here.”
His response was a tired smile.