ETHEREAL

14

The south wing of the packhouse was often cold and quiet, with hushed sounds coming from patients. The in house hospital tried to look warm, but many had watched their loved ones die here, and the thought of coming here for any reason chilled pack members to the bone. Silence was welcomed hungrily by the cold atmosphere where little Rosa sat in her hospital bed, almost healed to perfection with a book in her hands and a frown to match the environment. She had been here for more than a week and a half, mostly against her will due to her mate insisting, and despite being Luna, Dante was persistent.

Dante sat in the corner of her room, watching her mostly whilst managing to do as much work as his body allowed him to, which, mind you, wasn't much at all. It was ironic to watch the pair, for the injured party was the one who coped best in such a situation whilst her mate crumbled beneath her. He had watched her nearly die, and it was no secret that it had left him traumatised. It was even worse when you factored in the fact they had barely exchanged a few words over the past few days due to his little stunt behind her back. She wasn't angry with him, nor disappointed anymore, but it had hurt her so deeply that she wasn't too sure what to feel anymore.  He understood, which left her relieved, and they often held one another, cherishing the mate bond that even they could not deny. Indeed the south wing of the house was awfully cold and often quiet, with only those hushed noises left to hear - but Dante and Rosa needed peace. They worshipped it.

He would occasionally leave throughout the days due to important matters and continue on the case of who had dared to touch his Luna. The thought alone would put a rage inside his body that no one had seen before, which was a big statement to make, considering he was known across lands for his anger. Despite how long he would leave, he would always come back to her and lay with her because he knew how badly she missed sleeping together peacefully. He would kiss her head, and she would hold him close, their bodies mending together like two jigsaw puzzles created solely for one another. They would sleep until morning, where they would not speak but rather embrace, Rosa kissing each scar on his craggy face. She was not angry anymore, because she knew in her heart if she had the same option pertaining to him, she would pick it twice. He would always come back to her; no matter how challenging the day was or how badly he was needed, he would come back because it was what she wanted. He would be damned before he let her down again.

She spent most of her days reading, and he often came back with a new book that he thought she'd enjoy. She was a hopeless romantic, so it was never hard to find one that she could thrust herself into. Anything to heal the fear that he believed was embedded into her brain, like his. Little did Dante know that his mate was no longer the Rosa that many knew, cherished even. A fire had been lit inside of her from the moment she was presented with poisoned tea months ago, and it had grown to unbelievable heights when she had almost felt the life slipping from her very soul. She would find who wanted her dead, and she would deal with them herself because she was Luna of the North Black pack and she would rather be stuck in a pathetic hospital bed for the rest of her life than ever see her mate so helpless again. She would not be the reason for his ruin, whether intentional, again.

Rosa knew that he had information that he was withholding from her, and it made her laugh at the thought of Dante not realising she, too, was a shifter. Rosa's wolf was weak, and it was a known fact, so she could not shift on-demand like so many others - but this did not make her lesser than for she adored her wolf so very much. Her wolf and his were intertwined in every way possible, and that was enough for the both of them. Her hearing was still powerful, like the rest of her kind, so the hushed whispers behind her door were futile.

Lon had appeared two nights ago, just before Dante came in, and they had spoken in quiet tones, the sweet taste of anger on both of their tongues.