A Luna's Broken Heart

Chapter 3: Coming Back From The Dead

-Rider-

I feared I might not be able to save him. He was so weak and thin, his breathing slow, his skin pallid. The cuts and bruises on his body concerned me, some of them too inflamed, raising fears of infection. I had started an IV, monitored his vitals as best I could, but my home lacked the necessary equipment for a comprehensive assessment.

I had administered antibiotics and listened to his heart and lungs, but now it was up to him. I knew he was a survivor—he had endured months alone in his wolf form, without aid, still fighting. At least his body was fighting. I was uncertain about his mind.

I sighed as I looked at him. I had placed him on a couch in my living room, covered with a blanket. He wore nothing else. I wished I could do more for him, but my efforts were limited to preventing hunger and infection. The rest was up to him.

I rose from the couch, realizing it was time to take care of myself, even though I often forgot to do so when focused on a patient. Fortunately, I owned my own practice and could take days off as needed. I worked with reliable colleagues who were always available to cover for me, though I rarely took advantage of that until now. I needed to stay here and ensure James’s recovery, both mentally and physically.

I walked into the kitchen, but despite having barely eaten all day, I wasn’t hungry. The worry overshadowed my appetite, leaving me merely exhausted. Instead, I went to a small hallway with a staircase leading to the first floor.

I climbed the stairs and walked down the hallway to my room. With fatigue weighing on me, I threw myself onto my bed and closed my eyes. I was an insomniac—had been for years since my family was brutally killed and I was taken captive. But tonight, it came faster and lasted longer than usual, lasting until just before the sun rose.

The next morning, not much had changed. James remained sound asleep, though his color had improved slightly. I hoped it was a sign that he was getting better. His wounds were still red and oozing. I cleaned them, changed his bandages, and listened to his heart again. It was slow—too slow. This worried me, but I hoped that with time and fluids, his heart would regain strength.

I walked into the kitchen to make some breakfast, but was interrupted by screams coming from the living room. I rushed back inside to find James tossing on the couch, calling out for his deceased mate.

“Jane! Jane! No!”

It broke my heart to see him like this. I hurried to my bag where I kept medical equipment and sedatives. Administering the sedative, he slowly began to calm down. I sat down on a nearby coffee table, reflecting on the kind of person he would be when he woke.

James had been a dedicated and hardworking male, serious about his job. He had been a great help to my brother, both as a fighter and as a reliable person. He didn’t deserve this suffering.

I rose to my feet and took one last look at the ailing James on my old, worn-out couch. I refused to let this be his last day. I walked back into the kitchen, but my appetite had vanished. I put the food back in the fridge and headed upstairs to take a shower.

As I turned on the water, I glanced at myself in the mirror and noticed my blonde roots were already showing. I needed to dye my hair again. It grew so quickly, and no matter what I did, the roots always made an appearance.

I quickly retrieved the black hair dye. With it, I looked more like my older brother and my father. Valerio was the only one to inherit our father’s hair color. Tara, I, and Ryker had all inherited our mother’s color, though our eyes were a striking yellow, revealing the strength of our lineage.

Running a hand through my hair, I stripped off my clothes and stepped into the shower. The warm water felt soothing. After washing my hair and body, I wrapped a towel around my lower body, dried my hair, and prepared to reapply the black dye.

“Here we go.”