*Isla*
I’m not sure if my eyes are open or shut. I don’t know if the tapestry above the bed–the rich fabric woven with florals amongst a blanket of stars–is actually what I’m seeing, or if I’m now laying outside, looking up into the endless, moonless night.
I don’t feel the maids clutching my arms. I don’t feel the cool rag Poppy has draped over my forehead. I don’t feel Maddox’s large, calloused hand retreat from my bare, heated thigh.
I just feel myself slipping away with each ragged, forced breath.
“The baby is stuck. It’s been hours.”
“We need your decision, Alpha.”
“There is a way, but it means losing the mother.”
“You will need to choose.”
“The prince–or the Luna?”
Choose our son. Choose our son. Maddox, if you can hear me, choose our son!
“Isla, please,” Poppy’s terrifi
