16: Whispers in Moonlight

"Always remember, someone's effort is a reflection of their interest in you."

-Unknown

****

I am roused from slumber by the persistent sound of beeping that invades my ears. Gently, I coerce my heavy eyelids to flutter open, gradually coming to grips with my surroundings. The source of the beeping becomes apparent as I focus on the heart monitor stationed to my left.

Taking in my surroundings, I find myself in a dreary hospital room, enveloped by walls painted in a somber shade of white. Feeble attempts to enliven the bleakness are made by a scattering of faux vegetation, struggling to breathe vitality into the otherwise lackluster space. Positioned in the far corner, adjacent to a large window on my left, is a door that I presume leads to the bathroom. The window, though small, serves a purpose beyond providing a glimpse of the outside world—it illuminates the room with the soft glow of moonlight.

Summoning the strength to sit upright on the hospital bed, my gaze falls upon my arm, tethered to an intravenous drip. A desire to free myself from its confinement surges within me, but a familiar voice halts my intentions. "Don't remove it," he admonishes from my right side.

Turning towards the source of the voice, I discern an indistinct figure seated on a chair in the corner, partially concealed by the moonlit shadows. It dawns on me that I failed to notice him earlier, as the moon's radiance falls short of reaching that particular section of the room. Rising from his seat, he strides toward my bed, shedding light upon his appearance.

His countenance is worn and haggard, a mere semblance of his former self. His face bears the remnants of a three-day-old beard, akin to a shadow cast by the morning sun. Dark circles encompass his eyes, lending an air of premature aging. His pallid complexion adds to the impression of a man deprived of sustenance, while his eyes, brimming with anxiety and fleeting emotions, betray an inner turmoil. He appears lifeless, to the point where I begin to question if he requires the intravenous support more than I do. It seems as though a gentle gust of wind could effortlessly topple him.

"I feel perfectly fine, though," I assure him, my voice laced with sincerity. Indeed, never before have I felt such robust health as I do at this moment. Fatigue weighs upon me heavily, but a restful slumber promises to alleviate it. "Just incredibly tired, but that is a trivial ailment that sleep can easily vanquish."

Pausing for a moment, he retreats a step, contemplating my words, before stating, with a weariness permeating his voice. "Let me fetch the doctor," he murmurs, his wearied tone resonating in the air. Just as he moves to depart, my hushed whisper halts him in his tracks. "What happened?" I inquire, my voice barely more than a gentle exhale, escaping my lips like a fragile wisp of smoke. Caught in the grip of hesitation, he exhales heavily, his internal struggle evident, before slowly retreating towards the door, closing it quietly behind him.

Relief washes over me as silence reclaims the room, cradling me in a tranquil embrace. Nestling my head against the pillow, I allow my eyelids to flutter shut, succumbing to the lullaby of peace. Yet, as the darkness ensnares me, my memories surge forth, overwhelming my consciousness. Visions of a room akin to an asylum, devoid of doors or windows, where ethereal flames danced and intertwined with my body, resurface in my mind's eye. And in that crucial moment, I realise—I embraced them. My eyes snap open at this revelation, and the world around me begins to spin.

"I accepted them," I murmured to myself, struggling to grasp the magnitude of my own admission. My grip on reality tightens as the door swings open, revealing a man garbed in a white coat, with a dispirited Blake trailing behind him. "Greetings, Luna. I am Dr. Colin, the pack physician," he introduces himself, offering me a gentle smile. Returning his gesture, I inquire, "Have any tests been conducted? Were the results cause for concern?"

Dr. Colin's intrigued expression silently probes me, prompting me to disclose my profession. With a nod of understanding and realisation illuminating his features, he responds, "Indeed, we ran several tests, and the results appeared within normal parameters. There was nothing out of the ordinary, save for the momentary cessation of your breathing and heartbeat, which we managed to revive. However, upon resuscitation, you experienced violent convulsions, accompanied by a peculiar transformation of your eyes, shifting from golden to crimson. We administered a sedative to calm you."

At the mention of my near-death encounter, a low growl reverberates from Blake, his body tensing and fists clenching, betraying his suppressed fear. Redirecting my attention to Dr. Colin, I ask hopefully, "May I be discharged today? I feel perfectly hale, merely fatigued." The physician nods in agreement. "I intend to conduct further tests to ensure no issues or oversights occurred. Once the results return normal, you shall be free to depart." Expressing gratitude, I bid him farewell, and he departs, assuring me that a nurse will arrive shortly to extract a blood sample for additional examinations.

At the mere mention of blood, a peculiar response engulfs me—a sudden salivation floods my mouth, accompanied by an audible growl rumbling from my stomach. Hastily dismissing it as a consequence of hunger, I choose to pay it no further mind. However, Blake's voice slices through the silence, his tone laced with anxiety. "You frightened me," he confesses, his words echoing in the stillness of the room. Standing beside me, motionless, he gazes at me with an unmistakable fear reflecting in his eyes.

Is it the fear of losing me?

Uttering a simple apology, I find myself devoid of any words that could assuage his distress. Still wounded by the pain inflicted when he walked out that door the morning after my heat, concealing a tapestry of lies and secrets, I avert my gaze, struggling to maintain composure. Yet, his presence remains, undeterred by the silence, and he settles on the bed, his hand tenderly cupping my face, turning it gently to meet his gaze. Yielding to the torrent of emotions, I lean into his touch, releasing a soft sigh as the sparks ignited by our skin-to-skin contact envelop me, offering solace and a fleeting sense of tranquillity.

"I never want to experience that feeling ever again. I never want to witness you in such a state. I never want to lose you," he whispers, his voice trembling with fear, sorrow, and an enigmatic sentiment. Piercing his words, I pry open my eyes, meeting his gaze head-on. Only then do I realise—I am not solely looking into his eyes; I am peering into the depths of his soul, his wolf. His eyes, which once held a shade of grey I adored, have transformed into a captivating hue of amber.

Interrupting our trance, a knock resounds upon the door, announcing the arrival of a nurse, accompanied by a visibly relieved Nova and my father. My attention returns to Blake, now standing, his eyes reverting to their original colour.

Did I truly communicate with the wolf residing within him?