Chapter 137: Thank you

"Look, see! That’s Minny!"

Matthias clutched his father’s hand, pointing a small finger toward the aquarium at the largest fish inside—his very first pet. He loved it with that selfless, unreserved devotion only children possess: without reason, without condition, simply because it was his.

Magnus took in the room with quiet intensity, examining every detail, lingering on every photograph arranged on the shelf.

Matthias had proudly shown him every single toy, introduced him to the turtles and the fish, chattering endlessly as he leaped from one subject to the next. Magnus listened to every word, hanging on his son’s voice as if each syllable held vital importance.

I remained frozen in the doorway, unable to fully process how any of this had happened. The second their eyes met, Matthias had instinctively claimed him as his father. Without question. Without a shred of doubt that this man—a stranger he was seeing for the very first time—was his father.

It was astonishing.

My son had always been far too bright for his age, but this was something else entirely. It wasn’t logic at work—it was blood. Instinct. Something echoing from a depth far beyond human understanding.

Yet Magnus’s reaction stunned me even more. My skin still burned from the moment he had stepped close and gathered us both into his arms—holding his son and me securely against his chest.

He had pressed us against the solid, scorching heat of his body, sending a violent tremor straight through my core. Burying his face into my hair, he had simply inhaled, drawing in my scent with an intimacy so profound my knees had nearly buckled from weakness. Deep inside my chest, the lost mate bond had purred, begging for more—craving his touch, craving him.

"Did you see lots of whales while you were at sea?"

Matthias scrambled onto his father’s lap as Magnus sat on the edge of the bed, his little legs kicking with restless excitement. A bright flush bloomed on his cheeks, and the radiant shine in his eyes revealed a pure, unadulterated happiness I hadn’t seen in him for a very long time. Perhaps never.

"I saw one, and I came straight to you so I could tell you all about it," Magnus replied, his voice husky with raw emotion. He flicked a quick, bewildered glance toward me, though he instinctively picked up on the story I must have crafted.

When Matthias had suddenly begun asking about his father a year ago—demanding to know why the other children at the clinic had two parents while he only had me—I had been forced to invent a quick lie.

My eyes had caught a billboard advertising a traveling aquarium exhibition, and I blurted out the first thought that came to mind: his father was a marine researcher away on a long sea expedition. Matthias had been utterly enchanted by the story, and I had breathed a quiet sigh of relief. The truth would have to come out eventually, of course. But not then.

"I wanna see them too! Mommy said that as soon as I get better, we’re going to see the ocean!"

I watched Magnus’s sharp eyes drop to the faint bruise near the crook of Matthias’s elbow—the clear trace of an IV catheter. He locked eyes with me, a silent demand for answers burning in his gaze. I merely gave a small, subtle shake of my head. Later.

As they talked, with Matthias listening in wide-eyed wonder as Magnus explained the habits of underwater creatures, I couldn’t help but marvel at the Alpha’s demeanor. He was so gentle, so patient—taking the time to thoroughly answer every single question the little boy threw at him.

Smart as Matthias was, he was still just a four-year-old child. Yet Magnus’s detailed knowledge of marine life, mollusks, and dolphins was genuinely staggering. I couldn’t shake the surreal feeling that he had somehow memorized an entire encyclopedia just for this moment.

Gradually, Matthias’s head began to droop against his father’s chest. The exhaustion from the blood transfusion was taking its toll, and he eventually slid from Magnus’s lap onto the mattress, drifting off to sleep to the soft, steady rhythm of his father’s voice explaining seahorses.

I stepped forward, pulling a warm blanket over his shoulders, and spoke softly into the quiet room without turning around.

"Let’s go. We need to talk."

Magnus tore his eyes away from the sleeping child and stood up. Instead of heading toward the door, he pulled me flush against his body. Slipping his hands onto my waist, he gently traced a burning line upward along my hips, his breath hot against my temple as he whispered:

"Thank you."

"For what...?" I froze in his embrace, my body instinctively leaning closer to his neck. The scent of his skin was an irresistible lure; I knew I should keep my distance, but it pulled at me like a magnet—like a traveler in a barren desert catching sight of a long-sought oasis.

"For him. I never even dared to dream that I’d be given the chance to see our child."

His words instantly cleared every thought from my head, leaving a single massive question only he could answer. But before I could ask it, he raised my chin with two fingers and softly touched his lips to mine. Gentle. Unhurried.

His kiss dissolved everything that had felt so vital a second ago, erasing words and meaning until nothing remained except the warmth of his hands and the intoxicating scent of his skin.

"Mmm... Magnus, stop... we need to talk," I gasped, barely managing to break the kiss.

His breathing was heavy and ragged, but he slowly forced himself to regain control. Taking a step back, his hands glided over my ribs down to my waist before catching my hand and pulling me toward the door. Outside in the corridor, the warriors from our pack stood alongside strangers—his men.

We stepped into my room. The window was still cracked open, and a sudden chill made me shiver as I tried to pull my hand free to close it. Magnus held fast, tightening his grip in a silent declaration: where you go, I go. Letting out a heavy breath, I simply guided him to the window, shut it, and turned around.

The medical equipment had not been cleared from the room. Nothing had been touched. Neither the glass vial containing traces of his blood nor the IV drip.

"What is our son sick with?"