Chapter 256: The Healing Hands

Vivian’s POV

I lowered myself slowly into a comfortable squat on the cold hospital floor, reaching out both hands to take hers. She did not flinch away or pull her fingers back. In fact, a noticeable amount of the heavy tension in her shoulders finally eased, as if my simple presence right beside her managed to soothe her frazzled nerves even just a little bit.

She gave a soft, hesitant nod, then glanced lovingly toward the hospital bed, her dark eyes completely full of deep sorrow and unwavering devotion.

"Yeah, that is Jans," she murmured softly. "His real name is Junior, but I never thought it really fit him. He does not even like me calling him that either, but... he lets me get away with it because he loves me."

She let out a small chuckle under her breath, though the sound wavered dangerously with emotion. "He actually fought in that terrible war. Just got back recently. He is so strong I have seen him train a million times. He is incredible. Always helping someone else out, always putting himself dead last."

Her fond smile faltered as her eyes suddenly welled up with fresh tears. The immense pride in her voice made it crystal clear just how deeply she adored him, but the underlying pain told me his bravery had come at a terrifyingly high cost.

"He saved a close friend," she whispered, her voice dropping to a painful rasp. "But something inside those dark weapons whatever hit him out there it is like it completely shut down his natural healing abilities. He started bleeding profusely and just... would not stop. He fought hard through it all, but..."

"He is still not healing on his own?" I asked, my brows furrowing together in deep concern.

She shook her head slowly, unable to voice the horrible reality out loud.

I turned my head to look at Jans lying motionless across the mattress. He was broad-shouldered and heavily muscled, with thick honey-blonde hair and a neat, well-groomed beard. Under normal circumstances, he should have looked powerful, strong, and completely unstoppable. But right now, his skin had taken on a sickly yellow tinge, and dark purple bruises circled the skin beneath his hollow eyes. Faint green-blue veins pulsed sluggishly through his bare arms. The faint, metallic scent of fresh blood had only grown thicker since I first walked into the room.

He was not healing at all. His body was giving up the fight.

A strange, magnetic pull stirred deep within my chest. I wanted to help him no, I needed to help him. So I did not hesitate. Releasing one of the woman’s hands, I reached out and gently took Jans’ large, cold hand in mine, creating an invisible link connecting the three of us together.

"Hi, Jans," I said softly, keeping my tone warm and steady. "Is it okay if I call you that? Your mate tells me it suits you much better than Junior anyway."

I paused for a brief second, giving his limp fingers a reassuring squeeze.

"I heard about what you did out there. You are a true warrior brave, selfless, and fiercely loyal. Thank you for fighting so hard to protect others. But now... I really think it is time you let yourself heal. Your mate is sitting right here, praying for your return. I seriously doubt you would willingly leave her behind all alone, would you?"

I spoke to him as if he were fully conscious and listening to every single word. Because inside my heart, I wanted to believe he was still in there, fighting in the dark.

Deep inside my soul, my wolf and my inner beast remained quiet. They were not asleep, but rather completely focused, alert, and entirely present. The Luna spirit living inside all three of us myself, the grieving mate, and the unconscious warrior on the bed was drawn toward something much deeper than mere words. We were bound tightly together by raw instinct and a primal, sacred duty.

"I just want him to get better," she sobbed through trembling lips. "We do not even have kids yet... and he is just way too young to "

Her voice cracked completely, and she could not finish the tragic sentence. She did not need to. The rest of her painful thought sat heavily in the room like a massive stone, suffocating and cruel.

"He is going to make it," I said aloud, speaking with a fierce conviction I was not entirely sure I possessed myself, but desperately needed her to hear. "You will see."

I squeezed both of their hands again, hoping against hope that my touch could somehow do something anything at all to soothe the agonizing ache in the room. But right at that very second, something incredible happened.

A spark.

It was not a mere figure of speech. It was literal.

A soft, brilliant jolt of electricity suddenly surged between our joined hands, startling both of us so badly that we gasped. We instinctively jerked our hands apart for a fraction of a second, staring down at each other in sheer confusion.

And then she let out a loud sound not of fear, but of pure, unadulterated shock.

"Look!" she cried out, pointing frantically at his forearm.

There, right before our wide eyes, a deep, jagged gash began to magically stitch itself together. The torn skin drew inward slowly, cell by cell, closing up right until the ugly wound completely faded away into nothing more than a faint, healthy pink line.

My breath caught sharply in my throat.

The heavy energy in the room shifted instantly. A brand-new presence flickered back into existence faint, but undeniably real. It was his wolf. It had been knocked completely unconscious and buried deep beneath the dark magic, but now... it was finally stirring back to life.

Jans was finally healing.

And this time around, he was not fighting the battle all alone.

The poor woman immediately burst into soft, joyful tears as she threw her arms over her mate, burying her face in his shoulder and murmuring quiet, loving words only the two of them needed to hear. Seeing that quiet, beautiful moment of pure relief, I knew deep down that it was my cue to slip away unnoticed. They did not even realize when I stood up and backed away toward the door, which was perfectly fine with me. I stepped quietly out into the hallway and let out a long, slow exhale as a massive weight lifted off my shoulders.

One down, I thought to myself. And the spirits only know how many more still need my help.

When I reached the hallway, my pack guards were standing right where I had left them, with Joshula stationed quietly among them. Their eyes met mine instantly they looked worried, but not alarmed. They must have heard the woman’s sudden cries of joy through the thick wooden door and figured out that I had not been inside because I was hurt, but because I was finally doing what I needed to do... what a true Luna was supposed to do.

"I am not going to lie, I genuinely thought maybe you were injured or in danger when you rushed in there," Cort admitted with a sheepish grin as he scratched the back of his neck. "We have never actually seen you do... well, Luna things before, you know?"

I offered him a small, understanding smile and shook my head slightly. He was entirely right, of course. I had not really done much of anything yet to prove I truly deserved this massive title. I was definitely younger and less experienced than what most wolves expected a Luna to be, and Zahliver had never once forced me into the role or pressured me to lead. But that lack of initiative was not on him. This part stepping up to embrace my pack was entirely on me. And fully stepping into this role was going to take some serious adjusting for all of us.

Without wasting any more time, I turned and moved down the hall toward the next room.

Another patient. Another fragile silver thread slowly fraying under the crushing weight of loss and trauma.

By the time I finally emerged from that room, my emotions caught up to me, forcing me to brush a stray tear quickly from my cheek. I walked slowly down the corridor until I found a long wooden bench that was blessedly empty, and I finally allowed myself to sit down and rest my aching feet. The guards had been dismissed or rather, strictly ordered by me to take a proper break. They needed the rest much more than they were ever willing to admit out loud.

Ever since we had arrived at the hospital, I had been constantly bouncing back and forth between different sterile rooms, weaving my way through waves of grief and sudden relief, trauma and slow recovery. One room held an entire family praying loudly for a miracle, while the next room was filled with a heavy, deafening silence and absolute heartbreak. Some families were lucky their wounds were slowly healing, and hope was finally returning to their eyes. Others were tragically learning how to live with permanent loss. Those particular rooms were always the hardest to bear. They were the places where you could literally feel a shattered future collapsing right before it ever had a real chance to be built.