Chapter 195 - 21 grams

"Shh... my insatiable female," Magnus rasped, wincing in pain the second I tugged at the collar of his damp shirt.

The moment I straddled his thighs and planted my palms on the mattress on either side of his torso, the look in his eyes subtly shifted. His predatory instincts smelled a trap; his sharp, amber gaze pinned my face, searching for answers.

"Alan!" I called toward the cracked door, never breaking eye contact with my Alpha.

Our pack doctor immediately slipped into the bedroom, instantly catching the heavy, lethal glare Magnus threw him—a look that promised a long, agonizing death.

My Alpha had clearly envisioned a completely different continuation to this frantic night. But the dark, wet stains blooming across the black fabric spoke for themselves. He was wounded and hiding it, determined not to distress me. Yet his silence only drove me mad. I was trembling with anxiety, sickened by the knowledge that he was bleeding and I had no idea how grave the injury was.

Even out in the hallway, the instant we crossed the threshold of the house, he had crushed his mouth to mine, fiercely shutting down every attempt I made to rest my hands against his chest.

Nearby, a pale Alan had hovered alongside Sayan, who had just earned a stinging clip on the ear from our furious doctor.

One look at them, and everything clicked into place. Adam had swiftly guided Damian toward the guest wing, where our housekeeper rushed to meet them, barely holding back her tears at the sight of the boy’s bruises.

Once I knew the young boy was in gentle hands and our own son was safe under Askold’s protection, I forced my stubborn husband onto his back.

Magnus looked utterly dark as Alan ignored his razor-sharp glare, cutting away the bloody, adhered bandages while cursing filthily under his breath. I froze, forgetting how to breathe. My eyes locked onto two jagged puncture marks high in his left shoulder. The stitches had torn completely open, soaking the threads in fresh blood.

Against the colossal frame of my mate, the injury almost looked trivial—like a flesh scratch. But a primal horror clawed beneath my ribs, suffocating me: the shooter had aimed directly for his heart and used silver bullets. It was a miracle he had missed.

"Alan, how much does a bullet weigh on average?" I asked numbly, my unfocused gaze pinned to my mate’s tense face.

"It varies, my soul... depending on the firearm and caliber," Magnus answered evasively in place of the doctor, who had frozen with forceps in hand.

"And how much did these bullets weigh?" I demanded stubbornly, needing the answer to anchor my fraying sanity.

Magnus closed his eyes, his brow furrowing thoughtfully.

"I’d estimate... around ten and a half grams each... though I couldn’t say with absolute certainty," Alan offered reluctantly, dabbing away the congealed blood as he pulled a fresh suture needle through the skin.

"Magnus... did you know the human soul is said to weigh exactly twenty-one grams?" I whispered in a broken voice, feeling a painful spasm tighten in my chest. "Tonight, you practically traded yours... for a chunk of silver."

"There’s no hard evidence it even exists in a material form," Alan chimed in with typical medical skepticism.

"Alan. Shut up," Magnus snarled, sliding his palm out of my weak grip. His warm fingers traced the curve of my cheek, his intense gaze boring so deeply into mine that it made my heart ache. I frantically caught his hand, pressing it against my face, desperate to anchor myself to his heat. Warm, alive, and mine. He was here, and beneath his ribs, I could feel the steady thud of his heartbeat.

"I can’t promise this will never happen again, Jane. But I will do everything in my power to keep you from ever having to worry like this."

I nodded, squeezing my eyes shut to hold back the tears. His heavy hand settled over the lowest curve of my belly with something bordering on reverence. A silent, unspoken question hung in his dark eyes.

"The baby is fine," I whispered softly, placing my palm over his. "But we still need to get an ultrasound... Will you come with me?"

"Of course. I want to see our child," he said firmly, his lips barely twitching when Alan aggressively slapped a wide adhesive bandage over the fresh sutures.

"There’s barely anything to look at yet. An embryo at this stage is the size of a pea," the doctor scoffed, dropping his bloody surgical tools into a stainless steel tray with a harsh clatter.

"I said I want to see my child. Now get out. You’ve ruined the mood enough with your whining," my mate growled, sitting up abruptly on the edge of the mattress and completely ignoring the flare of pain.

The doctor instantly blew a fuse.

"I have had it with you, Rainn! Luna, his wounds are entirely your responsibility now! He is on strict, mandatory rest! No physical exertion! Absolute bed rest, or I swear to Goddess I won’t answer for the consequences. I’m going to sleep. And if anyone dares wake me before dawn... I will personally blind them with medical alcohol!"

The heavy door slammed shut with enough force to shake the walls, and the doctor vanished into the corridor.

"Is he... always like that?" I asked, startled, staring at the closed door.

"Only when he’s pushed past his limit. He’s a dramatic mess. A brilliant physician—brings people back from the brink of death—but his insufferable temper keeps him from lasting in any standard hospital. I don’t care about his outbursts. This is mild for him... sometimes he breaks down crying," Magnus grunted with a faint smirk.

He was clearly trying to distract me, reaching down to pull his blood-stained shirt back over his shoulders to mask any trace of vulnerability. I pressed both palms firmly against his broad, muscular chest, sliding the fabric back off his shoulders.

"Oh no, Mr. Rainn. You’re covered in soot and wounded, so take it all off," I commanded softly, stepping into the adjoining bathroom.