Chapter 76: The Razor’s Edge

Bradley’s POV

A long string of curses, violent enough to make his nonexistent sailor ancestors proud, rushed through Bradley’s mind. "What the..." The words broke off as he ripped the thin hospital blanket aside, his singular focus on getting up, on stopping that fool of a woman. Sharp, white-hot pain seized his side, and he buckled, his knees striking the cold linoleum floor with a sickening thud. Another litany of curses, raw and guttural, tore from his throat. The pain was nothing compared to the terror clawing at his chest - Trishelle was coming here, putting herself in danger, and he couldn’t even stand.

Sam winced, visibly relieved that his Alpha was too weak to properly throttle him. Well... at least he hoped so.

He stepped forward, hooking his hands under Bradley’s arms, and helped his furious Alpha back onto the bed just as Lorenzo burst into the room. The doctor immediately began clucking like a concerned mother hen, and seconds later, Sam found himself unceremoniously shoved aside by Nicole and another warrior Lorenzo had clearly recruited for any physical labor.

Bradley endured being poked and prodded, needles sliding into his skin, a cold stethoscope pressed against his chest. If he could have drawn a solid breath, he would have roared at Lorenzo to get the hell back. He knew he was being difficult, unreasonable even, but the news of Trishelle coming here, to him, had sent a shockwave of pure panic through him and his wolf. The primal need to protect her overrode everything else - pain, logic, his own survival. He had to keep her safe. It was the only law that mattered. But he couldn’t even stop the damn nurse from taking his blood pressure.

He sagged back against the pillows, defeated, a black scowl etched onto his face. The helplessness was a bitter pill, worse than any medication they could give him. He turned his head and pinned Sam with a glare that promised a world of pain. Sam just nodded, understanding the unspoken command perfectly. He slipped out of the room. Bradley wanted his mate protected, and he wanted it done ten minutes ago. Outside the door, Sam’s voice dropped to a low, urgent murmur as he began linking and making calls.

Trishelle’s POV

Trishelle was glad she had listened to her gut. At the last second, staring at the ticket counter for the commercial flight James had secured, a strange feeling coiled in her stomach. Something felt wrong, though she couldn’t name it. Her eyes had scanned the chaotic airport notice board and landed on a small ad for a charter company. The jolly, middle-aged man behind the desk had booked them a flight on a cramped little prop plane. It saved them three hours and got them through checkout in a breeze.

Only after they landed, her feet back on solid ground, did they hear the news. A bulletin flashed across a lobby TV: the flight they would have been on was experiencing severe engine trouble and making an emergency landing. Trishelle’s hand flew to her belly, rubbing the tight, hard curve beneath her shirt. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she watched the footage of emergency vehicles surrounding the tarmac. She wasn’t sure if it was maternal instinct, a primal desire to protect the life within her, or just dumb, blind luck, but she was grateful either way. The pup had saved them, she was certain of it.

They hailed a couple of cabs and gave the drivers the address Sam had texted them. All she knew was that things had taken a dangerous turn, that Lorenzo had rushed Bradley into surgery. The details were sparse, and that terrified her more than anything. Her prayers became a silent, desperate chant in her mind, a litany of please and let him be okay that never ceased.

James sat beside her in the back of the cab, his presence a solid warmth in the cold uncertainty. He could sense her worry, she knew, through his strange bond with the pup. "Have faith, love," he whispered, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through her. He took her hand, his thumb stroking over her knuckles before lifting it to his lips for a soft kiss. "He’s too stubborn to die."

Trishelle sniffed and nodded, turning to watch the city lights blur past the window, but she never let go of his hand. The endearment settled in her chest, a warm weight she couldn’t afford to examine right now. She just clung to his strength, to the steady certainty he offered when her own world felt like it was crumbling. They were silent the rest of the drive, each lost in their own thoughts and fears.

Bradley’s POV

Lorenzo finished his initial assessment, his expression grim. The lines around his eyes had deepened, and Bradley knew that look - it meant complications. He asked one of the human nurses for Bradley’s attending doctor. The two men met outside in the hushed hallway, their voices low and urgent. A few minutes later, Lorenzo returned, his face set with purpose. "Good news. We’re getting you out of here."

Soon, arrangements were made. Bradley was discharged against the hospital’s protests, signed over into Lorenzo’s exclusive care, and moved by private ambulance to an elite nursing facility an hour away. It was the best option. The place catered to the obscenely wealthy, and their privacy policy was ironclad. No reporters, no curious onlookers, no risk of exposure.

The doctor wasted no time. He booked a state-of-the-art surgical suite and got everything prepared for Bradley’s next operation. It would be tricky, he explained in clipped medical terms. The bullet had shifted since the last X-ray, migrating dangerously close to his lung. Martha arrived with a bag of Bradley’s own clothes and a fierce, unwavering support. Her eyes were red-rimmed but determined. She was close with Cynthia and promised the older woman she would call with regular updates, as Cynthia had opted to stay behind and help Samuel keep Goldmoon from imploding.

Bradley wanted to wait. He needed to hear Trishelle’s voice, to know she was safe before they put him under again. The thought of going into surgery without seeing her, without touching her one more time, made his chest tighten with something that felt dangerously close to fear. Lorenzo, however, was having none of it. The silver was poisoning him, spreading through his system with every passing minute, and time was a luxury they didn’t have.

"She’s on a commercial flight," Bradley insisted, his voice rough and strained. "She’ll have to wait for the jet. I can wait until she lands."

"Bradley, you’re not thinking clearly," Lorenzo argued, his patience wearing thin. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his usually steady hands trembled slightly. "That bullet is a ticking time bomb. If it shifts any further - "

He was protesting again, his voice rising despite the pain it caused, when the television mounted in the corner of his private room chimed with a news update. A reporter stood in front of an airport, talking about a plane experiencing trouble mid-flight. The airline’s logo flashed on the screen. It was the same one his mate was on.

Bradley shot up in the bed, a strangled cry tearing from his throat. "No!" The world narrowed to that single image, that terrible possibility. Not her. Not his mate. Not his pup.

Unfortunately, the violent movement was the final push the shifting bullet needed. A searing, blinding pain erupted in his chest as the metal pierced his lung. He gasped, a wet, gurgling sound, and then he was coughing up blood, bright red splattering the pristine white sheets. The metallic taste flooded his mouth.

It was chaos. Machines screamed their high-pitched alarms. Lorenzo yelled orders, his voice sharp and commanding, all traces of the gentle doctor gone. Martha cried out his name, her voice breaking. As the darkness rushed in to claim him, Bradley had one last, coherent thought. He hoped Trishelle and his pup were alright. And if anything happened to her, he would blame it on James. He would tear him apart for failing to keep her safe. The thought was irrational, unfair, but it was all he had as consciousness slipped away.

Trishelle’s POV

When they arrived at the sleek, unassuming facility, Sam was waiting for them at the entrance. His face was drawn, exhausted, but he managed a tight smile when he saw her. He quickly got them up to speed, his voice low and urgent as he ushered them into Bradley’s private room to save himself from repeating the story. The room was spacious but sterile, all clean lines and medical equipment that made her stomach clench. He stationed two grim-faced guards outside the door and barked orders into his phone at the others.

Bradley’s things from the hotel were given to Martha, who needed the task, the distraction, and she immediately began making necessary arrangements, sorting what would be kept for his stay and what would be sent back. Her movements were brisk and efficient, but Trishelle could see the worry in the set of her shoulders.

All Trishelle wanted to do was go to the operating theatre, to wait as close to him as she could. She needed to be near him, even if he didn’t know she was there. James laid a gentle hand on her arm, his touch grounding her before she could spiral. "Eat and rest first," he advised softly, his green eyes full of understanding. "Lorenzo still has an hour, maybe more. Bradley will be under anesthesia when he comes out anyway. He won’t even know you’re there yet."

She just nodded, the fight draining out of her. What was the point of arguing when he was right? She made her way to the very comfortable leather sofa in Bradley’s room. The scent of him - pine and earth and something uniquely his - wrapped around her like a blanket. She ate the meal Sam brought, some kind of chicken and soup, not even tasting it. Each bite was mechanical, necessary only because the pup needed it.

She lay back, her head sinking into the cushions. Sam left, taking the tray, and James sat at the end of the sofa. He carefully took off her shoes, his movements gentle and considerate. Her feet were swollen from the flight, looking like little sausages stuffed into her socks. James began to rub them, his strong thumbs pressing into the arches, easing the ache. The simple kindness of it made her throat tighten with unshed tears.

That, and the faint, comforting scent of Bradley that still clung to the room, lulled her tense, exhausted body into a deep, dreamless sleep. For a few precious hours, she could escape the fear that had become her constant companion.