Page 129 of Alpha's Rejected Warrior
It’s a stupid vest, idiot. Let it go and get a grip, I tell myself.
I stuff it into my bag anyway.
Three days have passed since we defeated Holden.
Three days of recovery. Negotiation. Mourning. Three days of counting ceiling stones from my bed in the infirmary.
Doc declared me his “most fascinating case study” within the first hour. Apparently treating a human with magical overwhelm is new territory. There were blood samples, aura readings, tests I don’t have names for. It sounds more exciting than it was.
“Rest,” he kept telling me. “Your system needs time to stabilize.”
So I rested. And read books. And counted ceiling stones until I was ready to climb the walls.
Rhiannon came to see me between fulfilling her duties, though I tried to assure her that she didn’t need to use all her free time babysitting me. Still, she kept me filled me in on everything I’d missed while trapped in the infirmary.
They released Jayme from the dungeons within hours of our return. Whatever twisted magical leash Holden used to control him broke the second that bastard died. Doc monitors him daily now too, running tests, searching for remnants of dark magic lurking in his system. Xander issued a standing order: No Blackroot anywhere near Jayme. Ever. He’ll make damn sure no one can use it against him again.
Lady Gemma started visiting Jayme every afternoon. She sat with him for hours at a time. Talking. Listening. Helping him process the trauma. Of course, it’ll take time.
Stasio refused to cancel the peace summit, despite losing his son.
“It’s more important now than ever,” he’d said to Xander and Thea. “Holden wanted war. The greatest tribute I can pay to his mother and my people is to ensure he failed.”
So, Stasio and Xander negotiated. Hour after hour, day after day.
Thea and Haron found themselves in each other company during those long meetings. Haron’s remedies eased Thea’s pregnancy symptoms, and contributing seemed to lift Haron’sspirits too. Perhaps the idea of new life helps her grieve. She even began teaching Thea a few Shaman rituals.
Strange, how tragedy forges bonds.
This morning, Olcan finally discharged me. “You may go, but take it easy. No training. No guard duty. No heroics for at least a week.”
He doesn’t need to worry. The only thing that’s next for me is far from heroic.
The Treaty Ceremony will be held tonight. Peace will be official. The summit will be over. And it’ll be time for me to be gone before my execution is ordered.
A glint of light flashing off metal on the table catches my eye. It’s the short dagger Rhiannon hurled at me on my third day of training with instructions to try not to stab myself.
I pick up the blade, test its weight. The memory tugs at my chest.
I stare at it longer than I should.
Then, I set it on the windowsill and bid myself to turn away before I change my mind.
“There you are.” Rhiannon strides through the open door without knocking.
A pain pricks inside my chest at the sight of her. She’s in her training gear — a fitted leather vest hugging her torso and dark pants molded to her legs — fresh from running the guards through their morning drills.
Her sleek dark hair is pulled back from her face in a high ponytail, and a bright smile spreads across her face. “Olcan said you’d been discharged. Just in time for the—”
She stops. Her gaze sweeps the room: the open pack on the bed, the sorted piles.
Her smile dissolves. “What are you doing?”
I don’t know what to say. Suddenly, it feels like I’m being crushed.
“Ethan. What are you doing?” she repeats, her hands curling into fists against her sides.
I try for a smile. “Just a little spring cleaning. Bit early, I know, but—”
