“You will have me. She will come home, but if she doesn’t, I will still be there,” Curran said. “We are family. You will always have a place in my house. I won’t abandon you. If something happens to me, Andrea and Raphael will step up. Derek will always be there for you. You have people, Julie. You are not alone.”

You are not alone . . .

Someone upstairs must’ve really hated me. I wanted to have people, too. I had wanted to hear those words for so long, and now, just after I’d had a small crumb of happiness, I was about to lose all of it over something so stupid. I had to get better. I had to get better now.

I clenched my teeth.

This wouldn’t end me. Not like this. Not right now. I would survive this.

I fought through the pounding in my head, trying to find something, anything, to pull me out of the cold murky depths to the surface. I just had to survive until the magic hit.

I would take anything. Any help, no matter how small.

I refused to sink. I would walk out of here. I would be with Curran again. I would see Julie grow up.

I want to survive.

I fought for it, trying to keep myself up, trying to reach the surface, but I kept sinking.

Something shifted deep inside me, an unidentified muscle clenched tight for too long relaxing in a flood of new ache, and then I felt it, a tiny hint of a current pushing me up. It was weak, oh so weak, but it was there. I wrapped myself in it and for a brief moment my addled brain recognized it for what it was: the city I’d claimed surrendering what little residual magic it had kept during the technology. The land I’d claimed was trying to keep me alive.

It wasn’t enough to lift me up. It was barely there, but it stretched to me. I felt the city breathing. It was filled with life. Tiny creatures squirming through the dirt, plants growing in the soil, ivy and kudzu climbing up the ruins, skittish things hiding in their burrows, predators crouching in the dark, people in their homes, all of them sacrificing a tiny crumb of the magic stored within their bodies. It hurt them, it was precious, yet still they gave it to me because I asked.

I stopped sinking.

•   •   •

“. . . GO BACK AND tell him that if he thinks he can dictate who I can and can’t treat, I quit,” Doolittle said. “And I won’t be coming back until hell freezes over.”

I opened my eyes. The room was still dimly lit. My head still hurt, but I was floating.

A woman stood next to Doolittle, her face obscured. Curran leaned against the other bed like a dark shadow. His arms were crossed on his chest. His eyes were glowing pale gold. Menace rolled off him, and the air in the room turned thick and tense.

“That’s not what the Beast Lord says. The law states that a retired alpha can’t be in the Keep during the time of separation. Which is why I brought down this paper.” The woman held the paper up to Doolittle. “This is an amendment to the Pack law code that gives you the right to treat patients who are not members of the Pack in the Pack’s facilities if you determine that their condition requires emergency treatment.”

“This is a hospital. I don’t need anyone’s permission to treat a patient.” Doolittle took the paper and read it.

The woman looked at Curran. “Curran.”

Curran’s face was grim. “Trisha. How did he manage to push that through? The Council wouldn’t stand for it.”

“They don’t know it’s for you,” Trisha said. “They went into session just before you got here, and Jim brought it up under the Cooperation Act, making a case that if there is an injured shapeshifter within Pack borders, there may not always be enough time to observe all proprieties. He bundled it with an addendum to the border policy, and they passed it without looking closely at it.”

“Smart,” Curran said.

“It’s Jim,” Trisha, said as if it explained everything. “Nobody except the personal guard knows you’re here. It will get out eventually, but the Council has left the Keep, so we bought you a few more hours. How is she?”

I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to be a focal point right now.

“Resting,” Curran said.

“Nasrin!” I heard Doolittle roll into the hallway. “I need a second opinion on this paper . . .”

“What will you do if she remains paralyzed?” Trisha asked quietly.

“I’ll take care of her,” Curran said.

He would. I knew he would. I opened my eyes.

“My aunt is quadriplegic,” she murmured. “It is extremely difficult. We could keep her here for you . . .” She caught herself. “Sorry.”