"Timothy?!" the Luna's voice cracks with disbelief, her eyes blazing with anger. "Get them to unhand me! This is madness!"

Timothy steps forward, his expression grave and resolute. "I'm afraid I can't do that, Mother," he says, his voice steady despite the tension in the room.

 "You must face the consequences for your actions."

The guards tighten their grip on the Luna, who struggles against their hold with futile resistance. "You can't do this!" she screams, her voice echoing off the walls of the infirmary.

 "I am your mother! You owe me your loyalty!"

"Not anymore," Timothy's voice cuts through her protests, firm and unwavering. "Your betrayal has brought chaos and suffering to our pack. You conspired against Sam and endangered innocent lives. You will be held accountable."

The Luna's defiance shifts to desperation as she realise the gravity of her situation. "Timothy, please," she pleads, her voice now tinged with fear. "I did what was necessary for our pack's survival!"

Timothy's expression softens slightly, a hint of sorrow in his eyes. "There were other ways, Mother. Your hatred chose this path."

With that, the guards lead the Luna away, her cries of protest fading into the distance as they disappear down the corridor. 

The room falls into a tense silence, the aftermath of the confrontation palpable in the air. I stand there, shaken but relieved, watching as Timothy ensures the Luna is taken away. 

William approaches me cautiously, his gaze filled with concern. "Sam, are you okay?"

I nod, though the weight of everything that has transpired bears down on me. "I will be," I reply, my voice hoarse with emotion.

Timothy approaches me then, his presence a comfort amidst the chaos. He wraps his arms around me, and I instinctively hug him tight, seeking solace in his embrace. 

Tears well up in my eyes, and I sniffle into his shoulder. "Thank you," I manage to say, my voice muffled against his shirt. 

"Thank you for taking my side."

Timothy pulls away slightly, his gaze warm and reassuring. "You're my brother, Sam," he says earnestly. "From now on, I will always have your back."

His words touch me deeply, and I hug him again, silently grateful for his unwavering support. 

"There's good and bad news," he begins, his voice carrying a solemn tone. "The good news is, Alpha Charlie has left our territory. The bad news is, The Zipclaw pack will  come back stronger, bigger, and with a vengeance. They don't just want Soren—they want all of us dead."

His words sink in, the gravity of the situation settling over me like a dark cloud. 

Alpha Charlie's threat looms large, casting a shadow over Soren survival. I swallow hard, my mind racing with thoughts of what this means for our pack, for Soren, For me and for our future.

"What are we going to do?" I ask quietly, searching Timothy's face for any sign of  a plan.

Timothy's expression hardens with determination. "We prepare," he replies firmly. "We gather our allies, strengthen our defences, and we fight back. We won't let them destroy us."

"But first, we need to focus on  Soren's healing," William speaks.

Soren's condition is critical, not just for his recovery, but for the morale and leadership of our pack. "Yeah, okay," Timothy responds, his voice firm.

 "I guess we have to work together. Bring your people here. Sam, Soren can stay here and heal. We have the best doctors, and if anything goes wrong, they can handle it."

I nod in agreement. 

"I will go back then and check on everyone back home," William tells me solemnly, his gaze flickering between Soren and me. "You stay with your mate."

"I will," I reply, my voice steadier now with a sense of purpose. "Thank you, William. Take care of everyone back home."

With a final nod of understanding, William turns to leave, his steps echoing faintly in the corridors of the infirmary.  As he disappears from view, I turn back to Soren's bedside, where Timothy stands watching with uncertainty. 

"I will ask someone to move him to your room," He says, his voice tinged with concern. "Go get cleaned up and have something to eat."

I shake my head. "No. I am not leaving his side."

His voice softens, understanding the depth of my  concern for Soren's well-being. "I get it, Sam," he says gently. "But you need rest too. Keeping vigil won't help him recover faster."

The guards gently move Soren to my room, carefully placing him on the bed. The doctors come and check on him, assuring me that the worst is over and the poison is nearly purged from his system.

They leave us alone, I sit across from Soren, watching over him, my thoughts racing. He lays there, his torso bare and bandaged, still and vulnerable, a stark contrast to the fierce and protective alpha I know him to be.

 His beautiful tan face bears the marks of recent struggles, yet even in his unconscious state, he exudes a quiet strength and beauty that resonates deeply with me.

I reach out to gently grasp his hand, a simple gesture to remind myself that he is still here, still fighting. Memories of our time together flood my mind—moments of laughter, of intimacy. Despite the chaos and danger surrounding us, being near him brings a sense of calm and purpose.

Hours pass as I sit vigil, occasionally dozing off in the chair beside the bed, only to awaken at the slightest shift in his breathing.

Each moment feels both endless and fleeting, a suspended reality where time loses its meaning. Eventually, as the first light of dawn filters through the window, I see a subtle change in Soren's expression. 

His eyelids flutter, and I hold my breath, my heart pounding with anticipation. Slowly, he begins to regain consciousness, his gaze finding mine as awareness returns to his brown eyes.

"Hey" I whisper, my voice thick with relief and emotion. "You're awake."

He blinks slowly, his hand tightening around mine as if seeking reassurance. "Sam," he murmurs, his voice hoarse but filled with warmth.

Tears well up in my eyes as I lean closer to him, overcome with happiness. In that moment, nothing else matters but the fact that he is here, with me, alive. 

I wrap him in a hug, but his weak voice, tinged with pain, breaks through the tight hug. "Be gentle, baby," he manages to say between coughs. 

I pull back slightly, my hands still resting on his chest. "I'm sorry," I whisper, my voice choked with emotion. "I- I thought I lost you."

Soren reaches up to touch my face, his touch feeble but filled with warmth. "You won't lose me," he murmurs, his gaze unwavering. "I'm here."

Reluctantly, I settle back into the chair beside his bed, gently clasping his hand in mine. "You need to heal fully," I insist, my heart aching with the need to protect him. 

As I reach for my phone to update Timothy, the door to the room swings open and he enters with a tray of food, a concerned look etched on his face.

 "How's he doing?" he asks softly, setting the tray down on a nearby table.

"He's awake," I reply, my voice catching with relief. But when I glance at Soren, I see him glaring at Timothy with a mixture of frustration and anger.

"Your warriors attacked us, For that, I will make sure you pay—" Soren's voice is strained, interrupted by a cough. I quickly place my palm over his lips, cutting him off.

"Sorry, Tim," I say, shooting him an apologetic look, hoping to diffuse the tension.

Timothy rolls his eyes but manages a small smile. "Here I was, excited to meet my brother's mate," he quips, trying to lighten the mood.

Soren's expression softens just slightly, but his gaze remains guarded. He shifts uncomfortably in the bed, clearly still upset by recent events that took place at the park. 

Timothy pulls up a chair beside the bed and picks up the tray of food. "I brought you something to eat," he says gently, placing it on the bedside table within Soren's reach.

 "You need to regain your strength."

Soren nods curtly, his eyes flickering from me to Timothy. "Thank you. I will need strength for when I kick your ass," he murmurs, his voice quieter than usual. 

"Soren, be good. Timothy saved our lives," I interject, trying to diffuse the tension.

Soren scoffs. "Only because he put it in danger," he retorts, his tone sharp.

Timothy growls, his patience wearing thin. "Okay tough guy, come fight me!" he challenges, taking a step closer to the bed.

"No one is fighting, stop it!" I exclaim, stepping between them to prevent any further escalation.

Timothy and Soren glare at each other for a tense moment, the air thick with unresolved animosity. 

Finally, Timothy sighs heavily and takes a step back. "Fine," he mutters, clearly frustrated but unwilling to provoke further conflict.

Soren relaxes slightly, though the tension in the room lingers. He looks away, focusing on the tray of food Timothy has brought. "Feed me," he says to me, and I nod.

"I'll leave you two to talk," Timothy says after a moment of watching us. 

He glances at me briefly before turning to leave the room, his shoulders tense with unresolved emotions. Once Timothy is gone, I turn back to Soren, "Please be nice to my brother," I plead gently, sitting down beside him on the bed.

"Yeah..." Soren replies quietly, avoiding my gaze. "I just... can't believe he let his pack attack like that. Also he stabbed me!"

"I know and as much as I am angry that he hurt you, he saved your life." I reason, trying to defend Timothy. "He's trying to protect us."

Soren sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair. "I know," he mutters.

 "It's just... I don't like him."

Author's Note: 

Listening to the great war while I edit these chapters.