Chapter 26

Logan

Pain rippled through every fiber of my body like wildfire, blooming from the wound in my shoulder. I watched Evelyn’s eyes pop wide, fear flooding her features.

The world tilted. Sounds dulled to a low, distant thrum. Then darkness clawed at the edges of my vision, and I dropped to my side, unable to even hold myself upright.

“Logan!”

Her arms caught me, and her voice sounded as though it were underwater now or echoing in a tunnel I couldn’t climb out of. My lungs burned. Blood soaked through my torn shirt, dripping from the arrow wound.

I could hear my Gamma unit arguing and growling loudly about how best to handle me, but she was so calm and still. So sure as she laid me down and began to inspect the wound.

Everything hurt. But oddly… the only thing I could think of was her. Evelyn.

“We need to move out! Now!” someone yelled.

The next thing I knew, I was being lifted onto a stretcher, my limbs heavy and unresponsive. The scent of smoke, iron, and moss clung to my skin—battle, blood, forest. And underneath it all, faint but familiar—lavender and sunlight.

Evelyn.

The healer’s tent was dim, lit only by flickering lanterns that cast amber halos onto the fabric walls. I heard her voice before I saw her—calm, clipped, professional.

“Put him down here,” Evelyn instructed, her tone steel wrapped in silk.

They laid me on the cot, and the cold pressed into my back. Someone must have removed the arrow, because I was able to lie flat without the obstruction.

I blinked through the haze, my vision struggling to focus. Then, her face came into view. She was right above me, eyes narrowed with worry, her brow furrowed in concentration, strands of hair pulled back with streaks of blood marring her cheek.

“Logan…” she whispered. “Damn it.”

“Evelyn…” My voice was dry and broken.

Before she could answer, Grayson’s voice rang out from the other side of the tent. The fury was radiating from my second in command.

“He got hurt because he was trying to help you!” he snapped.

Silence fell.

I turned my head sluggishly. Evelyn’s body had gone rigid.

“Watch your mouth,” she said, too loudly to be safe.

Grayson stepped closer, fists clenched. “He wouldn’t have been in the range of fire at that moment if he hadn’t seen you in danger. He told you to leave. You shouldn’t have been there—”

“I was healing soldiers!” Evelyn snapped. Her voice cracked, and for a moment, I saw it—the pain she’d buried, the guilt she was swallowing whole.

“This isn’t the time for your lectures, Grayson,” I mumbled, barely coherent.

He looked like he wanted to argue, but something in her eyes made him stop.

“I’ll be outside,” he muttered finally and stormed off.

She didn’t look at me right away. Her hands were already moving, checking my wounds, tearing fabric, wiping blood. I winced when she pressed against my side.

“And you were so worried about me,” she said with a tight, humorless smile.

“I’m always worried about you,” I admitted. Perhaps it was the pain talking.

She looked taken aback for a brief moment. “Fair enough.”

As she worked, her fingers were precise but gentle. Every touch sent fire and ice down my spine. Not because of the pain, but because it was her. After days of silence, of feeling like a stranger in my own damn house, here she was, inches from me.

“Your Gamma unit…” she murmured, glancing at the soldier who stepped in to report. “Is the border secure?”

“Secured, Alpha,” the warrior said with a respectful bow. “The rogues have been driven back. We held the ridge. The rest scattered or surrendered.”

I felt a sharp exhale escape my lungs. Relief. Bone-deep, bitter relief. We’d done it. My soldiers had done it.

“Good,” I muttered. “Damn good. Maybe it’s worth the pain now.”

Evelyn didn’t speak again for a while. She stitched my side with practiced hands, her face pale and tight with concentration. Every now and then, her fingers trembled. She wiped at her eyes once when she thought I wasn’t looking.

“You’re angry,” I said.

She didn’t answer.

“You blame me?”

“No,” she said, her voice barely audible. “I blame myself.”

That hit harder than any rogue’s claw.

“You shouldn’t.”

Her hands paused on my arm, the stitch half-pulled. “You could’ve died, Logan.”

I opened my eyes fully, wincing. “So could you. Now you know how I was feeling.”

Silence stretched between us, thick with all the things we hadn’t said. Then she resumed stitching, slower this time.

“I didn’t think you’d save me,” she said suddenly.

I frowned. “Why the hell not?”

“I don’t know.” Her shoulders lifted and fell. “Because I pushed you away. Because we were talking about divorce. I thought maybe…”

“That I’d stop caring?” I asked, voice sharp despite the pain.

Her eyes finally met mine.

She looked away. “You should rest.”

“You should stay,” I whispered.

She hesitated. Her hands lingered on my chest, then pulled back.

“Evelyn,” I said again, this time firmer.

“I’m not leaving,” she finally admitted, voice trembling. “Not really. Not until you’re healed. But I need to take care of other people.”

For once, we weren’t fighting. We weren’t avoiding or throwing up walls. These were simple facts.

The silence between us wasn’t suffocating. It felt… steady. Fragile, maybe, but real.

“Evelyn?” I asked after a moment, unsure of why the question was rising now.

“Hmm?”

“Why were you really on the front lines?”

She paused, setting down her tools. Her fingers brushed mine, intentional this time.

“I couldn’t sit back and do nothing,” she said. “People needed help. And… the thought of you being out there fighting while I was sitting back at home… it was unbearable.”

Something in me ached at the softness of her words. All this time, I’d been angry, wounded, and prideful. But none of it mattered anymore. She was here. I was here. We were still breathing.

The tent flap rustled, and another figure ducked inside—Timothy, one of our young medics-in-training. His uniform was half torn, his hands still bloodied, but his eyes were clear.

“Alpha.” He nodded. “We’ve stabilized the rest. Dozens wounded, but no more casualties after the second wave. They’ll need further treatment and rehabilitation, but they’ll live.”

“Good work,” I told him.

He gave a small smile. “It wasn’t just me. Your unit has been working tirelessly to get things under control. And Evelyn’s been pulling miracles for hours. She saved Leo’s life.”

Leo. The soldier who she had been so distracted while working on that she had missed the rogue lunging right at her.

Evelyn looked away again, but her expression softened.

“And the rogue that attacked me?” I ventured to ask.

“Dead,” Timothy said solemnly. “Killed before he could take another breath after he shot you.”

I nodded once. “Good.”

“Go rest, Timothy,” Evelyn said gently. “You’ve been working nonstop for hours. You’ve earned it. I’ll take over.”

When he left, I glanced up at her again. The exhaustion was written all over her face. But so was strength. So was something I hadn’t seen in her for days—hope.

“You should get rest too,” I said, suddenly overwhelmed by the need for her to rest. “You’re worn thin.”

“I’ll rest when you do,” she replied with a small smile.

But we both knew that neither of us was capable of rest just then. So I eventually pretended to fall asleep, allowing her to feel comfortable leaving so she could do what she really wanted: tend to more of my wounded men.