The ten-plus-hour flight was torture for someone fresh out of surgery.
The wound throbbed with a dull, relentless ache.
The altitude sharpened every bit of it.
Damon barely closed his eyes the whole flight, running on painkillers and sheer will.
Lance sat beside him, visibly unnerved.
The plane touched down at Charles de Gaulle.
Damon looked worse than when he’d boarded.
His lips were bloodless, his forehead damp with cold sweat.
“Alpha King, the car’s ready.
Should we go straight to the Luna Queen?” Lance steadied Damon’s arm, his voice low with concern.
“The villa.” Damon’s eyes stayed shut, his voice thin and drifting.
“She’s working.
Showing up at the site wouldn’t be right.”
He wouldn’t break her concentration, or put her in an awkward spot in front of her colleagues.
On the way, Lance messaged Beta Cole to report that Damon had landed in Paris.
Inside the car, Damon gripped the brown leather photo album he’d brought from the pack house.
It held family portraits of the Sterling line, hard proof to wipe out every last shred of doubt in Ava’s mind.
But his body had been pushed well past its limit.
The car pulled up in front of the villa.
Damon tried to get out on his own, but the moment his feet touched the ground, his vision went black.
A sharp, tearing pain ripped through his abdomen where the wound lay.
He let out a muffled groan and pressed a hand to his stomach.
His fingertips met something warm and sticky.
“Alpha King!” Lance’s face went white.
He lunged forward, catching Damon’s swaying body.
His palm came away slick and hot.
The hem of Damon’s pale gray shirt had darkened with a spreading stain.
“Hospital.
Now.” Lance barked at the driver, grabbing a clean towel from the emergency kit and pressing it hard against the wound.
Damon’s consciousness wavered, but his fingers still clutched the album.
Lance looked at his Alpha’s bloodless face and the wound that wouldn’t stop seeping, then pulled out his phone and called Cole.
“Beta Cole, the Alpha King’s wound has split open.
We’re heading to Saint Madeline Hospital.
Yeah, right after we landed…”
He hung up and stared at Damon’s unconscious form, his chest tight with dread.
Back home, Cole ended the call and frowned hard.
The Alpha King was being rushed to a hospital.
As his Luna Queen and mate, Ava had every right, by bond and by duty, to know.
Cole hesitated only a moment before dialing her number.
“Beta Cole?”
“Luna Queen.” Cole chose his words carefully.
“The Alpha King had surgery.
He was supposed to be resting, but he insisted on flying to Paris.
The trip was too much for him.
His wound has reopened and he’s bleeding.
They’re on the way to the hospital now.”
Ava froze.
So the surgery was real.
Not an excuse.
Then… did that mean Leo really was his nephew?
“Luna Queen?” Cole’s voice pulled her back.
“Which hospital?
Send me the room number.
I’ll come as soon as I’m done here.”
“Understood, Luna Queen.
I’ll send it right away.”
After hanging up, Ava gathered her things, made her excuses to the project lead, and left the site early.
On the way to the hospital, she spent the whole ride bracing herself.
Whatever else was true, he was her husband.
He was the one who’d given her resources, security, a life she could never have built on her own.
By feeling, by reason, by duty, she had to see him.
Following the address Lance had sent, Ava found the room.
Damon had already been treated, re-bandaged, and was propped halfway up in bed, hooked to an IV.
Lance stood watch outside the door.
When he saw her, he gave a respectful nod.
“Luna Queen, you’re here.
The Alpha King is inside.”
“How is he?” Ava asked.
“The wound’s been cleaned and re-dressed.
There are signs of infection.
He’ll need to stay for observation, a few days at least.
The doctor said complete bed rest isn’t up for discussion.” Lance’s voice was steady but grim.
Ava nodded and pushed the door open.
Damon saw her.
For a split second, something bright flickered in his tired eyes before he reined it in.
“You came,” he said, his voice rough.
“Mm.” Ava crossed the room and set a small bunch of pale tulips on the bedside table, something she’d picked up on the way.
“How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine.”
Damon’s gaze drifted to the bag she’d set on the chair, then to her coat, still faintly dusted with grit from the site.
She’d come straight from work.
“Is the project going well?” he asked.
“It’s going well.”
After the polite exchange, silence settled between them.
Ava lowered her gaze, her fingers picking absently at the strap of her bag.
Damon saw it.
He couldn’t wait any longer.
“Ava.”
She looked up.
Damon nodded toward the drawer in the bedside table.
“Open it.
There’s a photo album inside.
Take it out.”
Ava opened the drawer and lifted out the old brown leather album, frowning slightly.
“Open it,” Damon said, watching her.
She did.
The first photo showed a young Damon, no older than ten or eleven, his arm slung around a smiling woman with soft, elegant features.
The same eyes, the same brows.
More photos followed.
The siblings through childhood, through their teens.
Then Damon in a tailored suit, standing beside the same woman as she held hands with another man and cradled an infant.
Ava’s eyes landed on the last photograph.
A family portrait from last spring.
Damon, a woman who had to be Mara, her mate, and a sturdy little boy with round cheeks and bright eyes.
The same boy from the video call.
“The voice you heard on the call,” Damon said quietly, “was my sister’s.
Mara Sterling.”
Ava looked at the photo again.
Now that she studied it, Leo took after Mara far more than Damon.
Damon went on, each word deliberate.
“Leo is my sister’s son.
My nephew.
That’s the truth.
I didn’t lie to you.”
He paused, then pushed on.
“I was at the hospital for surgery that night.
My sister and her family came to keep me company.
I keep several phones, and my personal one has no passcode.
Leo grabbed it and started playing.
That’s how the video call happened.” His eyes held hers.
“If you don’t believe me, I’ll arrange a paternity test.
And once we’re back, I’ll have Mara, her mate, and Leo meet you in person.”
“I…” Ava’s voice came out dry.
“I believe you.”
Damon exhaled, so faint it was almost soundless.
Something deep and unreadable stirred in his eyes, something Ava couldn’t quite name.
“Ava,” he said, lower now.
“I didn’t marry you because I wanted someone easy to control.
Someone who’d look the other way if I had affairs or children elsewhere.” His gaze didn’t waver.
“If I had a child, I’d give him his rightful place in my life.
I wouldn’t hide him.”