They Blamed Me for Mama's Death, So I Healed Their Worst Enemy novel · Chapter 9 of 24

Chapter 9: Fourteen Hours

Duncan's POV

I sat in the chair beside her bed for fourteen hours.

Dessie put a quilt over her and a hot brick at her feet, and told me for the sixth time to eat something.

I did not.

I watched her breathe.

The doctor from Spruce Pine had come at midnight and gone at one.

He took her pulse, and peeled back her eyelid, and said her heart was strong and her blood sugar was in her boots.

"She's spent," he said. "She's given too much of herself in a short time. Feed her. Keep her warm. Let her sleep."

"Will she wake?"

"She'll wake hungry."

He had looked at me a long moment. "Alpha, I've known you since you were a boy. I've never seen you sit by anybody's bed."

I had not answered him.

Now the window was gray with the next afternoon, and her color was coming back, a little at a time, along her cheekbones.

I held her hand.

It was the first time I had held anyone's hand in my own for longer than a breath since I was nine years old.

Dessie came and stood in the door with her arms folded.

"You think you killed her," she said.

"Dessie," I said.

"You've sat there fourteen hours with a face on you for a funeral. She's not dead, Duncan. She's asleep."

"I know," I said.

"Do you?" she said.

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