I sat like a stone statue beside Seraphina's bed in the ICU, listening to the rhythmic beeping of machines monitoring her vital signs. The antiseptic hospital smell burned my nostrils, but beneath it, I could still detect the faint, sweet scent that was uniquely her—though now it was tainted with blood and chemicals.
Five hours. Five agonizing hours of surgery, and now this limbo. Waiting. Hoping. Praying to a goddess I wasn't sure was listening anymore.
The surgeon's words echoed in my head: "We've done everything we can medically. The rest is up to her now."
Up to her. My fierce little mate who had already given everything she had.
I reached out and took her limp hand in mine, careful not to disturb the IV line. Her skin was cool to the touch, lacking the warmth that had always radiated from her. Her rose-gold hair was spread across the hospital pillow, the only color in this sterile white room.
