The Mystical Attraction of Alpha

Chapter 268 – The Waiting Game
3rd Person
The hours pass slowly for Dominic Sinclair as he sits at his mate’s side in the post–surgical suite, willing her to live.

Her hand is held tight within his and his eyes are trained on her face, watching her eyelashes flutter every minute or two. Her chest raises and lowers slowly, shallow breaths coming less frequently than they should. She had survived the night. But just barely.

Sinclair wipes a hand down his face, willing himself to stay awake. The surgery took hours and he had stood stoically at her side for every moment of it. It had been agony, watching them cut her to ribbons, listening to them mumble words he couldn’t understand, trying to fix her like some kind of broken car

As if she wasn’t the most important thing on earth. As if she wasn’t the daughter of the Goddess, the future Queen, the mother of his child and – most important of all –

His fucking mate.

It had taken everything in him to stand there and not wrench the tools from the doctor’s hand, to do something, anything, to fix her out of the sheer will of his desire for her to live.

But in the end, after hours of work, the doctor had just nodded to Sinclair, wiping a bloody hand across his forehead. “We’ve done everything we can,” he had murmured, looking down at Ella. “It’s in her hands now.”

Then, they’d wheeled her into this room, hooked her up to what looked like a thousand ridiculous machines, and just left. Left Sinclair here, holding her hand, waiting to see if she lived or died. But damnit, he wasn’t going to let her die. No fucking way.

Nurses come and go periodically, of course, checking on her, checking on him, letting him know that there have been no turns for the worse, asking if he wanted any food, any water, anything at all. He’d ignored them all, focused only on her. His Luna. The light of his world.

A few hours later, a knock comes at the door. Sinclar glances towards it, expecting another nurse, and blinks and surprise when he sees Cora and Roger standing there.

“Dominic,” Roger, his face full of sorrow, his eyes not going to Ella and instead focusing on Sinclair. Roger opens his mouth to say something else, but Cora interrupts.

hurrying to her sister’s side, glancing

spare Cora’s feelings. “She survived the surgery…but the doctor says it could go either way. And that it’s

his face with his

child?” Cora asks, desperate.

letting Cora know that he’s still there. He can’t feel my son anymore, can’t feel the bond, but he hopes that

damnit, but he doesn’t know

over her sister’s forehead, brushing some hair behind her ear. “Come on, kid,” she murmurs.

hand from his face when he feels Roger grip his shoulder. Sinclair looks up at his brother, shaking his head. Roger says nothing, looking at Ella’s fragile form laying limply

before Roger looks up at the television, which has been playing lightly in the corner for hours on end, the dialogue a bare murmur. “You have the television on?” Roger asks,

lifts a hand lightly before dropping it, not understanding. “They said something about… unconscious patients. The sound of human voices. It’s better, apparently. Makes them feel grounded or

at the television. “Have you seen any

The news is on, but he glares at his brother.” No, Roger, I’m not sitting here watching the news while

”

“I wouldn’t draw your attention away if it wasn’t important.

image of Cora. Sinclair blinks, paying more attention now to the words that scroll across

erupts from her, turning the screen white as her brilliance

onto the square. Sinclair squints, leaning closer, and he can see – yes, himself, in the corner of the screen, with Ella in

there,” Sinclair murmurs, leaning back in his chair. “I don’t

his hands into his pockets, his eyes still on the screen. “But do you know

really matter to him what Cora did, not really. Because whatever it was, Ella had tried to

calling silently for peace. “I know that you’re focusing on Ella, brother, but you’re our King now.

taking his eyes from his mate. “Tell me, and be done with