Sylvia’s POV

The drive to the pack’s medical facility was tense and quiet. I kept stealing glances at Caesar’s silver wound, which had begun to develop an angry red line stretching up his arm. Silver poisoning was no trivial matter for our kind—it could kill even an Alpha if left untreated too long.

"Stop looking at me like I’m dying," Caesar finally said, his voice gruff but laced with something tender. "It would take more than this to bring down the Wolf King."

I narrowed my eyes. "Your typical Alpha male bravado isn’t helpful right now."

"And your worrying isn’t necessary." His hand found mine across the seat, squeezing gently despite his obvious pain. "But I appreciate it all the same."

When we arrived at the medical facility, Caesar insisted William be processed first.

"My wound can wait," he said firmly when I protested. "Security protocols can’t."

I watched as Dylan and two senior enforcers escorted William through a reinforced door leading to the holding cells beneath the facility. The silver-lined cuffs remained securely around William’s wrists, preventing his shift.

"This isn’t over," William hissed as he passed Caesar. "You and your little mate may think you’ve won, but there are others who—"

Caesar moved with startling speed for someone injured, his hand wrapping around William’s throat. "Threaten her again," he said quietly, his voice dropping to a dangerous register that made even the guards step back, "and I’ll forget about the council’s justice."

William’s eyes bulged, but he wisely remained silent when Caesar released him.

Only after William had been secured did Caesar allow Dr. Morris, the pack’s chief physician, to examine his wound.

"Silver poisoning," the doctor confirmed grimly after checking the angry red lines spreading from the burn. "We need to start treatment immediately."

I stood by anxiously as they administered anti-silver serum—a painful process that had Caesar gritting his teeth despite his legendary control. When the doctor announced Caesar would need to stay for at least two weeks to fully neutralize the poison, my mate’s thunderous expression nearly sent the medical staff scurrying for cover.

"Absolutely not," Caesar growled. "I have a traitor to deal with and a territory to protect."

Dr. Morris, to his credit, didn’t flinch. "With all due respect, my King, if you don’t complete the treatment, you might lose that arm. Or worse."

Caesar’s jaw tightened, and I recognized the stubborn set of his shoulders. Before he could refuse again, I stepped forward.

"If you won’t stay for yourself," I said quietly, "then stay for me. I’ve only just found you. I won’t risk losing you to foolish pride."

Something in my voice must have reached him because his expression softened imperceptibly. "Two weeks is excessive."

"It’s necessary," Dr. Morris insisted.

Caesar’s eyes never left mine. "You’ll stay?"

"As much as I can," I promised, knowing I had responsibilities at Frostline that couldn’t be ignored indefinitely. "But you need to focus on healing."

After a long moment, he nodded once—a concession that had the medical staff visibly relieved.

The following two weeks were a blur of activity. During the day, I would handle Frostline business remotely from a makeshift office the pack had set up for me near Caesar’s medical suite. In the evenings, I’d return to his side, often finding him on conference calls with Dylan and other pack leaders, managing crises despite doctor’s orders to rest.

"You’re a terrible patient," I told him on the fifth night, taking his satellite phone and setting it aside.

"And you’re becoming as bossy as my doctors," he retorted, though a smile played at the corners of his mouth.

I raised an eyebrow. "Someone needs to be, since you clearly have no regard for your own health."

His expression grew serious. "My responsibilities don’t pause for recovery, Sylvia."

"No," I agreed, sitting beside him on the bed, "but they can be shared." I took his good hand in mine. "That’s what mates are for, aren’t they? To support each other?"

Something vulnerable flickered across his features. "I’m not accustomed to sharing burdens."

"Then it’s time you learned." I squeezed his hand. "The Wolf King may stand alone, but Caesar Conrad doesn’t have to."

As days passed, Caesar’s wound gradually healed. The angry red lines receded, and his strength returned. True to wolf nature, once the silver was neutralized, his body healed with remarkable speed. By the end of the second week, Dr. Morris declared him ready for discharge, though with strict instructions to avoid strenuous activity for another few days.

"Define ’strenuous activity’," Caesar asked with dangerous innocence that made the doctor cough uncomfortably and me blush furiously.

I organized a small celebration for his discharge—just our closest allies gathered in the private dining room at Eclipse. Dylan, Noah, James, and a few trusted pack members raised glasses to Caesar’s recovery, but I noticed how his eyes rarely left mine throughout the evening. The intensity of his gaze promised something only I could understand.

When we finally returned to our quarters in the main estate, tension crackled between us like lightning before a storm.

"You didn’t have to arrange all that," Caesar said as he shut the door behind us, his deep voice sending shivers down my spine.

"I wanted to," I replied, moving to pour us each a glass of whiskey from the crystal decanter. "The Wolf King’s return deserves recognition."

Caesar moved behind me, his heat enveloping me before his body even touched mine. "And what does the Wolf Queen desire as recognition for her care?"

His lips brushed my neck, sending electric pulses racing across my skin. I turned to face him, pressing the glass into his hand. "Drink," I commanded softly. "You’re still recovering."

A dangerous smile curved his lips as he took the glass and drained it in one swallow. "Am I?"

Caesar tossed the empty glass onto the nearby chair and pulled me against him in one fluid movement.

His mouth found mine.