Sinclair roared as he stumbled through the hospital doors, his bleeding mate clutched in his arms.

Everyone in the emergency room froze—doctors, nurses, patients. The noise he emitted was a relentless demand, a plea, a threat. He was halfway between states—his eyes burning with a wolfish intensity, his hands ending in razor-sharp claws.

Ella breathed against his chest, barely. Blood dripped from her. The bond between them was almost imperceptible. And his child…

He took a breath, glared around the room, and shouted, "DOCTOR! Get me a doctor! NOW!"

The room jumped. Patients scrambled away from the desk; nurses leaped to their feet. A doctor—one Sinclair didn't recognize—strode forward. "Come," he commanded, gesturing towards the treatment rooms. "This way, fast."

Sinclair strode after him as the doctor barked orders. In his arms, Ella was deathly pale, unconscious, barely breathing. He glanced down at her beautiful face, her rose-gold hair falling across it.

She was strong, he knew, but she had given so much. He gritted his teeth, growling, livid with the universe for its demands. He would not lose her.

A swarm of doctors gathered as they moved down the hall, the initial doctor leading and giving rapid instructions. They worked quickly and efficiently, bringing forth machines and tools as they reached a bed.

"How many months?" the doctor asked, examining Ella's face as Sinclair gently laid her down.

"Three," Sinclair replied. He could have given the exact number of days, but it seemed irrelevant.

"Halfway," the doctor murmured, then looked up. "Too soon for an early cesarean. The child… it would not survive."

"This child will survive," Sinclair growled, grabbing the doctor's coat and bringing his face close. "And she as well. You will do everything—you will move mountains, if I command it—"

The doctor, to his credit, did not flinch.

"Sir!" he barked back, his eyes angry as he grasped Sinclair's wrist.

Sinclair blinked, surprised, and released him. The doctor stepped back, brushing off his coat, his eyes fixed on Sinclair. "I will move mountains for her, sir," he said, his voice low. "I will do everything I can to help her survive. We owe you that. But it won't be helped by you losing your temper. Is that clear?"

Sinclair's lips curled back in a snarl as he closed the distance. "You dare take that tone with me?" he asked, his voice a low warning. "I am your King—"

The doctor stepped up, their chests almost touching. "You may be our King, sir, but I am the alpha in this surgery. And if you want me to save her life, you must back down."

Sinclair felt the growl rip from his throat, but he turned to look at Ella—so small, so fragile. His pride was not worth her sacrifice. He glared at the doctor but stepped away. "Do your work," he snarled, folding his arms and moving to the head of her bed. The doctor held his gaze for a moment, then began to work, saving his mate's life.

The room swarmed with people, beeping machines, IVs, and oxygen tanks. They worked quickly. Almost immediately, Ella had a mask to help her breathe, wires and tubes in her arms. The nurses cut away her clothing, revealing blood thickly coating her thighs. Sinclair almost flinched, but refused to look away. If she could endure it, he could watch. He followed their every move.

The professionals murmured in medical jargon Sinclair couldn't understand. He felt helpless. He had basic medical experience, but her life was in their hands, not his. A nurse brought an ultrasound machine, applying jelly to Ella's stomach. They looked at the screen, murmuring as they assessed the child's condition.

Sinclair couldn't see a heartbeat. His stomach dropped; a moan escaped him.

"We need to take her in," the doctor commanded, removing his bloody gloves. "Her uterus is torn, leaking blood at the cervix, and her organs are failing—she needs immediate surgery—"

"The child," Sinclair growled. "Is he alive?"

The doctor hesitated, then nodded. "There's a heartbeat," he said, his voice apologetic. "It's not good, sir. If it were anyone else, I'd… I'd instruct my team to let the child go, to concentrate on saving the mother."

Sinclair snarled, taking two steps forward. "You will save them both," he demanded.

The doctor nodded. "I will fight for her," he responded. "I will fight for both of them, as my Queen and my Prince. Trust me, sir." He bowed his head briefly. "I will do everything."

Sinclair clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to threaten him. His breath shook. He managed a single nod. The doctor returned the gesture and began issuing commands. They wheeled Ella's bed towards a door at the far end of the room, taking her away.

Sinclair followed, refusing to be separated.

"Sir!" a nurse demanded, placing a hand on his arm. He snarled, unleashing his fury. She shrieked and covered her head. He continued to follow.

"Sir, please!" the nurse shouted, her voice shaking. "You can't go into surgery—it's not safe!"

He ignored her, storming through the doors. Two more nurses protested, but the doctor interrupted.

"Let him in," he said. "He won't be parted from her. It's not worth the lost time trying to keep him out."

The nurses hesitated, then yielded. Sinclair moved to the head of Ella's bed, accepting a surgical gown and gloves.

"You will stay out of our way," the doctor said, meeting his eye. "You can stay as long as you don't interfere. I won't lose her to your impatience."

Sinclair nodded, agreeing. The doctor turned his attention to Ella, raising a scalpel and beginning the procedure.