Ella Sinclair finally agreed to let the EMTs administer emergency care, though it wasn't easy. He refused to let me out of his sight, and although he'd tried to maintain physical contact, the EMTs eventually convinced him to let them strap him to a gurney for transport to the hospital. I sat beside him in the ambulance, where he was sprawled on his side, watching me intently as the EMTs cut away his clothes.

I stroked his hair as he stoically endured their examination, offering him comfort and security. Initially, I tried to peek over Sinclair's broad shoulder to see his back injuries, but he growled as soon as I broke eye contact. I decided keeping him calm was more important than assessing the extent of his injuries.

The ambulance felt agonizingly slow, and I counted down the moments until we reached the shifter hospital. Sinclair looked exhausted; his eyelids kept drooping, only to snap open when he realized he was falling asleep. I wanted to help him rest, but I feared he might not wake up again.

"I'm so sorry, Dominic," I murmured, overwhelmed with emotion.

"Why are you sorry?" he responded, furrowing his brow. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"You're hurt because of me," I reminded him, hiccuping and wiping away tears. "They wanted me—not you. Why did you do that?"

"Baby, if they could have gotten to me, they would have—you're just an easier target," he explained, his voice steady and sure, even as the EMTs probed his wounds. "And I did it because you and Rafe are a million times more important than me."

"But that's simply not true," I argued miserably. "You can find another mate and have more babies—" A warning rumble vibrated in his chest, but I ignored it. "But if something happens to you, the entire pack, the entire realm, would be in danger. I'm replaceable; you're not."

"I beg to differ," Sinclair growled. "And if you keep talking that way, you'll regret it, little mate."

The EMTs exchanged amused glances, and I felt the corner of my mouth twitch. "Are you really threatening me while you're tied down?"

"If you think I can't break free from a few flimsy straps, you're out of your mind, gorgeous," he answered, sounding strong and ominous until he winced in pain.

"Tsk, stubborn Alpha," I clucked, stroking his hair. "Are you in a lot of pain? Be honest," I added sternly.

"Not nearly as much as I would have been if I'd lost you," he replied, confidently.

My heart swelled, but a knot of pain and confusion remained. I was falling in love with this man; of course, I wanted his affection, and I wanted him to be alright. But that didn't explain last night. Sweet nothings wouldn't fix what was broken between us. I desperately wanted to ask him about Lydia, but I couldn't with the EMTs present.

That thought gave me pause. Did he mean what he was saying, or was he putting on a show? And if he meant it, how could he have been so cold and dismissive last night? Why did he sleep with her?

"What are you thinking?" Sinclair asked, furrowing his brow at my solemn expression.

"I'm just wondering if it's safe for you to fall asleep," I lied, smoothing the wrinkles from his forehead. "You look so tired."

"He should stay conscious if he can," the first EMT said apologetically. "Just until we know the extent of the damage."

Sinclair smiled at me, though it looked more like a grimace. "I already told you I wasn't taking my eyes off you—that includes during sleep."

"We're almost there," the second EMT assured me. "He just has to hold on a little longer."

At the hospital, it was more of the same: Sinclair impossibly stubborn and overprotective, even though I was fine and he looked like he'd been through a meat grinder. Seeing his back—the entire broad surface shredded by the windshield glass, with hundreds of shards embedded in his skin—sent me into tears. I was angry with myself for my emotional outburst, knowing it would only agitate Sinclair's wolf.

Things escalated when they prepared him for X-rays, as I couldn't accompany him. They needed to assess internal injuries from the impact, and although Sinclair understood logically, the combination of danger, my distress, and the strangers around him put his wolf in full control. It took every guard in the hospital, threatened with death if anything happened to me, to stand watch over me until he returned. I told him he was being ridiculous, but he didn't listen.

Upon his return, another disagreement ensued. He insisted on sitting up to keep me in his lap while the doctors tended to his back. Those of us with remaining sanity tried to convince him to lie down—a losing battle. I ended up in bed with him, his large body draped over me while he pretended not to feel the pain of dozens of tweezers extracting glass shards.

I distracted him, kissing his cheeks, nuzzling his neck, praising his protectiveness, and guiding his hand to my belly so he could feel the baby.

"I know what you're doing," Sinclair chuckled, catching my lips when I grazed his jaw. "Such blatant pandering, you ought to be ashamed," he teased.

"It's not pandering," I argued. "At least, not entirely. You saved my life today, you saved the baby—again. And after I was such a brat to you."

"You had every right," he acknowledged, "even if it was a misunderstanding."

"Misunderstanding how?" I clarified, stiffening. The previous night's text message was very clear. "You can't tell me that wasn't real, Dominic."

Sinclair waited until the doctors finished bandaging his back before answering. They left us alone, promising to bring the X-ray results soon. Once they were out of earshot, he sighed. "Lydia drugged me, Ella," he confessed, sounding ashamed. "I was at the pub, my drink tasted odd, and I blacked out. She sent you that text. The next thing I knew, I was waking up in her bed."

"Are you serious?" I demanded, horrified. Of all the possible explanations, I never considered this.

"I don't know what happened while I was blacked out, and she claims we had sex, but I don't know for sure," Sinclair continued. "But the point is, I haven't been lying to you. I didn't intentionally have sex with her, and I want nothing to do with her—now more than ever."

"Dominic! Why didn't you tell me?" I cried, outraged. "Why did you let me keep spiraling like that?"

Sinclair's incredulous look made me shrink. "Oh," I squeaked, realizing my own stubbornness. "Because I wouldn't let you?"

"I tried to tell you repeatedly," he confirmed. "You wouldn't hear it."

"I'm sorry," I said, feeling awful, though the knot in my chest was loosening. "I just got so worked up."

"I know," Sinclair agreed. "With jealousy."

"I didn't say that," I countered, snuggling into his chest. "I can't believe Lydia did that. What in hell was she thinking? Surely she didn't expect that kind of dirty trick to convince you to take her back?"

Sinclair's silence revealed a worse truth. "She was thinking that if she gets pregnant, I won't need you anymore."