Page 76 of Bitter Truths

His lips move, like he’s trying to speak, but no sound comes out.

“Don’t try to talk,” I tell him, leaning closer. “Just rest. You’re safe.”

His fingers squeeze Clara’s hand—definitely intentional this time. She makes a soft sound, half sob and half laugh, her shoulders shaking with relief.

“He’s coming back,” she says, tears streaming down her face. “He’s really coming back.”

I watch my brother fight his way back to consciousness as I try to figure out what the hell I’m supposed to do with my life.

Being near the alphas again is dangerous. Getting attached is dangerous. Getting my hopes up is dangerous. This whole situation is messy and complicated, and I don’t have a good feeling about any of it.

What can I do that they can’t? There are four of them and one of me. They’ve had years to get out of this bond, and they’re still trapped. There must be a reason they haven’t killed Whitney by now.

Their fathers are involved. Dr. Montgomery too. The man who’s been my doctor since I was a child, who delivered that devastating diagnosis right after graduation, who convinced me I was incapable of ever being whole.

What if he lied?

What if everything he told me was bullshit designed to keep me away from them?

What if he did damage me to get me out of the way for Whitney?

The thoughts hit me like ice water, my spine going rigid against the chair.

What about the scent match I used to be so convinced of? I’ve spent years downplaying it and accusing myself of making it up. Is it even a scent match, or did we just bond from childhood? I’m conflicted about whether to say anything without knowing if I’m capable of ever being their mate, in the event we’re even able to get rid of Whitney. It seems cruel to dangle the carrot if it changes nothing at all for us.

The only person I know to ask is now enemy number one and the reason my life is in tatters.

How do I get answers to all of these questions? How do you prove medical malpractice when the doctor in question has the kind of power and connections Montgomery has?

Will I ever know the truth?

God only knows what Montgomery would do if I walked into his office trying to get to the bottom of things. He might have some new, fucked-up experimentation to try on me, just like he did with the alphas.

Winston’s eyes open again, staying open longer this time. His gaze finds Clara first, then drifts to me. I can see recognition there, cloudy but real.

“Hey, asshole,” I whisper, and his mouth curves in what might be the beginning of a smile.

He tries to speak again, but no sound comes out. The frustration that flickers across his face is so familiar, so purely Winston, that I almost laugh.

“Don’t,” I tell him. “Save your strength. We’ll be here when you’re ready.”

His eyes close, but the relief is overwhelming.

A knock on the door interrupts the moment. I look up to see Weller standing in the doorway, perfectly dressed as always despite the early hour. His eyes find mine immediately.

“How is he?” Weller asks, stepping into the room.

“Better,” Clara says, not taking her eyes off Winston. “He’s waking up.”

Weller nods, but his attention stays on me, his gaze heavy with unspoken words. “Bianca, could I speak with you for a moment?”

I grip the arms of the chair. The careful way he’s holding himself, the softness in his request… this isn’t a casual check-in.

“I should stay with Winston.”

“I’ll be here,” Clara says. “Go.”

I stand, legs shaky from sitting too long, and have to steady myself against the bed rail before following Weller out into the hallway.