Waking up was like emerging from the depths of a lake. His senses felt dulled, his body heavy. He blinked several times to bring his surroundings into focus. Everything was painted in shades of white and blue.
"Good, you're awake."
The voice sounded vaguely familiar, though he couldn't associate it with any face. He moved slowly, until a young face entered his field of vision—warm hazel eyes, brown locks framing delicate features.
"My name is Lisa, and you're at Leeds Hospital. No, don't move," she said calmly as the werewolf tried to shift his body.
"You've suffered severe burns, but you're healing. Unfortunately, you didn't have any ID, so we don't know your name and haven't been able to contact your family."
He tried to speak, but no sound came out. His throat felt dry and raw.
"You were intubated until yesterday. You'll need a little patience."
He nodded. So, despite everything, he had survived. That was unexpected. And he wasn't sure how to feel about it. He wondered what injuries he'd sustained—if any were permanent—and how long he'd been there.
"Would you like some water?"
He gave a faint nod, and a straw was brought to his lips.
The first sip burned as it went down, his throat protesting with every drop.
"It'll hurt a bit at first, but it'll pass, you'll see. Your internal injuries have already healed. As for your skin, it will take more time—but you shouldn't be left with any scars. Even your hair should grow back."
Hair? He didn't know why, but the idea of being bald unsettled him. He wondered how awful he must look right now. He tried to lift his arm, but it felt impossibly heavy… then suddenly light, and a red, blistered hand came into view, supported by another—slimmer, paler. When he turned his head, he saw Lisa was holding it gently.
"Your skin is already regenerating. The doctors consider you a miraculous anomaly. They've started running tests to figure out how you're healing so fast—and so well.
Soon, you'll have to leave the hospital. I've been altering the results of your tests, but I can't hide your werewolf anomalies much longer."
Lisa watched him process the information she was giving him.
Nereus, meanwhile, wondered why this stranger was doing so much for him.
He took a moment to study her. Her face was harmonious, her fair skin glowing, and her hazel eyes bright. She was slender and a bit shorter than average. And she had an unusual accent. He wondered where she was from.
"I have to go now, but I'll be back later," she said, gently placing his arm back on the bed.
When the door closed behind the nurse, he lay staring at the white panel.
How much time had passed since his fight with Christopher?
The last thing he remembered was the ground suddenly disappearing beneath his feet, darkness swallowing him whole—then unbearable heat, choking smoke burning his nose, throat and lungs… and then nothing.
No one had come for him. Perhaps they all thought he was dead.
He closed his eyes. He had nothing. He was no one.
Strangely, the thought gave him a sense of freedom. It was as if the fire had burned away everything he'd once been. Even the old rage that had always consumed him was gone.
There seemed to be nothing left of who he'd been—of his past, of what he had done or endured. And that made him feel light. Every burden, burned to ash.
What would he do once he left this place?
Had his father and Patrick survived? What remained of Alastair's army?
Had his research into vampire blood been salvaged?
For some reason, all of it now seemed far away—distant in both time and space, and no longer important.
It was strange. After so many years spent chasing a goal, that goal no longer had any meaning.
It felt like only this moment existed.
And that was fine. Just having a future was more than he had hoped for.
And with that sense of lightness, he drifted back into sleep—without worry or thought, just as he hadn't done since he was a child.