Page 80 of Dearest Alpha Brothers 1: Vampire Prince

“I’ll call the moment anything changes,” Aunt Senna promised. “Take the twins home too. They shouldn’t spend the night in a hospital waiting room.”

Hunter and Sylvie looked ready to protest, but even they could see the sense in it. They’d been here for hours, and exhaustion was setting in.

“The ancient blood will keep him stable through the night,” Lady Helena assured them. “We’ll have fresh supplies delivered first thing tomorrow morning.”

Sebastian gathered his archivists. “We’ll start researching immediately. Every relevant text, every historical record.”

“And I’ll convene an emergency council session,” Great Uncle Johnathan said. “The elders need to witness this development firsthand.”

The brothers remained reluctant, their wolves fighting the idea of leaving Luca. But even they had to admit Aunt Senna was right—they were running on fumes, their power control slipping dangerously.

“The moment anything changes,” Zane told Aunt Senna, his voice carrying an alpha’s authority despite his exhaustion.

“The very moment,” she promised. “Now go. All of you.”

They left in stages—first the Blackthorn delegation with their ancient tomes, then Great Uncle Johnathan and Lord Richard heading for the council, and finally the brothers herding two very tired teenagers toward the parking garage.

The drive home was unusually quiet. Even Archer didn’t attempt his usual jokes. Hunter and Sylvie dozed in the backseat while Ryker drove, his lightning now reduced to occasional sparks that matched their collective anxiety.

Zane stared out the window, his wolf still fighting the decision to leave Luca. The memory of his feverish glow, the strange compelling notes in his scent, the way their wolves had reacted… None of it made sense, and the not knowing was driving them all mad.

When they reached the penthouse, Harrison had already set out a light meal none of them would probably eat.

“Try to rest,” Ryker told Hunter and Sylvie, his usual calm voice strained with exhaustion. “We’ll head back first thing tomorrow.”

The teenagers nodded, too tired to argue, and shuffled off to their rooms.

“He’ll be okay,” Archer said finally, but his voice lacked its usual confidence. “The ancient blood helped. He’s stable.”

“For now,” Zane replied, his frost creeping across the nearest window.

None of them mentioned how wrong it felt to be here while Luca wasn’t. How their wolves kept trying to turn back toward the hospital. How his strange new scent lingered in their memories, calling to something they didn’t quite understand.

“We should…” Ryker gestured vaguely toward their separate wings, but none of them moved.

Finally, Zane’s phone buzzed with a message from Aunt Senna.He’s sleeping peacefully. Temperature normal. Go to bed.

Some of the tension eased from their shoulders. Their wolves settled slightly, though the urge to return to Luca remained.

“Tomorrow,” Zane said, and it was both a promise and a command. “First light.”

His brothers nodded, and they finally separated to their private wings, though none of them expected to sleep. Not withtheir little bat in the hospital, not with their wolves still on edge, not with so many questions unanswered.

The last thing Zane saw before heading to his wing was a lavender sweater draped over a chair, Luca’s sweet cherry blossom scent still clinging to the fabric. His wolf whined, and he quickly turned on his heel before he could do something stupid like bury his face in it.

Tomorrow. They’d figure this out tomorrow.

Chapter 18

Iwoke up disoriented, my head fuzzy like I’d been sleeping for days. Something felt… wrong. The ceiling above me swam in and out of focus, the water stain morphing from an angry penguin to a blob and back again.

Where was my canopy bed? The silk sheets that always smelled faintly of cherry blossoms? The mountain of plushies that Benedict arranged just so every morning?

I blinked hard, trying to clear my vision. My tiny bedroom came into wavering focus—the cheap mattress on the floor, the secondhand desk cluttered with manga volumes, the cat tree Mochi had mostly destroyed. Everything looked… muted. Drained of color, like an old photograph left too long in the sun.

“This isn’t right,” I mumbled, my tongue feeling thick and clumsy. Mochi’s insistent yowling for breakfast echoed strangely, as if coming from very far away. “Where’s my lavender everything? My walk-in closet? My?—”

I stopped, frowning. Walk-in closet? In my shoebox apartment? The thought was ridiculous. I was just a junior marketing associate who could barely afford rent, let alone luxury wardrobes. Yet the memory of silk shirts and designer shoes felt so real, like a dream I couldn’t quite shake off.

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