Dex hadn't slept more than two hours in three days.
He sat on the edge of Serena's infirmary bed, elbows on his knees, watching the shallow rise and fall of her chest like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to sanity.
Three days had passed since Drakenfell was attacked by the armies of Orosia. Orosia was a vast continent, and its forces had struck multiple packs across Skardos.
A War High Council Summit had been called, every Alpha King in Skardos summoned in ten days, and there were a thousand things demanding his attention.
None of them mattered more than the woman lying unconscious in front of him. She looked anything but comfortable, pain etched into her face. She shivered in turns, like she was sick with the worst kind of flu.
