Perry's POV
Marcela had been pacing the main hall when we arrived, her hands twisted together in barely contained anxiety. The moment she spotted us, relief flooded her features—but that relief quickly twisted into something darker when she saw Phoebe unconscious in my arms.
"My king," she breathed, hurrying toward us. Her healer's instincts kicked in immediately as her eyes swept over my mate's pale form. "Is she injured? What happened to—"
"She's sleeping," I cut her off, my voice sharper than intended. The protective instincts that had been stretched to their breaking point weren't ready to stand down yet. "Exhausted, but unharmed."
I adjusted my hold on Phoebe, pulling her more securely against my chest. After hours of believing she was dead, the thought of releasing her—even to Marcela's capable hands—felt impossible.
