Betrayed by My Ex, Marked by His Alpha Emperor Brother novel Chapter 81

Chapter 81: Chapter 81

Kaelen’s POV

“Two distinct life signatures.”

The words hung in the air like smoke. I stared at the old physician. His weathered hand still hovered above Elara’s abdomen.

“What did you say?”

Physician Whitmore turned to face me fully. His deep-set eyes carried a gravity that made the room feel smaller. “Your Majesty,” he said, and the title carried no flattery—only fact. “There are two heartbeats inside this woman. Hers. And another.”

The floor tilted beneath me.

“That’s not—” I started. Stopped. My mouth opened and closed around words that refused to form. “She can’t be—”

“She is.” Whitmore’s voice was calm. Unhurried. The kind of calm that comes from having delivered impossible news too many times to count. “Approximately six to seven weeks along, based on the secondary life signature’s development.”

Six to seven weeks.

My knees gave out.

I didn’t stagger. Didn’t sway. I simply dropped. One moment I was standing, the next I was on the cold stone floor, both knees hitting the ground with a crack that echoed through the chamber. My hand found the edge of the bed. Gripped it until my knuckles went white.

A baby.

Inside my head, my wolf—Alex—surged forward with a force that nearly split my skull. Not with rage. Not with fear. With something primal and overwhelming and so fiercely joyful it burned. He howled. Not the mournful, desperate howl that had echoed through our shared consciousness for the past ten days. This was different. Triumphant. Exultant.

Mate. Pup. Ours.

“Your Majesty.” Whitmore’s voice pulled me back. I looked up from the floor and found him watching me with those ancient, knowing eyes. Patient. Waiting. “There is more you need to understand.”

I couldn’t speak. I nodded.

He lowered himself onto the stool beside the bed with the careful movements of a man whose body had long since stopped cooperating with urgency. His gnarled fingers found the edge of the blanket and drew it back slightly, exposing the gentle curve of Elara’s abdomen beneath her thin gown.

“The healing she performed,” he began. “Seventeen gravely wounded knights. The amount of life energy that requires—” He shook his head. Slowly. “It should have killed her. Instantly. The human body, even a werewolf’s body, is not designed to channel that volume of restorative power. Her organs should have failed. Her heart should have stopped.”

Each word was a knife between my ribs.

“But it didn’t stop,” I said.

“No.” Whitmore placed his hand above her abdomen again. Hovering. Reverent. “Because the child intervened. The moment her body began to shut down, the life signature of the infant activated. I cannot explain the mechanism—it is beyond any medical text I have encountered in my career. But what I can tell you is this: the mother and child are sustaining each other. The baby is anchoring her life force. And she, in turn, is protecting the baby with whatever reserves she has left.”

The room blurred. I blinked hard. Realized my eyes were wet.

“They’re keeping each other alive,” I whispered.

“Yes, Your Majesty. Precisely.”

Whitmore gathered his instruments slowly. He paused at the door and turned back. “The coma is not a decline,” he said. “It is a cocoon. Her body is rebuilding itself from the inside. I cannot tell you when she will wake. But I can tell you that she is fighting. Both of them are.”

Then he was gone.

The door clicked shut. Silence flooded back in, but it was different now. Not the hollow, crushing silence of a deathwatch. Something warmer. Something with a pulse.

I stayed on the floor for a long time. My legs wouldn’t work. My mind was a storm of fractured thoughts—terror and wonder and guilt and hope all tangled together into something I couldn’t name.

Eventually, I dragged myself up and collapsed into the chair. The same chair I’d occupied for the past ten days. The cushion had long since molded to my shape. The armrests were worn smooth where my hands had gripped them through every dark hour.

I reached out and laid my palm flat against Elara’s stomach. Gentle. Barely touching.

“Hey there,” I murmured. My voice was wrecked. Shattered. “I just found out about you.”

Nothing moved beneath my hand. But I could feel it now—through the bond, through some deeper instinct that Alex was feeding me—a warmth. Faint. Fragile. But undeniably real.

“You’re keeping your mother alive.” I swallowed hard. “You’re barely the size of a berry, and you’re already braver than anyone I’ve ever known.”

I stroked my thumb across the fabric of her gown. Back and forth. Slow. Then I leaned forward, pressing my lips to Elara’s forehead. She was still cold, but maybe not quite as cold as before.

“Rest now, sweetheart. Both of you. I’ll be right here.”

I must have fallen asleep. The exhaustion of ten days without proper rest finally dragged me under, my head resting against the mattress, my hand still lightly resting on her stomach.

A firm grip on my shoulder jolted me awake.

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