All Chapters of 30 days to save my alpha : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

The kiss ended, but neither of them moved. Damon’s forehead rested against Aria’s, their breath mingling in the small space between them. His hands stayed on her back, careful, like she was something fragile he had been taught to fear breaking. “You’re shaking,” he whispered. His voice was rough from disuse, from pain, from the days he spent pretending he didn’t need her. “So are you,” Aria whispered back. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, right over the bandages Marcus had wrapped around his ribs. She could feel his heartbeat. Fast. Uneven. Alive. The locket between them pulsed again. Warmer this time. The stone inside glowed faint blue, then faded, like it was agreeing with whatever unspoken promise passed between them. Outside, the wind slammed against the cabin walls. Snow hissed against the windows. But inside, the fire crackled, low and steady. For the first time in ten days, the countdown on the wall didn’t feel like a death sentence. _26:23:00:00_

Aria woke to silence. No wind. No growling. No countdown ticking in her head. Just the steady rise and fall of Damon’s chest under her cheek and the weight of his arm around her waist. She didn’t move. For a few seconds she let herself pretend the last five days hadn’t happened. That she hadn’t walked into his pack as a rejected mate. That he hadn’t been bleeding out on this floor ten minutes ago. But the cold of the locket against her throat reminded her. She lifted her head. Damon was watching her. His gold eyes were clear now. No silver haze. No curse pulling at the edges. Just him. Exhausted, wounded, but alive. “Morning,” he said quietly. His voice was rough from sleep and pain, but it didn’t have the death-rasp it had last night. Aria swallowed. Her throat felt like sandpaper. “What time is it?” Damon glanced at the wall. The countdown glowed faint red in the dim light. _25:14:02:11_ Twenty-five days. Fourteen hours. Aria’s chest tightened. Five days gone. Fi

The storm didn’t stop. It screamed. Aria pressed her hands against Damon’s bleeding back while Marcus worked fast, packing the wounds with snow and crushed herbs. The cold burned, but it slowed the bleeding. For now. Damon’s breathing was shallow. Too fast. Each inhale sounded like broken glass. The black veins at his collarbone had spread to his neck. The curse was moving faster in the cold. “Hold him still,” Marcus ordered. “If he shifts now, the silver will reach his heart before sunrise.” Aria straddled Damon’s hips to keep him from thrashing. Her dagger lay discarded in the snow, useless. Her arm throbbed where the wolf had raked her. Blood dripped down her sleeve and melted into the white. Damon’s gold eyes opened halfway. They weren’t focused. Pain and curse warred in them. “Aria,” he rasped. His hand came up, weak, and caught her wrist. “Don’t… cry.” “I’m not crying,” she lied. Her voice shook. “I don’t waste water.” His thumb brushed her cheek anyway, wiping a

Dawn came without light. The storm finally broke sometime before sunrise, but it left behind a sky the color of old bruises. Gray. Heavy. Unforgiving. Snow drifted down in thin sheets, no longer a blizzard, just endless cold. Aria woke to the sound of her own breathing. Ragged. Too fast. She lay on the stone floor of the hidden chamber, Damon’s arm still locked around her waist like he had been afraid she’d disappear in the night. She didn’t remember her mother’s eyes. That hole in her mind ached more than the cold. But she remembered Damon’s voice. Low. Steady. Telling her who she was until the panic faded. “Day eight,” Damon murmured against her hair. His voice was rough from sleep and pain. “You’re still here.” Aria pushed herself up on her elbows. Her head throbbed. Empty spaces where memories used to live. But when she looked at Damon, she didn’t need the memories. She knew him. The scar over his left brow. The way his gold eyes softened when they looked at her. The way

The fire cracked softly. Aria didn’t move. Damon’s arm was a heavy weight around her waist, his face buried in her hair. His breathing was finally even. The fever had broken, or at least lowered. His skin wasn’t burning anymore. She should have slept. She couldn’t. Mara sat across the room, sharpening her knife by the firelight. She hadn’t spoken in an hour. The silence wasn’t hostile. It was watching. “Is he going to live?” Aria whispered, without looking at her. Mara’s stone paused against steel. “For now. The poison is out. If the fever doesn’t come back by dawn, he’ll keep breathing.” “For now,” Aria repeated. “For now is all we get in this forest.” Mara set the knife down. “You’re not pack.” “No.” “And you’re not marked.” “No.” “Then why are you risking your life for him?” Aria finally looked up. Damon’s face was peaceful in sleep. Exhausted. Human. Not the Alpha. Just her Damon. “Because he would do the same for me,” she said. “Even with no memory. Even bleeding out