The coffee tasted wrong.
Liam set the mug down carefully, nostrils flaring as he parsed the subtle bitter note beneath the packhouse's signature dark roast. Not quite almonds—something sharper, more floral. His enhanced senses, already hypervigilant from the mate bond, screamed danger. The wrongness sat on his tongue like ash, like betrayal given liquid form.
"Don't drink that." Elena materialized at his elbow, her hand intercepting his before he could lift the mug again. "Cooper?"
The raccoon shifter appeared from nowhere, clever hands already producing a test kit from his tactical vest. His whiskers twitched with concentration as he worked, movements precise despite the urgency. One drop of coffee on the strip, and the indicator turned violent purple.
"Wolfsbane extract," Cooper conf
