Back at the hut, Lucien worked through the night, grinding herbs.
Lying in bed, I listened to the rhythmic thump of the pestle, and somehow, this rough wooden shack felt safer than the gilded halls of the Hawthorne den.
"Drink this. It'll break the fever by morning," Lucien said, helping me sit up, his touch gentle as if I were fragile glass.
The medicine was bitter as sin, but I downed it.
"Open up," he said, popping a candied fruit in my mouth. "Takes the edge off."
The sweetness melted on my tongue, chasing away the bitterness.
I stared at him, stunned.
This wolf, once a celebrated scholar of the great pack, now hid in the wilds, risking his life for a stranger like me.
"Lucien," I said, my voice soft, calling him by name for the first time. "Thank you."
He smiled, tucking the
