Annie's POV:
The bowl was warm against my lips.
Elena watched me with her head tilted, patient, the way a woman waits for a dog to take food from her hand. The herbs burned my nose. One swallow, and the child would be gone. One word, and I would spend the rest of my short life in a corner of her house, waiting to die.
I looked past her, at the door.
She saw it. "There's nowhere to run, Annie. There's nowhere in this pack for you to hide."
I shoved her—both hands against her chest, everything I had. She was a wolf, I was nothing, but she wasn't ready.
The bowl flew, hit the floor—dark liquid splashing across the boards, hissing where it landed. She stumbled back, caught herself on the table, and for one second her face was open with shock, then narrow and cold.
"Annie." Her voice was
