Nevaeh, who had been coddling Tate closely as he began to choke and spasm, tracked her son and gasped as she watched Cian leap from the ground when he was still nearly a yard away from the Cherub, sail through the air before latching onto her back. The Guardian reared back, retreating from her attack on Sam, scrambling to grab the little Lycan and remove him from her shoulders. Nevaeh nearly jumped to her feet to go after him too, but the weight in her lap reminded her of someone else who needed help.
“Veya… Veya…” Tate’s flailing hand arrested Nevaeh’s attention again. She noticed his skin paling by the second, now a deathly white. “I need… need blood.” he struggled.
Blood? That would make him better? She had assumed the worst, assumed the Cherub had poisoned him or cursed him or someth
