The cabin filled with gasps. Lyla went white.
Maeve dragged in one more breath. Her words scraped out one at a time.
“The Moonbone,” she rasped. “For the spring. The pack’s water.”
The guards looked at one another. Every wolf in the Blackwood Pack drank from that spring. Poisoning it was treason.
“She’s mad!” Lyla pressed against the guards. “The curse has rotted her mind! She doesn’t know what she’s saying!”
One of the older guards stepped forward. He had served the pack longer than Killian had been alive.
“My apologies, Alpha Heir.” He kept his eyes on Lyla. “I must insist on a search.”
He and another guard caught Lyla before she could run. She fought while the older guard searched the pocket of my wolf-fur cloak and pulled out a hastily tied leather pouch.
He emptied it into his
