The fever would not break.
Rosalie sat on the edge of the bed with little Posy cradled against her chest, her heart hammering every time the baby whimpered weakly.
The room smelled faintly of medicine, milk, and lavender.
Outside, rain tapped against the cabin windows in soft rhythmic patterns, but inside, tension choked the air.
“She feels warmer,” Rosalie whispered shakily.
Heath knelt in front of her, one large hand pressing gently against Posy’s tiny forehead. His silver eyes narrowed with concern.
“She does,” he admitted quietly.
Rosalie immediately looked ready to panic again.
Posy’s tiny wolf had shifted back into her human form hours ago after another wave of fever hit her little body. Since then, she had barely opened her eyes. Every tiny cry sounded exhausted.
Rosalie lo
