Patrick could barely breathe. The air inside the hall felt too thick, too heavy for his lungs. The sound of conversation—the polite laughter of businessmen clinking glasses—all sounded distant... like he was underwater, struggling to surface.
He needed air.
He excused himself from the circle of men he’d been standing with, ignoring whatever response they gave, and headed straight for the nearest exit. His palms were clammy, his heartbeat a loud, relentless drum against his ribs.
He’s alive... Alexander is alive.
The thought wouldn’t stop echoing.
It was impossible. He knew it was impossible. No wolf—no one—could survive a direct stab from a poisoned silver dagger. He had driven that blade himself, felt it sink through muscle and bone. He’d watched Alexander lash out from the effect, w
