“It’s a pheromone shock, my king. Your aura’s hostile pheromones overwhelmed her system.
Her wolf has already been weakened enough—she’s never had the chance to shift.”
Muriel’s calm, measured voice cut through the dim chamber. Syzar stood in the deepest shadow, arms crossed, watching the healer work.
Celeste lay on his bed, vision unsteady, pupils flickering like dying candle flames. Her skin burned with fever; sweat beaded across her pale brow and clung to her lashes, making her freckles stand out in sharp, glowing contrast against the damp flush of her cheeks. Harsh, shallow breaths rasped from her throat as Muriel pressed a cool cloth to her forehead and tipped bitter herbal medicine between her cracked lips.
Syzar observed in silence, breath held quiet and even. Despite the sight
