Hours had passed.
The soft ticking of the clock on the living room wall was the only sound besides the occasional crackle from the fireplace. The warmth of the flames danced across the wooden floorboards, casting flickering lights in Lena’s small, cabin-style home.
Lena sat in the armchair closest to the heat, legs pulled up, an empty cup cooling in her hands. Her eyes, however, stayed fixed on the figure lying on the folded blanket spread across the rug—her pale-gold fur soft in the firelight, body still and steady now. Breathing had returned to normal. The shivers had stopped. But she hadn’t shifted back.
Lena exhaled slowly, rubbing her thumb along the edge of her cup. She’d given her the herbal tonic nearly an hour ago—an old blend she’d learned from Dante.
Dante… The man she thou
