Chapter 40

My fingers tightened around Elara's hand, my thumb tracing circles on her burning skin. Her breath came in shallow gasps, each one a knife in my chest. The fever had gripped her hard, leaving a sheen of sweat across her forehead that caught the dim light of the bedroom. I watched the unsteady rise and fall of her chest, counting each breath like a prayer.

Dr. Reynolds moved with practiced efficiency around the bed, his weathered face set in professional concentration. The old pack doctor had treated three generations of werewolves, but I had never seen him look this grim. As he reached into his worn leather bag, the sharp medicinal scents mixed with the underlying sweetness of poison that still clung to Elara's skin.

"Hold her steady," Dr. Reynolds instructed, retrieving a small crystal vial filled with silvery powder. My nostrils flared at the ancient magic emanating from it – traditional werewolf medicine, passed down through centuries of pack healers.