I press my cut palm against Jax’s lips again, smearing the blood over his teeth.
"Take it," I beg. "Please, Jax. Take it."
For a heartbeat, nothing happens. The silence in the shack is absolute, broken only by the distant roar of the fire consuming the bayou.
Then, his nostrils flare.
The scent hits him. It’s not the smell of prey. It’s the smell of power.
Jax’s eyes snap open. They are clouded, milky with the poison, but the pupils blow wide.
His hand shoots up. He grips my wrist. His strength is shocking, bruising the bone.
He doesn't sip. Hebites.
His teeth scrape against my skin, his tongue lapping frantically at the wound. He sucks hard, pulling the blood from my veins. It hurts. It feels like he’s draining the marrow from my bones, but I don't pull away.
I watch the veins in his neck.
The black lines of the silver poisoning stop spreading. They shudder, then begin to recede, fading from necrotic black to bruised purple, then to nothing. The grey pallor leaves his skin, replaced by a flush of fever-heat.
"Holy shit," Remy whispers. "It’s working. The rot... it’s reversing."
Jax gasps, releasing my wrist. He falls back against the table, his chest heaving. The milky film clears from his eyes, leaving them burning with a terrified, feral clarity.
He looks at me. He tastes the blood on his lips.
"Miranda," he chokes out. His voice is a growl, deep and vibrating with a frequency that rattles the jars across the shelves.
He scrambles backward, pushing himself away from me until he hits the wall. He’s shaking, his muscles bunching and releasing in violent spasms.
"Get her out," he roars at Remy. "Now!"
"Jax?" I reach for him.
"Don't touch me!" He bares his teeth. His canines are descending, sharp and white. "The silver... it’s gone, but the Wolf... he’s too loud. He’s tasted it. He knows what you are."
He clutches his head, digging his fingers into his scalp. "I can't hold him back. I’m going to hurt you. Remy! Get her out of here!"
Remy moves. "Come on, Miranda. We have to go. If he goes feral in here?—"
He grabs my arm, trying to pull me toward the door.
"No," I say.
I plant my feet. Remy tugs, expecting me to move easily. I don't budge.
I look at Remy’s hand on my arm. A surge of irritation spikes in my chest—hot, territorial, and absolute.
Let go.
I shove him.
I don't mean to use force. I just mean to break his grip. But the strength that flows through my arm is explosive.
Remy flies backward. He hits the opposite wall with a crash that cracks the dry wood. He slides down, staring at me, his mouth agape.
"I said no," I state. My voice is calm. Cold. “Leave us, Remy. Go. Join the others.”
