Her sleeve brushes my arm as she leans across me to check Ben’s pulse. The contact hits harder than it should. I pull back slightly.
Nyxiana appears beside us, her silver-white hair catching the light. “They’re not responding to angel healing,” she says, her voice tight with frustration. “I’ve tried three different methods.”
“Hold his shoulders,” Lyanna tells me, positioning herself at Ben’s head. “I need to try something else.”
I grip Ben’s shoulders, my fingers brushing against Lyanna’s as she places her hands on either side of his face. Her skin is cool against mine, a stark contrast to Ben’s burning heat. Thecontact sends another jolt through me—something primal and unexpected that makes my wolf stir.
Lyanna closes her eyes, and the green glow around her hands intensifies. Her brow furrows in concentration. Sweat beads on her forehead as she works, her jaw set with determination.
“The fae healing isn’t penetrating either,” she mutters, frustration edging her voice. “It’s like something’s blocking it.”
I watch her work, struck by her focus and control. She moves to another approach without hesitation, her hands shifting to Ben’s chest, the magical glow changing from green to gold.
“Try the stabilization frequency,” Nyxiana suggests, her own hands glowing with white light as she works on another patient.
Lyanna nods, adjusting her technique. The determination in her eyes, the steady competence in her movements—it hits me unexpectedly. I’ve seen healers work before, but something about Lyanna’s grace under pressure, the fierce concentration as she fights for each patient, always makes my chest tighten.
“Damn it,” she whispers as the gold light flickers and fades. She doesn’t break, doesn’t panic—just immediately shifts to another approach, her hands moving in different patterns over Ben’s body.
She pushes a stray strand of hair from her face, leaving a smudge of golden residue on her cheek.
I find myself wanting to brush it away. I don’t.
Chapter 2
Lyanna
Istare at the readout from Ben’s vital signs, forcing my hands not to shake. Nine members down in a single night. Standard healing magic should be working.
“Temperature’s rising again,” I murmur, pressing my palm to Ben’s forehead. The heat radiating from him feels wrong—not just high but somehow dense, as if it’s consuming him from within. “Nyxiana, what’s the reading on Nova?”
“One-zero-four point three and climbing.” Nyxiana’s voice remains calm, but I catch the tension in her shoulders as silver-white hair falls across her face. “Angel healing completely repelled. It’s like hitting a wall.”
I move quickly to Nova’s bedside, my heart sinking as I see her normally vibrant presence diminished. Beside her, Dane liesunconscious, his powerful frame rendered helpless. Seeing our Alpha pair incapacitated sends ice through my veins.
“Harper, we need more cooling blankets,” I call across the room. “And check if Derek found those fever reducers.”
Harper nods, already moving. She pauses at Ben’s bedside on her way—just for a moment, her hand brushing his forehead as she checks his temperature. The gesture is quick. But she lingers a half-second longer than necessary before continuing to the supply area.
Despite not being a healer, her organizational skills are keeping us from complete chaos.
I press my hands to Nova’s temples, summoning my fae healing energy. The green glow pulses between my fingers, searching for entry—but something pushes back, a strange resistance I’ve never encountered. I shift to hybrid techniques, blending fae restoration with earthen grounding.
Nothing penetrates her either.
Across the room, Callum’s deep voice cuts through the din as he organizes the remaining pack members. “Set up a perimeter. Two-person teams, rotating shifts. No one patrols alone until we know what we’re dealing with.”
The calm authority in his stance, the way his burnt amber eyes assess and adapt to each new development—it grounds me even as panic threatens to rise.
“We need to try conventional methods,” I decide, turning back to Nyxiana. “If magic won’t work, we start basic triage protocols. Hydration, fever reducers, whatever we can manage without magic.”
“I’ll organize ice packs,” Dawn offers, her striking blue eyes meeting mine with shared determination.
I reach for a cloth, dip it in cool water, and place it on Nova’s forehead. The weight of responsibility presses down, but I push back against it. These people—my pack—are counting on me.
And I will not let them down.
I methodically move between patients, searching for patterns in the symptoms, anything we might have missed. I cross-reference each collapse with what we know so far: sudden onset, extreme fever resistant to all healing magic, and complete unresponsiveness.
