Lucien’s POV

“White wolf’s blood?” I repeated.

The phrase tasted wrong in my mouth. I had walked into that soot-scented cottage expecting riddles, bargains, and half-truths, but not this. Not a cure that sounded like murder dressed up as medicine. I paced the cramped floor, each step heavier than the last. My hands are ruffling into my hair in frustration.

The sickness rotting my pack could not be healed by herbs or charms. The cure, Alaric claimed, was my mate’s blood.

The riddles ...