POV: Bea Sharpe

Ben's injuries healed slower than mine.

The wounds from protecting me during the Council wolves' attack had been deep, requiring extensive magical healing and physical therapy. Three weeks later, he still moved carefully, favoring his left side where claws had nearly punctured vital organs.

"Stop hovering," he said as I adjusted his pillows for the third time. "I'm recovering, not dying."

"You almost died. I'm allowed to hover."

"You're allowed to sit down and stop treating ...