Amelia’s chest rises and falls slowly as she lays on my bed, her breathing shallow and fragile. I sit perched in an armchair nearby, a glass of whiskey in my hand. My heart clenches, recalling Beatrice's words earlier tonight.

"I don’t need to tell you. You already know she was tortured, and in order for Amelia to survive, her wolf healed them, but that has also put their lives in danger."

"What do you mean?"

"While undergoing her abuse, Amelia’s wolf, drugged with silver, struggled to ...