“Beast… I’m sorry.”

Not me. Not Dorian. Her last words were meant for my wolf.

Fuck.

I clenched my fists, my nails biting into my palms. Why couldn’t she just listen? None of this should have happened. Not like this.

I could still see her—fevered, drenched in blood, swaying on her feet but refusing to fall. Even in chains, even accused of treason, she stood her ground. But gods, she was breaking. The infection had already started taking root—I could ...