She couldn’t remember the wolf shifter ever appearing so angry and scared at the same time. The wrath in his steely blue eyes alarmed her.
“We’re moving you to the infirmary, Becka,” he assured her. “You’ll be all right.”
She tried to answer, but the words came out slurred. Becka tried to stand up, but her limbs flailed in response to her efforts.
In moments she was slung over Brent’s shoulder, her bleary gaze connecting with Luce behind her.
“Stay with me,” Luce said.
Try as Becka might, her world faded to black.
Chapter 3
Anxiety peaked Becka’s heart rate, increasing the pounding discomfort in her head. She’d forgotten something important. There was danger. She’d been here before. Stuck. Unable to move. Trapped.
She heard herself groan but couldn’t move her limbs. The memory of being tied down and helpless shot another spike of adrenaline through her veins, and she jerked and flailed her arms and legs to escape. Was that blood she smelled?
Becka’s swollen tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth and her head throbbed with the force of her heartbeat. Through the cotton filling her ears, she struggled to make out muffled voices.
A light touch pressed down on her shoulder. “You’re safe here, Becka,” came a voice she recognized, but couldn’t place. The world spun around her.
She tried to open her eyes, finally gaining a bit of control over her body. Eyelids fluttering open, she looked up to see Illan standing over her, concern knitting his brows. Looking around the room, Becka immediately recognized House Rowan’s infirmary and its healer, Illan of House Birch. An apprentice worked alongside Illan, but Becka didn’t know her name. She just recognized the healer’s customary long white robes accented with light-blue embroidery.
The upper walls and ceiling of the room had been enchanted to appear as if they were out in the forest, surrounded by pine and aspen swaying overhead in the breeze. An illusory finch flitted by, lighthearted birdsong filling the air as it passed. Additionally, wide windows lined the room, and a few were open to let in the fresh air. Surely most patients appreciated the distracting display, but her head ached at least in part to the presence of the magic around her.
She took a deep breath, which was harder than it should have been.
For a moment, she’d been back in the solitude meditation retreat with Woden. That episode had driven dozens of nightmares, keeping her awake and stargazing until the dawn arrived to chase away the darkness. She’d never feared the dark before, not until the Shadow-Dwellers had found her.
A tremor shook through her limbs at the thought. She worked her mouth, and Illan anticipated her need, producing a small bowl of ice chips. He scooped up a fragment and held it to her lips.
“Try this. It’ll help with the dry mouth.”
He slid the ice chip past her lips, and the refreshing, cool liquid bathed her tongue and freed it from the roof of her mouth. A relieved sigh escaped her and something about the act, be it the water, the cold, or just the interaction, roused her mind into a heightened state of awareness.
After she’d worked the ice around her mouth until it disappeared, Becka tried talking again. “Another?” she croaked out.
He smiled, but there was sorrow in his eyes. “Here you go.”
Becka gratefully accepted the ice chip. Moving her arms around, she realized one had an IV with a bag of something hanging above her on a pole.
“What happened?” Becka asked, her cracking voice a whisper. A foggy memory of sitting under wisteria with Vott flashed through her mind. That awful lapsang tea. Vott’s gray pallor as he slumped over. His mug rolling to the ground. “How is my father?”
Illan fed her another ice chip and then sat down on the bed next to her. He ran a hand over his face, pulling at a light dusting of whiskers which must have taken two or three days to grow.
“You and Vott were poisoned, but you do not appear to have gotten as large a dose as he did. When Vott arrived here, he was catatonic. I was able to do a measure of healing on him, but something in the potency or composition of the poison limited my gift and I have had to resort to non-magical methods to further aid him. I have him in the next room on a ventilator, but I cannot predict his recovery.”
Images of Woden’s enraged face flashed through her mind. He’d said others would come for her. She’d barely had time to learn about her powers. Becka didn’t feel ready for this. Now Vott, her father, had borne the brunt of the attack this time.
Remembering her flippant, hurtful comments to him, her heart wrenched, and tears filled her eyes. What if those were the last words he’d heard? What if he died and she never got to apologize?
Seeing her distress, Illan leaned over her, touching her shoulder. “You’re safe, Becka.”
“Do you mean you don’t know how long it will take for him to recover, or whether he will recover?”
Illan shrugged, his expression pained. “He survived the initial exposure, and in the past two days he has stabilized, so I am hopeful.”
“I’ve been knocked out for two days?” Her head spun again.
He nodded.
Who else would get hit in the crossfire between her and the Shadow-Dwellers? Her heart sank and more tears flowed.
“We are still figuring out what they used. You both responded well to the cures for nightshade, but some signs point towards strychnine also being in the mix. I am not a chemist, but we have people looking deeper into the poison to better treat you both. Samples have also been sent to the enforcer labs for analysis.”
Becka frowned. “Isn’t strychnine used in rat poison?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t think fae used rat poison.”
“No, no we do not, which is why
