The man wasn’t in much better condition.
They were so focused on Morgan and defending the coven, that they shoved aside their own discomfort.
That was when he saw the hunter’s tattoo on Morgan’s arm.
It looked like it was fucking bleeding.
“It’s the wolves.” Draven leapt out of bed, yanking on hispants, urgency flashing through him. “Someone poisoned the wolves. Morgan is being affected somehow. Once the wolves are down, they’re going to go for the wards while she’s weakened.”
Swearing blistered the air.
Rage thickened in the room until breathing became difficult.
When Ryder looked like he was ready to lose his shit, Caedmon clamped his hand down on his shoulder. “You can’t shift. The poison is more potent to our wolf form. You shift, and it could knock you out cold.”
Ryder looked even more pissed, but he gritted his teeth and nodded, his whole body shaking as he resisted the impulse. The wolf buried his face in Morgan’s hair, which seemed to calm him. Draven glanced at Morgan in concern and saw that she was once more asleep…or unconscious.
“It must be the fae.” Steam practically rose from Ascher, his blue eyes electric. “They must have been planning to come back and possibly left a way to get inside the coven.'“
Atlas came back to the bed with some kind of drink that smelled so nasty that his own stomach churned and threatened to revolt. The fae cupped the back of her head, brought the cup to her mouth, and slowly forced the liquid between her lips. She grimaced and tried to push it away, but he remained firm, forcing down the toxic brew.
“Wolfsbane is particularly toxic to wolves.” Atlas grabbed Morgan’s jaw when she began to fight him in earnest, tipping the glass up to force the last of it in her mouth. “In small doses, it can make wolves violently sick, even knock them unconscious. If too much is ingested, it can kill.”
Everyone stopped moving, stopped breathing at his announcement. Draven felt like his guts had been turned inside out, his legs wobbling when it felt like the bones had been removed from them.
But he shook his head, refusing to let his fear control him.
Morgan was still alive, and he was determined to keep her that way. He straightened his spine and gazed at Atlas. “Why is she affected?”
“She’s the alpha queen.” Caedmon looked absolutely pissed, seconds away from crawling up on the bed and shaking Morgan. “She’s connected to the pack in ways that are deeper than just an alpha. No doubt she sensed the wolves were in trouble and began siphoning the poison from them…and taking the brunt of the effects.”
Before anyone could react, Morgan lurched toward the side of the bed. Atlas barely got a waste basket under her in time before she puked up the vilest smelling thing he’d smelled in his life. It looked like it was some sort of black sludge.
Ryder carefully pulled back the strands of her hair, cradling her against his body, and Draven ignored the pang in his chest that it wasn’t him comforting her.
Then a howl went up in the distance, and fury exploded through him that someone would dare come after his mate. He began gathering his weapons.
He was done playing by the rules.
If they wanted a war, he would give them a war.
“You will not leave this room without me.” Morgan lifted her head and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her stomach cramping with the urge to dry heave again. Her body trembled as she pushed herself out of Ryder’s arms, feeling like a drunk as she crawled to the edge of the bed. Her limbs tingled almost painfully with the movements, but it seemed to be fading.
Though she felt like she’d just been dropped from an airplane and gone splat, her head was already beginning to clear. When the guys looked ready to protest, she held up a hand and slowly dragged herself to her feet, feeling very much like a sloth. She wobbled pathetically, her stomach lurched, and she gritted her teeth, determined not to get sick again.
They couldn’t leave without her.
She was terrified she would never see them again.
She expected some sort of fight, a threat that they would tie her to a chair. They glanced at each other, silently communicating in a way that used to drive her nuts—even Caedmon joined them—but she was oddly comforted that they had each other’s backs, even if it was against her.
Kincade strode toward her and lifted her chin, gazing down at her with hard, pale green eyes. “Are you sure?”
She straightened her spine. “I’ve fought in worse conditions. I can handle it. The wolves need me.”
Kincade glanced over her head, and Morgan turned to see Atlas scanning her with a critical eye. “We caught it in time. The poison was purged from her system. She should continue to get better with no lasting effects.”
Morgan pushed home her point. “The fae aren’t going to leave without me. We need to confront them and put a stop to it.”
