Page 35

His brows scrunched. “That is different,” he said, softly. “And … well, I’ve seen the fits of rage.”

My fingers drifted over the golden lace in my sleeve. I nodded. It was so odd speaking to someone who knew about the disease. Comforting, even.

No, I couldn’t think that way.

“So, if your draft isn’t a cure, how does it work?” he asked.

“It treats the symptoms,” I said. “Centauria minor to lower the frequent fevers, dragonwort for the pain and nausea, hawthorn to stabilize heart rate, and something akin to an antivenom.” I left out the lycan repel that I specifically put into my own draft and continued. “In fact, the entire draft is practically an elevated antivenom. I have a theory that if it doesn’t lead to a cure for Lobofebris, it could maybe create a vaccine.”

His eyes went wide. “Then why the hells are you sitting on that information?”

“Because—”

“I suppose I shouldn’t expect a vampire to be any less selfish.”

My mouth was still open, the rest of my sentence sitting on the tip of my tongue when his distrust and anger barreled into me. My brows snapped together. “Oh, and lycans are so selfless?”

“We live in packs. We’re nothing if not selfless.”

I scoffed. “You don’t even speak among yourselves. All your packs are scattered across the continent, and your small little groups are both mindless and single-minded.”

He didn’t seem to know how to counter that, and his frustration crawled across my skin.

“That’s because your kind and the humans have made it impossible for us to be anything but. You don’t know the first thing about lycans.”

I stepped around my desk to face him. “And you don’t know the first thing about vampires. You talk a lot of shit for someone who didn’t even bother to let me finish my thought. If you’d fucking listened, you would’ve heard that I have a theory that venom is needed from all the packs, unless you knew exactly which pack the lycan who infected you came from. And I don’t have all the pack venom.”

“If you tell the Ministry, they’d make sure that you can get the samples. Why the fuck are you doing this all on your own?”

“Because I didn’t want anyone to know that I’ve been testing on myself!” I exclaimed. “In case you’ve forgotten, hybrids are not allowed to exist.”

He went still.

“And maybe you consider that selfish, but no one else has made an attempt to find a cure for Lobofebris in recent years, and on top of that, I’m just trying to survive.”

We were close enough to share breath, my face angled up to his, his amber eyes faintly glowing. But the anger retreated, the tightness of his jaw loosening. “I didn’t think of that,” he said at last.

“No, you didn’t. Because you’re stuck with your own fucking ideals.”

I turned to walk off, and he put himself in my path. “As if you can’t say the same. You have nothing but preconceived notions about the packs.”

I pushed against his chest to put some distance between us. “So, tell me something about your bloody packs.”

His lips pressed firmly together

“I thought so,” I said. “Well. Beta⁠—”

“Sylvan,” he growled. “My name is Sylvan!”

There was such a bite to his tone that I couldn’t resist flinching. Anger coursed through me at the reaction. My fists clenched.

Sylvan closed his eyes and let out a breath, holding his hands up. He didn’t step away, and neither did I. When he opened his eyes again, he was the epitome of calm and collected. “I know your hateful little heart isn’t to be blamed for everything,” he said, quietly. “I’m sure it has been incredibly lonely to suffer with this on your own.”

“I have a friend who knows,” I snap.

“Still …” he said. “I know what the symptoms are like. It can’t be easy going about your usual responsibilities without people who understand what you’re going through.”

My fists unclenched, my body relaxing. Even Magdalena sometimes had a bit of fear when she looked at me as if she expected me to snap at any moment. She certainly pitied me.