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But Sylvan was wrong.

I couldn’t stop thinking of his skilled hands on me or his whispers against my throat, sensations I’d never felt before rippling through my body. I’d become pliable and boneless in his arms so quickly. My pleasure had been swift, yet I was already craving more.

I needed to focus on getting my dosage right. I didn’t want to wake up yet another night trembling and sweat-soaked. I certainly didn’t need to wake up naked in lycan territory.

A fierce bubbling drew me back to one of the pots. I rushed for it, removing it from the fire and setting it aside on a metal rack. One by one, I repeated the process with the other pots. The collective fragrances of all the boiled herbs made my eyes water.

While they cooled, I labeled and hung the remaining ingredients to dry. These were shared ingredients that Shan never seemed to think much of. He knew I ran various experimental potion-making projects, and he respected my privacy as I respected his.

As I usually did, I checked on the drafts, and again, as I was sealing the door, I grew weak in the knees from the memory of Sylvan’s heated gaze. Those fucking eyes were so …

Nothing. They were like any lycan eyes.

Like polished amber, a sunset over the horizon. I shook the thoughts away and gathered a few large glass jars from a cabinet. As I placed them in a line on the workbench, I heard a knock at the door. “It’s me,” Magdalena called out.

I set down the last jar and rushed to open the door. Without a word, I returned to my bench and started to place a cheesecloth over the mouth of each jar.

Magdalena approached me. “Is he the one you were talking about? Who let you go free?”

“I’m afraid so.” I grabbed twine and a knife, severing several pieces to keep each cheesecloth in place over the mouth of the jars.

“He’s genuinely nice.”

Be nice, Aura. I must’ve noticeably shuddered, because Magdalena’s amusement was stronger than the smell of the herbs. I scoffed. “Don’t let his charm fool you. Where is he, anyway?” I asked.

“I gave him a few books, and he left for the night.”

I nodded with a sigh of relief.

“So …” She moved closer to the bench as I grabbed protective mittens, lifting the pot of boiled comfrey. Slowly, I tipped it over one of the jars, letting the herb infused alcohol fill the container while it filtered out the plant. “What happened in that library? Both your hearts were racing when I walked in there. Argument or …”

My jaw tightened.

“Ah, I see,” she said with a small chuckle. “In the library? Aurelia Nygaard!”

I shrugged and set the pot down. I grabbed another, repeating the process, and Magdalena sobered.

“Aura, talk to me.”

I set the pot down a little too hard, and the ceramic slammed against the metal with an unpleasant clang. Magdalena flinched as I huffed out a breath. “I don’t know what’s happening to me,” I admitted. “I thought I had it all figured out. But now, I’ve upped my dosage, and the fevers are still happening. And Sylvan is here. And I’m just …”

“Flustered?”

“Yes. No!”

She grinned.

“Stop that,” I growled. I pointed my knife at her, and when the smallest hint of alarm flickered in her eyes, I dropped the knife and stepped away from the workbench. Had I just growled at her when I spoke? Godsdammit.

“Deep breath,” she told me.

Indeed, my heart was starting to race again, my skin growing hotter, and my hands shaking from the blood rushing through my body. It wasn’t quite as much rage as it was frustration, but I wanted to throw everything off my workbench, nonetheless.

“Let me help,” said Magdalena, rushing to grab a spare mitten. She resumed draining the pot. I stood there, staring down at the floor for a while. Her soothing voice drifted to me after a bit. “You’re quicker to anger lately.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“How long ago did you increase your dosage?”