FIA
"Yes." I swung my legs over the side of the bed. My feet touched cold tile. "Some poisons counter other poisons. Mourning moon builds toxins in the blood that normal antidotes can’t reach. But wolfsbane in the right dosage can bind to those toxins and pull them out."
"That’s insane," Thorne said.
"That’s brilliant." Dr. Maren was staring at me now with something that looked like reassessment. "The chemical composition would work. I should have thought of that."
"You’re not seriously considering this." Thorne turned to her. "She’s an Omega. She has no medical training."
"She clearly has knowledge we don’t." Maren moved toward a cabinet against the wall. Started pulling out jars and bottles. "And Alpha Cian is dying. We’ve tried everything else."
"This is madness." Thorne’s face had gone red. "An Omega does not have a say in the healing ward. This goes against every tradition."
"She’s the honorary Luna now." Maren’s voice went cold. Hard. "She has more say in this room than anyone except Alpha Cian himself."
The words hung in the air. Honorary Luna. Because of the mate bond. Because I’d been married to Cian in that sham ceremony before everything went wrong.
I wasn’t his Luna. Wasn’t his anything really. But the title gave me authority I didn’t actually possess.
Maren set three jars on a nearby table. "Is this what you need?"
I stood on shaking legs and walked over. Examined the labels. The wolfsbane was the right variant. Purple tinged roots preserved in oil. The nettle was fresh enough. The moonwater looked pure.
"Yes." I reached for the jars but my hands were trembling too badly to grip them properly.
"Tell me what to do," Maren said. "I’ll measure."
"Three parts wolfsbane to one part nettle." I steadied myself against the table. "Grind them together until they’re a fine paste. Then add moonwater until it’s thin enough to drink but still thick enough to coat the throat."
Maren worked quickly. Her hands were steady where mine would have fumbled. She ground the herbs in a stone mortar. The smell that rose up was bitter and sharp. Wrong in a way that made my stomach turn.
"This could kill him," Thorne said. His voice had lost some of its edge. Now he just sounded tired. "If you’re wrong about this..."
"He’s already dying." I didn’t look away from the mortar. From Maren’s hands working the pestle in steady circles. "This gives him a chance."
The paste formed slowly. Dark green and viscous. Maren added moonwater drop by drop. Stirred after each addition. The consistency shifted from solid to liquid. From thick to thin.
"That’s enough," I said.
She stopped. Poured the result into a small cup. Handed it to me.
The cup felt impossibly heavy in my hands. This was it. Either this worked or I’d just created the thing that would finish killing him.
I walked to Cian’s bed. Stood there looking down at him. At the man who’d thrown me out. Who’d saved me. Who was dying because I’d been stupid and careless and too proud to give in to his cruelty when it was the only semblance of safety I had out there.
"You have to sit him up," I said. "He needs to be able to swallow."
Garrett moved immediately. Slipped his arms under Cian’s shoulders and lifted him carefully. Propped him up against pillows.
Cian’s head lolled to the side. His eyes stayed closed.
I knelt on the bed beside him. Brought the cup to his lips. Tilted it slowly.
"Come on," I whispered. "You don’t get to die. Remember? You literally implied that I don’t get to die until you say so. Same goes for you."
The liquid touched his lips. For a horrible moment nothing happened. Then his throat worked. A swallow. Small and reflexive but there.
I tipped more into his mouth. Another swallow. Then another.
The cup emptied.
I sat back. Handed it to Maren and then waited.
Nothing changed. Cian’s breathing stayed labored. His skin stayed gray. The room held its collective breath.
One minute passed. Then two.
Then his chest rose in a deeper breath. Fuller. Less strained.
Color started to creep back into his face. Not much. Just a faint flush across his cheekbones. But it was there.
"It’s working," Garrett said. His voice was tight with something that might have been relief.
Maren moved forward with her stethoscope. Pressed it to Cian’s chest. Listened. Her eyes went wide.
"His heart rate is stabilizing." She looked at me. Then at Thorne. "His breathing is clearing."
Thorne pushed forward. Put his own hand on Cian’s forehead. Jerked back like he’d been burned.
"The fever." His voice came out strangled. "It’s breaking."
We watched as the color continued to return to Cian’s face. As his breathing steadied. As the tension in his jaw slowly relaxed.
He was getting better.
"What sorcery was that?" Thorne stared at me now with something between horror and wonder.
"It was not sorcery." I climbed off the bed. My legs were shaking again. "Just chemistry. Some poisons can neutralize others if you know how to combine them."
"Who taught you this?" His voice had lost all its earlier dismissiveness. Now he just sounded curious. Hungry for information.
"Like I said," I looked down at my hands. They were still trembling. "My mother. She knew things. Old things. Remedies most healers don’t learn anymore."
Thorne opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Whatever he’d been about to say died unspoken.
Cian made a sound. A low groan at first that grew and then his eyelids fluttered.
Everyone in the room tensed.
But I was already moving away. Already putting distance between us. Because when he woke up, when he saw me standing there by his bedside, he’d remember. Remember that this was all my fault. Remember that he hated me.
And I couldn’t watch that realization cross his face.
Not after watching him almost die for me.