The healer's house was a small cottage on the outskirts of town, surrounded by protective wards that made Leona's skin tingle as they approached. Stefan practically kicked the door down, carrying Lucas in his arms.
An elderly woman appeared, her eyes sharp despite her age. She took one look at Lucas and gestured toward a back room.
"Put him on the table. Quickly."
They laid Lucas down on what looked like an operating table. His skin had gone pale, almost gray, and the black veins from the poison had spread across his chest and up his neck. His breathing was shallow, labored.
The healer examined the wound, then looked up with grim eyes. "This is vampire poison. Old magic, very dark. It's designed to kill werewolves slowly, painfully."
"Can you cure it?" Leona demanded.
"I can slow it down, maybe buy him a few hours. But a cure?" The healer shook her head. "That requires ingredients I don't have. Magic I don't possess."
"Then who does?" Stefan asked desperately.
