-Aurelian Salvatore:
The magic fought me at first. My own magic tried to resist me when I started the ritual to help Elias' father.
My magic always does that when the body is already half convinced it's time to let go. The sickness clung to the head Alpha like wet ash, threaded through his veins, his lungs, his heart. I felt it the moment my palms hovered over his chest, that wrongness humming beneath the skin, ancient and stubborn, the kind of ailment that kills werewolves quietly while they still look alive.
He must have been sick for a very long time, and it only got worse lately.
I closed my eyes and breathed through my nose, steady, controlled. Helping people in this type of state always takes so much of my energy, but I refuse to show it, especially in front of Elias. Ego first, exhaustion can come later.
