Darkness crowded Isla’s vision.
Logan’s fingers tightened around her throat, crushing the little air she had left.
Her feet scraped uselessly against the wall.
Serena threw herself against Isla’s skin.
‘Fight him!
Protect the baby!’
Isla clawed at Logan’s wrist, but he didn’t move.
His golden eyes held no recognition.
Then his arm trembled.
For one instant, something flickered across his face—as if his wolf were fighting him from within.
A weak gasp broke through the screaming behind him.
“Logan.”
His entire body went still.
Vespera’s fingers moved against the carpet.
“Put her…down.”
Logan’s gaze snapped toward his grandmother.
His grip opened.
Isla dropped.
Her knees buckled before she reached the floor.
Logan instinctively reached for her, but the sight of his hand made terror rip through her.
She recoiled from him.
“Don’t touch me!”
The words came out broken and hoarse.
Silence fell across the room.
Isla collapsed onto her side, curling one arm around her stomach while the other covered her injured throat.
Logan remained frozen above her.
His gaze lowered to the darkening marks around her neck.
His hand was still raised between them, each finger matching one of the bruises forming on her skin.
He slowly pulled it back.
“The baby,” Isla gasped.
“Someone needs to check the baby.”
The family healer moved toward her, but she shook her head and pointed at Vespera.
“Stabilize her first.”
The healer returned to the matriarch and checked her pulse with his equipment.
“I have it,” he announced.
“Weak, but steady.”
Roland stared at him.
“I couldn’t feel anything.”
“Her pulse never stopped.
It became too faint to detect by hand.”
The healer adjusted Vespera’s oxygen mask.
Her convulsions had stopped, and each breath came more easily than the last.
“The epinephrine is working.”
Relief swept through the room.
Isla lowered her head and coughed.
Pain tore through her throat with each breath, but she refused to cry again.
She had been right.
And Logan had nearly killed her for it.
Vespera’s eyes opened slowly.
She looked at the relatives crowded around her, then at Isla trembling on the floor.
Her gaze fixed on the bruises around Isla’s throat.
“What happened to her?”
No one answered.
Logan’s jaw tightened.
“I did it.”
Vespera stared at him.
“She saved your life,” the healer said carefully.
“Isla recognized the reaction and insisted on epinephrine.”
Vespera’s expression hardened.
“Then you disgraced yourself tonight, Logan.”
His face revealed nothing, but his hands curled into fists.
Footsteps sounded from the hallway.
A small, middle-aged man in a dark coat entered with a medical case.
Thick-framed glasses rested on his nose.
“Dr.
Henry,” Lyra said in relief.
“Thank the Goddess.”
He barely acknowledged her before kneeling beside Vespera.
After checking her airway, heart, and oxygen levels, he examined the medicine bottles and asked the healer several questions.
Finally, he picked up a fragment of the broken cup and smelled the tea staining it.
“Silverthorn,” he murmured.
Isla nodded.
“Combined with the wolfsbane extract in her cardiac medicine.”
Dr.
Henry looked at her with sudden interest.
He examined the medication label before turning to the room.
“This was anaphylaxis complicated by a drug interaction.
The epinephrine was administered just in time.”
“The Omega guessed,” Lyra said.
“She happened to notice the tea.”
Dr.
Henry frowned.
“She noticed an acute reaction that the rest of you mistook for heart failure.”
“No,” the family healer said quietly.
Everyone turned toward him.
He lowered his gaze.
“I didn’t.
Isla identified it first.”
Lyra’s lips tightened.
Dr.
Henry looked at the bruises on Isla’s neck.
“You should allow me to examine you.”
“I’m fine,” she whispered.
Her damaged voice proved otherwise, but she couldn’t bear another pair of hands near her throat.
Logan shifted toward her.
Isla flinched.
He stopped immediately.
Something changed in his expression, but she looked away before she could understand it.
“Enough, Lyra,” Vespera ordered through her oxygen mask.
“The girl saved my life.
You will not insult her while I am still breathing because of her.”
Lyra went silent, though resentment burned in her eyes.
Dr.
Henry returned his attention to Isla.
“How did you recognize the interaction so quickly?”
“I studied wolf biochemistry and pharmacology at Ashworth University,” she answered.
Speaking hurt, so she kept her words brief.
“My research focuses on stabilizing distressed wolves without suppressing their instincts.”
“You attended medical school?”
“No.
I received emergency-response training at the university, but most of my work is in serum development.”
His eyes sharpened.
“What is your full name?”
“Isla Spencer.”
Dr.
Henry studied her for a long moment.
“Isla Spencer,” he repeated.
“You filed a provisional patent last year, didn’t you?”
Her fingers tightened around the torn fabric at her throat.
“How do you know that?”
“I reviewed the abstract.
A serum designed to stabilize a distressed wolf without suppressing its consciousness.”
The room fell silent again.
Lyra’s expression changed from contempt to suspicion.
Dr.
Henry stepped closer, careful not to touch Isla.
“Do you still have the research?”
She thought of the wooden box in Logan’s penthouse.
Then she remembered the missing blue journal containing the final formula.
“Most of it,” she said.