More messages followed—sealed healer documents, curse-trace records, detailed examinations.
But no matter how much she sent, three words burned brightest.
Blood-rot curse.
A severe one.
I pressed my fingers to the crystal: "Can she still carry pups?"
The answer came immediately: "Then you're all doomed. It passes from Omega to pup during gestation or nursing. No cure. Ever."
I stared at the files filling my vision, the healer-script glowing faintly in the darkness of the cart.
For a long moment, I couldn't speak. Couldn't decide if this was tragedy or justice.
One thing was clear: based on everything I'd witnessed that night, Ronan and his pack had no idea what curse they'd welcomed into their den.
A gust of frozen wind cut across my face like claws, and I shuddered—my mind snapping into sharp focus.
I threw open the carriage door and ran back to the Nightclaw estate, pounding on the heavy oak doors like a wolf gone feral.
The door cracked open just a sliver. "What do you want?"
Rowena's face filled the gap, her silver-streaked fur bristling at her temples.
I looked past her, my eyes locking onto Ronan as he comforted Raven, stroking her dark hair while her scent curled possessively around him.