The night following the fire being contained at the manor, as if the fire had pursued them, destroying all warmth and joy. Evelyn lay awake and listened to Damien's breath beside her. Each inhalation was weak, drawn from lungs that were failing, and each exhalation had a slight raspy quality. She turned to look at him, his face wan in the moonlight. His face still showed the strength of the Alpha and the pride that had commanded many warriors, but she noticed how weak he was when he thought no one was watching.
And then he coughed, breaking the silence like a sudden storm. Damien doubled up, his hand to his mouth, his body shaking violently like something inside him was breaking apart. Evelyn was on her knees beside him at once, her hand on his back, her heart hammering with fear. The sound was terrible—raw, wet, and despairing.
"Damien," she whispered, her voice tight with fear. "Breathe. Just breathe."
