I felt myself been lowered unto something soft. A bed. My breathes were getting worse. I could feel Death come to take me. I had been placed near the open window and the afternoon sun made my eyes feel even worse. Jordan yanked the curtains close in one swift grip. The darkness made my impending death feel less frightening. And then a match struck and I could sense a candle been lit.
Jordan's hands were sudden and firm on mine, guiding me up slightly. I tried to resist, but my body refused—legs leaden, arms trembling as if filled with ice. The candle flickered, throwing shadows that danced across the room. I could smell the faint iron tang of blood before I even saw what he had done.
Something prickled my right palm. A razor. I felt no pain but my eyes fluttered lifelessly to see the crimson swell of blood on my palm. I saw him unflinchingly cut his own palm and then he placed that palm on mine. The metallic scent of blood mingled with the faint waxy smell of the candle flame.
"Stay calm," he whispered, voice low, steady. "It will hurt. But it's the only way."
His palm pressed against mine, the warmth of his skin stark against the icy tingle racing through me. The blood touched, mingling almost instantly, and a pulse of energy shot up my arm. I gasped—or tried to—but my lungs barely obeyed. The tingle intensified, spreading like wildfire, crawling into every limb. My hands shook, quivered, my muscles jerking involuntarily.
Jordan's eyes locked on mine, grounding me. "Feel it," he said. "Focus on my heartbeat. Let me pull it out."
I could feel the poison—the dark, prickling pulse of Wolfskull—as if it had taken shape under my skin. It recoiled at the energy flowing from him, twisting, trying to cling, but he was relentless. He pressed his hands firmer, channeling his life force through our blood. The tingling surged into heat, then ice, then a strange pulsation that left my body quivering in submission.
A sudden flash of pain ran along my spine. My legs, still useless, twitched against the bed. My chest felt hollow, breath shallow and ghostly, but Jordan's presence was a tether. Each pulse, each squeeze, each heartbeat synchronized between us drove the Wolfskull outward.
I whimpered—a broken, wet sound—tears mingling with the tingly warmth spreading through me. My vision shimmered, blurred, and then flickered as the poison struggled, pulling and twisting at the edges of my senses.
Slowly, impossibly slowly, the dark pulse weakened, dissolving into the warmth of our mingled blood. My limbs began to twitch with less resistance, my chest rising and falling with air that finally felt real. The tingling in my lungs dulled, my vision steadied, and the leaden weight in my legs ebbed, though exhaustion kept me pinned to the bed.
Jordan's hands remained pressed over mine a moment longer. Then he let go. I gasped, finally able to draw in a full, unbroken breath.
My eyes closed in peaceful sleep.
__
The room was dim,moonlight slanting through the partially closed curtains. My body ached everywhere, like I had been pulled apart and stitched back together while unconscious. I blinked slowly, trying to focus, my eyes slowly adjusting to the contours of the room.
The candle burned slowly but brightly. My shoes had been pulled off and all I could see were my feet still wrapt in white stockings. A figure lay eyes closed on the couch nearby. I peered closer, the arrogant curve of the lips enough to reveal that this was Jordan Files. I froze. What was I doing in his room.
Slowly recollections flooded my head. Coffee. Minata Straus. Wolfskull poisoning. Jordan Files carrying my semi lifeless body here. The cut on my palm. The first real breath I took and then Sleep.
I stared at my palm. A small bandage stared at me back. My eyes flickered across the room. A book shelf. A cloth rack. A small door leading to the bathroom, I guessed. On the wall was a large portrait of a red wolf. And then a ticking clock. 11:25 pm.
I got up from the bed. My feet felt foreign but they didn't wobble or collapse. A big book lay on the bedside table. Curiosity pulled me to it. The title boldly announced: Wolf Lore. The book was voluminous, like a compilation of two grimoires.
Listlessly, I turned to a page . Wolfskull Poisoning stared me back in the face. My eyes flickered with interest.
I read, and my chest tightened. Wolfskull was a toxin that crept silently through the bloodstream, delivered through a werewolf's fingertips. At first, it was subtle—blurred vision, heavy limbs, breath growing faint, tingling almost like frost under the skin. Then it spread, relentless, until the body began to fail. Left unchecked, it could kill in eight hours. Less than a full day.
There were ways to remove it, the book said. Under a full moon, or through blood magic—a dangerous act that required life to be poured into life, energy given and taken. A shiver ran down my spine. That was what Jordan had done. My blood mingled with his, his energy threading into mine, pulling the poison out before it finished me.
"Nice to see you alive, My Dark Magian" A voice cooed on my neck. I froze.
Jordan.
Goosebumps kissed the contours of my skin. His hands subtly caressed mine on the table and flicked the book shut with a loud thud.