Wolfsbane poisoning. I recognize the symptoms at once—the gray pallor, the way his breathing has become labored, the faint tremor in his hands. For shifters, wolfsbane is a death sentence if not treated quickly. The stronger the shifter, the faster it kills, and there is no doubt that this man is incredibly powerful.

The stranger’s eyes flutter open as I rummage through my supplies. They’re the most striking blue I’ve ever seen—like cobalt touched with ice. Even poisoned and in pain, there’s an intensity to his gaze that makes my mouth drop open.

“You need to lie down,” I tell him, pulling out my mortar and pestle. “That wolfsbane is...