THE SUPPER

IVAN POV

Our wounds were slowly healing, not as much as I wanted it to, but still—it was progress.

I traced my fingers over the scar that slashed down my arm, a thin, jagged line that felt hotter than the others. The wolfsbane in my blood made sure of that. Every time it started to close, they'd find some excuse to come in and inject more of it into me. The burn of the poison felt like fire pouring into my veins, slowing my healing, leaving me just weak enough to keep me here. But they underestimated how long I'd survived worse.