The Crescent Heir
"What is it?"
"He is suffering." Seraphina's voice dropped again — careful now, almost reverent in its gravity. "An internal affliction. Not a disease, something ancient, something that burns him from the inside out — rotting, consuming him, a little more with every passing day. It is likely bound to you, to the bond between you, and to the unborn pup you carry."
Anna hissed. "If he's suffering, then so be it."
She didn't blink.
"But Seraphina—" Anna leaned forward slightly. "You mentioned he will spill the blood of his own kind." Her gaze was steady, unrelenting. "Whose blood is Deimon going to shed?"