Secret Unleashed

given a full pint, not like the day before. He’d given me a top-up, a little boost. It was enough for me to feel good, but not enough for him to have to worry.

If I’d been a vampire, that is.

The thing about my metabolism was it wasn’t the same as a vampire’s. I needed to eat more often than they did, but I didn’t need to eat as much. I could make do with less blood because I’d learned to run on less. Whereas a vampire might half-drain a human in one feeding, I could go a full day on one donor baggie. On a good day, anyway.

The starvation and constant healing meant my normal amount wasn’t enough to build my strength up again.

But the boost had helped. It had helped more than he could possibly understand.

“Show me what you can do.”

I stepped closer so my knees bumped his. “You’ve watched a wolf shift, right?”

“Many times.”

I’d half feared my inner wolf had abandoned me. I’d been a terrible partner to share a body with recently, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d buried herself in an act of self-preservation. Disconnected from my psyche and vanished forever.

When she heard me cry wolf though, she was there, ears perked, attention focused on the man who’d caged us. She was going to like what I had planned.

“Always during the full moon?”

“Yes. I’ve attempted on numerous occasions to force the shift when the moon wasn’t full, but I’ve only succeeded on the day before or after. Never mid-month.”

“How long until the next full moon?” I asked, knowing full well when it was.

“Ten days.”

I leaned close, my movements those of a seductress, though it wasn’t my sexuality that appealed to him. I wanted to bait him with the promise of a show, though, and wanted to keep him slightly off balance.

As I pressed one palm flat on his chest, he smiled up at me, totally unconcerned. His arrogance fueled a flame lit deep within me, coaxed it up until all I felt was the blistering white-hot taste of my own rage.

Now I was feeling something.

My wolf paced, waiting for the word. I projected a thought of what I wanted, showed her the perfect mental image of it, and just as I’d suspected, she was thrilled.

Yes, she said. Oh yesyesyes.

“I’m going to show you a trick,” I whispered. “Are you ready for it?”

Yes, the wolf answered, though my question hadn’t been for her.

“Show me,” he said eagerly.

I took all the hatred, all the rage and agony built up inside me, and I channeled it into my wolf. She resisted at first, trying to fight the discomfort, but then she remembered our goal, what I’d promised her we could do, and she swelled through me, an impossibly large energy, too big to be contained.

The bones of my hand cracked, but compared to everything else I’d been through, I was numb to it. Shifting was natural. It was right, and it was what my body was designed to do. My nails grew and became claws, slicing away the fine, expensive material of his shirt.

At first he was fascinated, watching my hand shift while the rest of me stayed human. I hadn’t been lying; I knew it was something he’d want to see. But he should have kept me at a distance.

He should never have believed he was invincible.

My claws continued to grow, and without his shirt in the way, they pierced flesh. As my bones moved into a new arrangement and my skin covered with fur, he realized for the first time I wasn’t stopping.

Ribbons of his skin peeled away under my claws, and he tried to push away, but I hooked my ankle behind the leg of his chair, keeping him held in place. I kept right on digging, burrowing my nails into his chest until his breastbone gave way with a soft, pliant crunch.

I withdrew my hand, a bizarre mix of human fingers and wolf claws and fur, and kicked his chair out of reach of the small fob he’d placed on the table.

“Should have kept it in your pocket.” I tipped his chair backwards so he fell to the floor.

I moved around the fallen chair to where he lay on the concrete and stepped over him to straddle his torso. His chest looked like a flower in full bloom, shiny red petals with scraps of white in the middle. His hands fluttered like tiny birds around the new opening in his body, a hole where one should not be.

My clawed hand couldn’t move the same way a human hand could, so when I sat on his stomach, my knees tight against his sides, it was my human hand I stuck inside him. Even with a broken arm keeping my gestures limited, I burrowed deep in him, my pain forgotten with a new purpose flowing through me.

His hummingbird hands went still as I wormed my fingers past the broken gristle where his sternum had once been.

“How about we try an experiment, you and I?”

My hand wrapped around his heart, and it pulsed against my hand in a steady rhythm. Ba-bump ba-bump ba—

I squeezed, and for a moment his heart went still, then I loosened my grip and it beat again, more hurriedly than before.

“Do you know what your heart looks like, Doctor? Do you know how long it takes you to heal?” My voice cracked, going high-pitched and crazy.

I registered a click, and my brain told me the sound was familiar, but I was too far gone to think. I leaned close so my face was right near his, and his creepy little grin was nowhere to be found.

“I bet you don’t regenerate either.”

“Ma’am,” a voice bellowed, muffled but alarmingly close. “Step back, and put your hands where I can see them.”

Ignore it, the wolf cajoled. Finish him.

I squeezed, and he let out a bubbling moan, a thin foam of blood seeping from his lips.

“Ma’am, put your hands up, or I will shoot.”

Shoot?

I looked up and was staring down the barrel of a rifle, the matte-black gun aimed right at my head.

Security, I thought, my chance to finish the job vanishing before my eyes. I took a good look at the man holding the gun, his blue-black Kevlar armor and the helmet he wore. Then I saw the eight other men in identical uniforms standing around the room, their guns leveled on me. One turned away from me, sending a signal into the hall with his fingers, but I saw the back of his armor.

Big yellow letters against the dark blue material.

FBI.

“What the fuck?” I asked, and the shock went right through me into The Doctor before I slumped off him, unconscious.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Heaven looked like a hospital room.

Or maybe that was a sure sign I was in hell.

I was dressed in a thin blue hospital gown, and my broken arm was propped over my stomach with a new, proper sling holding it in place. My good hand had returned to normal, no sign of hair or claws, just chipped nails in bad need of some polish.

The overhead lights were dimmed but still bright enough to make me uncomfortable.

Several tubes were connected to the crook of my elbow and the back of my hand, tethering me to a bank of whirring, beeping machines beside my bed.

The first sign I wasn’t dead was the headache I became almost instantly aware of. That coupled with the