My heart froze, and then started to beat extra fast. “You could have told me.”
It was a ridiculous statement, and I knew it. “Liam, I’m a werewolf” was so not easily slipped into normal conversation.
Peter heaved a sigh. “Surprised it took you this long.”
In retrospect, so was I. But much as I considered myself to have a flexible, inquiring mind, this wasn’t something you just accepted. Even when I’d seen Chloe stand in that paddock—for I realized now, that’s who it was—and Keen had wagged her silly tail, my thoughts had shied away from such conclusions. I opened my mouth to frame it in words but I didn’t know where to begin.
As I forced my feet to carry me closer, I decided to settle on the basics. “So, what do you call yourselves?” My heart pounded so loud I swear everyone could hear it. Maybe they could.
“Our kind are called wulfan,” Peter replied. “Our animal side is the wulf, or wulves.”
They have a kind? I rubbed at my temple. Of course they do.
Giving myself a mental shake, I pulled the heavy bag off my shoulder. “Let me stitch you up.”
I crouched before him, and his naked physique surprised me—more muscle on the big frame than I’d expected. That’s what happens when you spend nights howling at the moon and running through the woods.
“No stitches,” Peter said. “Most have already sealed. We heal fast, s’long as the wounds are clean.”
I turned to Chloe. “How about you? Are you okay?” I reached to trace a slice on her forearm, but she pulled away.
“Don’t touch her,” Peter said, his voice sharp.
Startled, I glanced at him. “But they’ll need to be cleaned . . .”
“I’ve seen to it.” His expression softened. “If Dillon smells you on her—my days of telling him what to do have come to an end.”
The words chased ice down my spine. Chloe looked stricken, her pupils swallowing her eyes. If he smells me on her, he’ll do what? Perhaps that was a question best left unanswered. I pulled a bottle of wound cleanser out of my bag before turning back to Chloe. “Squirt this into fresh hot water according to the directions.”
She took it from me and placed it onto the counter, before picking up the bowl of bloody water and dumping it in the sink. As she began the refill, I noted that the plaster paw prints no longer sat drying on the windowsill.
“So,” I said, pulling out a chair to sit next to Peter. “Must have given you a bad moment when I showed up with those plaster casts.”
Peter’s visible eye widened in surprise, and he chuffed a laugh. “You’ve no idea. Chloe wanted to tell you, but Dillon—well, Dillon doesn’t like you much.”
No kidding. As I watched Chloe return with the bowl, moving with a grace I now realized mimicked her furry alter ego, I frankly didn’t blame Dillon for his jealousy—just what he did with it. “Where is the black beast this morning?” I struggled to keep my voice casual.
“We don’t know,” Chloe said. She dropped the towels on the table and pulled her lip from between white teeth, her eyes liquid with tears. “He took off . . . we looked for him all night, but when we got back, the car was gone.”
I hadn’t heard it leave. Perhaps I’d dozed off after all. “He tried to open the door to my place.”
Peter’s eyebrow climbed. “That why you ended up on the lawn in your pajamas?”
I grimaced. “Yeah.” Not my proudest moment. “But he—the deadbolt stopped him.” Seriously? I was going to go with “he started it”? What am I, ten?
Peter grunted. “He’s testing you. To see if you’d defend your territory.” He looked at Chloe, his expression grim.
Defend my territory? I wasn’t an animal. Although I guess that is exactly what I did, come to think of it. I looked at Peter, who was staring at Chloe as though they could communicate without words. Questions filled my mind, and I had no idea where to start. So I just jumped in. “Do you guys—change—voluntarily? You don’t seem to be linked to the lunar cycle.” I handed Peter a towel, which he put on his lap, and using a small squirt bottle, I began flushing debris out of his wounds.
“Shifting’s voluntary until the night of the full moon, when we have to shift.” Peter hissed as the fluid penetrated a deep cut. Werewolves might heal fast, but they certainly experienced pain.
I rinsed and repeated in silence for a while, concentrating on each wound. I worked until I got the courage to say what I needed to. “Thank you.”
It jolted him. “For what?”
“For saving my sorry hide. I don’t know what I was thinking, taking him on. He would have shredded me like paper.”
“It’s the wulf,” Peter said, pronouncing it oddly. He rolled his good baby blue to fix it on me. “Makes you do stupid things.”
“The wulf?” I mimicked his pronunciation and sat back and looked at him, perplexed. “How can him being a wulf make me do stupid things?” When they both continued to stare, I rolled my eyes. “You . . . wulfan. Me human.”
Peter’s gaze darted to Chloe, who reached out as though to touch my shoulder, but stopped herself. “No, Liam. You don’t understand.” The tawny gaze seemed conflicted—I saw sympathy and something else I couldn’t get a read on.
Peter shook his head at me. “The animals already know. Surely you’ve guessed.” At my uncomprehending stare, he continued. “When Dillon bit you, he gave you the virus.”
I looked at the blood swirling in the bowl and dipped the cloth in again. What’s he on about? He can’t mean—is he joking? About this? I glanced up, but Peter wasn’t laughing. He put his heavy hand on my shoulder
