“I’m sure that’s partly true. But she came on strong to me one day when we went for a jog in the woods. And afterward, she kissed Dillon . . .” I shook my head. “I could be totally wrong, but the way she defends him—it seems off, like there’s more there than just messing around.”
“She might be confused,” Chris suggested. “Dillon’s pretty intense.”
“Possibly,” I conceded. “But I think he’s more out of control than she’ll admit.” I’d promised not to tell, but I was worried Peter was in over his head. “He killed two bison the night he arrived here. Tore them to pieces—ate their hearts, livers and brains.”
Chris’s brows shadowed his eyes. “I still have friends in Texas. When I heard Chloe came here with Dillon, I made inquiries. No reply yet, so I’ll follow up on it.”
Mention of Texas returned my thoughts to Chris’s scars, and the terrible wounds that must have caused them. You couldn’t take a wulfan to the hospital or even to a vet. “When you get hurt, do you guys go to emergency?”
“Lord, no.” Chris laughed. “Wulfan reactions to anesthetic and unconsciousness are extreme—the wulf often wakes up first. It can be . . . messy. We rely on a few wulfan doctors.” He waved a hand at me. “You know, your skills will come in very convenient around here. We might heal quick, but we still need patching up.”
“Well, if I get through this, I’ll offer you reasonable rates.”
It was a silly thing to say, but Chris laughed, so it was worth it.
* * *
That evening we moved me into the cage, visualization board and all. Actually, Chris hung the board across the aisle where it was visible through the bars, but not within reach. He said he’d seen enough bulletin boards shredded over the years. The barn had heat, fortunately, for the nights were still cool. Keen would sleep in the house. I didn’t want to risk her if I had a nightmare and started to wulf out. Although Chris seemed certain I would continue with only the “edge” shifts—teeth, eyes, and claws—I didn’t blame him for moving me.
He got me set up in the cage and made me work. I hadn’t noticed the bars welded in criss-cross fashion a foot below the ceiling. First, he had me do crunches until my gut muscles ached, then he had me swing from the metal like an ape.
“Your arms are used to hanging off your shoulders, not carrying your weight. You need to build your upper body strength and core muscles to travel on all fours.”
Panting, I swung between the bars, my arms burning with effort. “But it takes months to make those kinds of changes,” I gasped while suspended from arms that already felt three inches longer.
“Not if you’re a wulfleng. Your body will adapt fast. So keep swinging.”
I gritted my teeth and swung. When he finally let me drop off the bars, he made me do push-ups. Oddly, although I swore several times—out loud—that I was going to bite the dirt, my arms continued to hold me up.
I was sweating like a racehorse by the time he declared me done for the night. He directed me to the bathroom at the other end of the aisle. “You can shower there now, but if you need to use the washroom at night, you’ll have to make do with a bucket. I’m not replacing fixtures whenever a wulfleng has a snit fit.”
I shot him a look. Just how strong were these things?
When I returned from my shower, Chris showed me a button on the wall, outside the cage. I could just reach it through the bars. “If you need me, ring,” he said, pointing to the closed-circuit camera mounted across from the cage. “I’ll be able to see everything except the corner with the bucket. And I’ll keep a watch on you.”
I should have felt like a monkey on exhibit, but instead his precautions were reassuring. “Don’t let Keen on the bed.” My eyebrow raised. “She has her own, so you don’t have to spoil her.”
Chris grinned. “I’ll be in the spare room, anyway. That’s where the monitor’s set up for the camera. So I suspect Josh will enjoy her company.”
I nodded as he closed the door. The locks rotated into place with a hiss of oiled metal. Again, I wondered about the Fort Knox treatment. The wulfleng looked strong, but they surely couldn’t get through steel.
Chris peered at me through the bars. “Don’t keep anything valuable in there with you. I forgot to ask for your electronics.”
Digging into my pack, I pulled out my iPad and handed it to him. “Can I keep my phone? I’ll replace it easily enough if I smash it.”
“Up to you. You grabbed the protein bars?” I nodded. “Okay. I’ll be back before you want to see me, to start it all over again. Good night.” I watched him go, experiencing the usual pang. Which made me wonder if the wulf would seize hold of my separation anxieties and warp them into something else.
I glanced at the board, keeping my focus on the good side. I couldn’t help but notice that Chris had turned the small spotlight over the aisle to light only that section. Dillon’s image and the drawings around it remained in darkness.
Sweet dreams, I thought, laying back on the cot and pulling the covers over me. I missed Keen. When I checked my phone, there was a single text from Peter.
Strength of will is strength of mind. Quite an eloquent statement for a technophobe. Had Chloe helped him with it? Which led to thoughts that made me sit up to stare at my board for a while. I hadn’t realized how well puppy images, even my own drawings, could soothe the soul.
Sixteen days. Would I make it through?
10
When Chris woke me the next morning, I noticed my sheets had tears. I debated pointing it out, but
