“This was how long after Dillon was bitten?” I took a long gulp.
“Five weeks. After his first full moon. But there are also questions as to how Dillon ended up infected.”
“He was bitten. By Chloe’s brother, Tate, I think it was.” I stared hard at Chris.
“Tate swears he didn’t bite Dillon, and his brother Will backs him up.” Chris leaned against the wall.
“But—how did Dillon get infected?”
The enforcer’s mouth twitched. “When my friend put pressure on Tate, he admitted that Chloe and Dillon were . . . indisposed when the brothers found them in the park.”
“They were screwing around? But she hadn’t seen Dillon in years.”
“Dillon had been in the city for at least a month by that point. One of Chloe’s university friends reported Chloe had, quote unquote, ‘this dreamy big guy for a boyfriend. Kinda intense.’”
My mind raced. So much for just being friends. “So Chloe . . .?”
The dark eyes rolled. “It isn’t hard to infect someone if it’s a full moon and you’re having sex. Even saliva can spread the infection.”
Right. “But Chloe would know.”
Chris stared at me.
“My God. You think she did it deliberately. To turn Dillon into a wulfleng.”
“I suspect so, yeah.” He sighed. “Peter won’t believe me, though. He says she’d never do that and would never lie to him.”
My heart constricted. It explained the guilt, all right. Had she talked Dillon into it, or had he gone in blind? “She’s Peter’s family, so he has to side with her. But it explains her guilt. If Dillon steps over the line, though, will she let him go?”
“That,” he said, his lips tightening, “is the million-dollar question. At least now we know. And Peter may not have wanted to hear it, but he knows I have no reason to lie.”
“Yeah.” But the entire scenario painted a dark picture of Chloe. Where did it leave Peter?
Chris made me finish my water and we got to work. We were halfway through our meditation session before I remembered to ask about the problem in Brandon. Chris tried to keep me on target, but when it became obvious that particular ship had sailed, he relented.
“We think there’s an uprising in the works. The head enforcer for the region, Matt, is still gathering intel, but it has him worried.” Chris shook his head, frowning.
“Is he sure it’s an uprising?”
“Matt’s team put down two wulfleng in the last week. It could be an epidemic, but he said it doesn’t feel that way. He came from Texas too. He knows the pattern.” Chris scrubbed a hand through his shaggy hair.
“Brandon has a team of enforcers?”
“Matt; his daughter, Sam; and an enforcer named Garrett. We’re spread thin across the prairies, but we have each other’s backs.
“Matt’s daughter? Women are enforcers too?”
Chris grinned, showing pearly white teeth, and I was certain the expression linked to his opinion of this Sam person. “Not often. Female wulfan are generally better trackers than the males and we have a few we call on when needed. The smaller size of she-wulfan can be a detriment when fighting a crazed wulfleng, although in my experience, females are fierce fighters. Truth be told, the enforcer world is still an old boy’s network, so we had to convince the board to let Sam step into those shoes. But she makes up for lack of size with—shall we say—technique. I’ve known her from a youngling; you don’t want to mess with her when she’s mad. She’s a chip off the old block.” Chris slapped his hands together. “Okay, if you refuse to meditate, get on the ground and give me a hundred.”
So, he wasn’t going to go easy on me because I was stupid enough to run barefoot through the woods. Half an hour later, I was doing one-armed pull-ups like I’d been doing them all my life. I finished my set and dropped to the floor, panting.
“Is it normal to be gaining strength this fast?” I asked Chris, who exhibited an impressive array of rippling muscle as he dangled from the ceiling.
“Nope,” he replied on the heels of a grunt. “You’re resetting the bar, kid.”
I peered at him, wondering if he was yanking my chain, but he seemed serious. Resetting the bar. Not unsettling in the least.
“Why am I different?”
Chris released the bar and reached for a towel to wipe the sweat off his face. Smug as I was about my increased strength, I couldn’t keep up with him if I tried. “I’ve no idea. I’ve sent a message to my old mentor in Texas but haven’t heard back yet.” He looked at me and spotted something in my expression. “It’s a curiosity, but that’s all. No worries. You’re doing great.”
Somewhat reassured, I toweled off. “I have two weeks to go,” I reminded him.
“Thirteen days. You’ll be fine; I feel it in my bones. I’ve never been so sure of a transformation. By the time the full moon arrives, you’ll be ready.”
“Maybe this is as far as I’ll ever get.” It surprised me to realize I feared that more than the actual transforming.
Chris snorted like a horse. “Yeah, right. Trust me, you will make a fine wulf.” He slapped me on the back, making me wince as he caught a scratch left by a sharp branch.
“Of course, you’ll be a bit of a wuss,” he grinned, rubbing the cut harder. I pulled away, laughing.
* * *
The days blurred together. I became frustrated that I wasn’t progressing fast enough, but Chris kept reminding me I was running ahead of the curve. I’d only been there a week, and my upper body rippled with so much new muscle, I had to borrow some of his tee shirts. They hung on me, but it was progress, of a sort.
Although my physical changes seemed too slow, my senses were on fire. Scent, sight, hearing, taste—all flared and subsided so erratically it made
