“But Alec—”
“Tried to kill me because I didn’t see how his human mind had snapped. He’d embraced his wulf, but the human within couldn’t cope with what he’d done. He became a wulf driven by an insane human mind.”
“So not all wulfleng that lose it have that problem?”
“No.” Chris grimaced. “The ones I’ve put down had reverted to the wulf. They were vicious and dangerous, but no longer human.”
That was an important distinction. No wonder Alec caught Chris off guard. Suddenly, I remembered something. “Dillon spoke to me.”
Chris sat up straight in the chair. “He did? What did he say?”
“He said, ‘Liam, you die.’ A bit caveman, but you get the idea.”
“If the wulf had been in full control, he wouldn’t have been able to speak.” Chris’s brows shadowed his dark eyes. “The human was alive in there.”
A chill chased down my spine. “Well, he had a funny way of showing it.” But something occurred to me. “Could he have been sick? Maybe a brain tumor or some disease? Couldn’t we do an autopsy?”
A strange expression came over Chris’s face. “Well, see, here’s the real reason I’m sure something else is going on. Both Dillon and Chloe—their bodies have been taken.”
“Taken?” I sat up too fast. My healing ribs protested.
“Hey, easy there.” Chris rose and pushed pillows behind me while I practiced shallow breathing. “We were carrying your sorry ass here when a helicopter appeared out of nowhere—Matt ran back to see what it was up to but wasn’t fast enough. They’d taken the bodies and scrammed.”
“Didn’t you come in a helicopter?”
“Different machine. This one was black and flying without lights.”
I stared at him. “Like, military?” He nodded. “Has that ever happened before?”
“Not here.” The finality of his words and the concern in his voice made my heart stutter. He shook his head. “But my friend in Texas tells me they’ve had a few instances of bodies disappearing.”
We considered in silence for a long moment. I flung back the covers and swung my legs—with care—over the side of the bed. “Well, I need to piss. And then I think it’s time I got up. Frankly, with helicopters dropping from the sky, it sounds as though you could use my help.”
He braced me as I stood, the corners of his mouth in motion. “First, let’s see if you can walk. Then we’ll take on the helicopters.”
* * *
When the full moon arrived four days later, we arranged to greet it at Josh and Chris’s place. We spent a good part of the day moving Peter into the cage—an involved process, considering the number of tubes keeping him alive. Doc Hayek supervised the transfer, ensuring that everything stayed attached where it belonged. He informed us that he would remove them for the change, but he wanted the support for Peter right until sunset.
I had much on my mind, but none of it tortured me more than the utter stillness that Peter had become. The slashes across his throat and back had almost healed, but the older man remained in a coma and we didn’t know if he’d ever wake up.
Coma. The word took on a whole new meaning for a wulf. All wulfan and wulfleng were compelled to turn on the night of the full moon. And, if the human wasn’t there to drive the show, the wulf would.
I remembered Dillon, and shuddered. Surely Peter wouldn’t go insane? I also couldn’t conceive of the wise man I knew ending up a mindless beast. As Doc Hayek adjusted the IV pole and catheter bag, I glanced over to Chris. Will he have to end Peter? Is this part of being an enforcer?
Chris returned the look. He still hadn’t forgiven me for taking off after Dillon. My assertion that he’d have done the same—yes, I’d been dumb enough to eventually go there—had only made him glower at me. I was right though. I’d caught Josh hiding a grin behind his hand and knew he was thinking it too.
Sam and Matt were up at the house with Josh prepping what they called the “after-run dinner,” which promised to be roughly the equivalent of feeding an entire football team. Apparently wulves came home hungry after chasing a full moon.
I leaned against the cage wall and stared at Peter. Until the old man opened his eyes, and Peter stood there, not just the wulf, I doubted I’d be hungry.
“Do you think the wulf will be active?” I asked the doc.
“Peter’s autonomic reflexes are good, and as near as I can tell, there’s no paralysis,” Hayek said, his face grim. “So it depends on the level of damage to the brain as to what will emerge when he changes. Best case scenario: it snaps Peter out of the coma.”
And worst-case scenario? The wulf is as comatose as Peter? Or fully active without him? I decided I didn’t want to know.
We’d shut Keen in Chris’s chain-link kennel for the evening. Chris told me that any other night of the month she could run with us. But the full moon brought too much wulf out and she’d be safer this way.
Anyway, I had enough to worry about. As I stared at the still form on the cot, my nose caught a subtle, spicy scent on the breeze drifting through the door. Sam. Apparently prepping food wasn’t top priority for a certain red-haired she-wulf.
“You worrying about the change?” she asked, moving up beside me. “I’m sure you’ll be just as pretty as before, even with the new scars.”
I glanced at her—pretty?—just as Chris clouted me on the shoulder hard enough to rattle my still healing ribs.
“You’ll be fine.” His grin revealed long, white canines.
“Go easy on him,” Sam laughed. “He’s still fragile.” She grabbed me by the arm. “Speaking of which, we’d better remove those last stitches, or you’ll tear them
