My old friend had almost died. He’d suffered a fractured skull, so there were bound to be side effects. It might make sense that he’d forget I’d been infected with the virus, as well as the part he’d played in it.
But he’d seen me shift in the barn . . . and he’d known me then. How could he forget so soon?
A wulf with jet black, slightly kinked hair appeared ahead—Josh. He glanced back over his shoulder and clacked his jaws at us. Sam put on a burst of speed to range up alongside, and I dug my hind claws into the soft earth and thrust my body into the air.
I came back to earth on Josh’s other side and he gave me a wulfy grin of approval. My worry uncoiled as I once again embraced the joy of exploring my new body, and my new world.
Peter was alive, and that was the important thing. Even if he got confused on occasion, it was a small price to pay.
Chris took us to a hill and the entire group paused, panting. Then he raised his muzzle to the sky and howled. We joined in, our voices rising and falling in a harmony only nature could understand. We pumped everything we had into that chorus: all our pain at the ones we’d lost, the uncertainty behind what had happened, the relief we had not lost more, the joy of running free and of being with friends.
No, not just friends. Family.
The call of the wulf.
And I was one with them.
16
We ran for hours, until hunger and the fading moonlight drove us back to our human skins. I watched Peter change with trepidation, but although he looked weary, he came back to two legs with everything functioning as it should. And he gave me a tired smile which eased some of my worry. I noticed the doc watched him too and seemed satisfied.
Neither of us mentioned what had happened in the forest.
We spent the early morning hours at Chris’s, sprawled on whatever flat surface we could find. Matt chose the cot in the cage, preferring it over the couch in the basement, which is where Keen and I ended up. Sam claimed the spare bed with an arched brow, daring anyone to argue.
None of us did.
Josh and Peter worked together on whipping up a breakfast suitable for—well—an entire pack of hungry wulves. There was even a bone for Keen, who carried it down the hall. I considered following to stop a possible burying in the bedclothes, when Peter mentioned Chloe.
He’d finished a plate of pancakes when he paused to stare at his fork. “I kinda remember you guys talking. I know she’s gone,” he said. “But I don’t know how she died.”
Silence fell around the table, and Josh looked stricken. Chris glanced at him and leaned forward, his eyes on Peter. “Dillon—well, we suspect now that he and Chloe were mates.” I realized Chris had been about to say Dillon attacked her, and I was glad he didn’t. Peter didn’t need to know what the beast had done to her.
My old friend’s eyes widened in shock. “Mates? Are you sure?”
Chris nodded. “When Dillon lost it, it took Chloe over the edge too. We found her unconscious on the path. We left Josh with her, and when she woke up, she attacked him, bit his throat.”
“His throat?” Peter’s face lost color, and I worried that this was too much for him, too soon.
Chris nodded and shot me a glance before continuing. “Liam had taken on Dillon. When Josh mentioned Liam had gone after her mate, Chloe lost it. He flung her off, her head hit a branch, and it killed her. It was an accident, but if Josh hadn’t done what he did, she would have tried to kill him. She’d gone almost as mad as Dillon.”
“How did I miss they were mated?” Peter shook his head and his brows drew down. “Dillon carried a dead sheep into the yard. I think we fought about it. That’s all I remember.”
He retained no memory of Chloe trying to kill him, and maybe that was for the best.
“You may never regain your memories of that night,” Doc Hayek told Peter. “That knock with the bat fractured your skull, and you lost so much blood you were lucky to escape serious brain damage.” He cleared his throat. “My advice: let the past remain in the past. Go on with your life since you’ve been granted another shot at it.”
Peter nodded, his face grim, and rose to wash the dishes. Josh got up to help him, his expression filled with sorrow. I found a measure of comfort in the doc’s words.
When Hayek made his excuses and stood to leave, I walked him out to his car. I noted it was a well-kept older model. Very practical—like the doc.
“Keep an eye on Peter,” Hayek said, tossing his bag into the back seat. “His body has had a hell of a shock, and you may notice lingering effects from the blood loss.” He opened the driver’s door and fixed me with a look. “Let me know if anything seems off.”
I opened my mouth to mention the incident in the woods, but stopped myself. This society played by a different set of rules. Memory loss for a wulfan carried with it implications that scared the crap out of me. I decided I’d give it some time. It might never happen again. So I simply nodded. “I’ll watch him,” I promised.
When I returned to the kitchen, the
