he’s unconscious now.” A gaunt, gray-haired man who smelled of snow and grief appeared in the cabin door. His head was turned, attention fixed on something behind him. “I’ll shift so you can tie him to my back. The sooner we’re out of—”
The man froze in mid-sentence, noticing Fenrir at last. His outline shimmered, swelling into a hulking, horned shape. Icy cold raked through Fenrir’s fur as the wendigo snarled at him.
“No, Mort.” Fenrir’s sister made a short, sharp gesture, stopping the monster from attacking. “He…he won’t hurt me.”
Fenrir risked another step, ignoring the wendigo’s warning growl. His sister’s finger tightened on the trigger of the tranquilizer gun, but she didn’t pull it. Not yet.
*Pack comes.* He could sense Birdcat and the others getting closer, straining their wings to reach him. *Come back with us. Come home. Is not too late. Don’t have to do this.*
The point of her dart gun dropped a little, no longer aimed straight at his chest. He should have been encouraged by that…but instead, his heart fell. Part of him had been hoping that she would shoot him.
Do it, he begged, in the privacy of his own mind. Please. Make me human, if only for a little while. Save me.
His sister’s forehead furrowed, as though she’d heard that silent plea down the weak pack bond between them. The mark on her forehead pulsed again, this time brighter. She winced—and then aimed the gun at him once more.
“I will,” she said—though whether to him, or that other voice in her head, he couldn’t tell. “But you have to forget about me.”
And then there was nothing but darkness.
“Fenrir. Fenrir.”
He blinked. Shapes swam, then resolved into Wystan’s face, hovering over him.
With an effort, Fenrir managed to lift his head. He was lying on an unfamiliar couch, in an unfamiliar room. Wherever he was, the place looked as though it had been ransacked by a very localized tornado. Books and papers lay scattered across the floor, along with broken shards of glass. Every available surface was cluttered with strange glass beakers and jars, linked by coiling tubes. Some of them lay on their sides, dripping acrid-smelling chemicals onto the carpet.
“Lupa,” he croaked. “Where-?”
“Gone.” Wystan pushed him back down. “We arrived to find you unconscious outside the cabin, with Lupa just a dot in the distance. Rory and Callum tried to give chase, but the wendigo summoned a snowstorm. They had to give up. They’re on their way back now. Are you injured?”
“No,” he said—and suddenly realized that he was speaking.
He sat bolt upright, shoving aside Wystan’s attempt to restrain him. In rising excitement, he patted at his face and body. Human skin, human face, human hands.
He was human again. He was himself again.
His joy vanished as quickly as it had arrived. Because, of course, it wouldn’t last. This would wear off. He would be trapped as a beast once more, unable to even speak to his mate.
Nothing had changed.
He sagged back against the couch, the bleak realization draining all strength from his limbs. “Deathsnake—that is, Vance is gone?”
“I’m afraid so,” Wystan replied. “Lupa managed to snatch him away just in time. The others are still searching the cabin, but I’m not sure we’ll find much. Although Vance clearly left in a hurry, he seems to have had time to gather up all his notes on the serum and take them with him.”
He stared dully down at his hands. “Then all this was for nothing.”
“Not quite.” Wystan handed him a small, feminine handbag. “You were holding this when we found you. I assume you managed to snatch it from Lupa before she shot you.”
It was Lupa’s bag. But he’d last seen it slung over her shoulder, securely tucked under her arm. He certainly hadn’t taken it from her.
“Is hers,” he said, perplexed. He opened the bag, peering into it. “But-”
He froze.
Because inside the bag, gleaming up at him, were five vials of serum.
Chapter 20
Be cool, Darcy reminded herself as the hotshot crew vehicle pulled up outside the base. You’re a professional. Don’t make things harder for him.
It was still all that she could do not to hurl herself at Fenrir like a star-struck groupie as he unfolded himself from the back of the car. She hadn’t realized until that moment how much she’d missed his face.
“Fenrir!” His name came out as a breathless squeak. She cleared her throat. “I mean, hi. It’s…it’s good to see you again.”
“Is good to be back.” His voice was just as deep and soft as