we can hardly trust his judgment. Perhaps it would be better-”
*POISON!* He snarled, the feral sound ripping from his lengthening jaws. *NOW!*
“All right. If you’re certain.” Icehorse took a syringe from his medical bag. “But I’m going to start with a small amount. Tell me as soon as you notice any effect.”
No, no! his wolf howled as the cold needle slid into his vein. Cannot! Must protect the pack, must protect mate! Must remember…remember…
The wolf fought, but he could feel it growing weaker as the drug wrapped around it. His gums ached, pointed fangs retreating.
“Working.” The word came out slurred and bestial, but at least it was recognizable. “More!”
Wystan’s mouth tightened, but he measured out another dose. As it spread through Fenrir’s blood, his twisting bones eased at last. He went limp with relief, relishing the sudden silence in his head.
“That’s about half the amount that Lupa was using in her darts,” Wystan said, withdrawing the needle. “I think it’s best to stop there. How are you feeling?”
“Like a fresh carcass tugged between hungry yearlings.” With an effort, he managed to sit up, though his muscles kept twitching randomly. “But human. Thank you.”
“Let’s hope that holds for a while. Tell me if you start to feel yourself slipping again.” Wystan carefully replaced the remainder of the vial of serum back in the case with the others. “Fenrir…Lupa’s dart wore off a lot sooner than I expected. Either the serum varies in strength from batch to batch, or your animal is somehow growing resistant to it. Either way, the supply that we found isn’t going to last long. Have you told Darcy yet?”
“No.” He caught Wystan’s arm, gripping it tight. “No one can tell her. She must not discover I am using serum to stay human. Not when it can’t last, not when I don’t even know if mating would help. Can’t risk hurting her.”
Wystan blew out his breath. “I understand that you don’t want to put any pressure on Darcy. But at this rate, you’ll run out of serum within a week.”
He looked down at the small, glowing vials. “Then will have to make every moment count.”
Chapter 22
Darcy went to sleep worrying about Fenrir, and woke up to yelling.
“Fenrir!” She scrabbled for her glasses, scrambling out of bed. Heart hammering, she thrust her feet into her sneakers, charged out the door—and ran smack into a solid wall of muscle.
“Good morning,” Fenrir rumbled.
“You’re human,” she blurted out. She flung her arms around him, giddy with relief. “You’re still human!”
He didn’t hug her back. A wave of mortification swept over her—and then she realized that he had his hands full.
“Oh, sorry.” She released him, pushing her glasses up her nose. “What have you got there? And what’s all the yelling about?”
He lowered the tray a little, though it was still too far above her head for her to see what was on it. “Breakfast.”
Her heart, which had finally been starting to slow, melted into a puddle. “You made me breakfast?”
“Yes.” He glanced over his shoulder, looking sheepish. “Which is what the yelling is about.”
“Don’t worry!” Edith shouted, racing past with a fire extinguisher. “Everything’s under control!”
Darcy stared after her, then back up at Fenrir.
Fenrir’s expression of chagrin deepened. “I set fire to the coffee.”
“How?”
“Yes.” Fenrir’s shoulders slumped. “Is what everyone else said too.”
“Well, it is an impressive feat.” Darcy stretched onto her toes, trying to see the tray. “So what did you manage to make?”
“Smoke.” He lowered the tray at last, revealing orange juice, fruit, and an assortment of cereal bars. “Sorry.”
“Hey, this is great. I’m not really a breakfast person anyway.” A curl of freezing wind around her thighs made her realize that she was standing on the porch in nothing but panties and an oversized t-shirt. “Do you want to come in?”
His eyes darkened. Belatedly, she remembered the last time she’d asked him that.
“Um.” She tried to tug down the hem of her t-shirt. Her face heated, as did other parts considerably further south. “I meant, er, for breakfast.”
He nodded, and carefully carried the tray inside. She scooted past him to the bedroom, hastily tugging on a pair of jeans and raking her hair into some sort of order. By the time she’d returned to the main room of the cabin, he’d set out two glasses of juice, and arranged the fruit and cereal bars on a plate.
“This really is great,” she said, touched by his care. “Thanks, Fenrir.”
He ducked his head, looking pleased behind his beard. “Wanted to do