patch of white skin showing like the moon behind clouds. Long elegant fingers, ending in claws

that spasmodically slid free and retracted, clenched and released. It looked like the white streak at

his temple was widening, but I couldn’t tell for sure.

The skin was an odd texture. Soft, like a baby’s. Like it hadn’t been exposed to a lot. It was amazing

—such a kickass creature, and underneath it all, so fragile. How many times had he saved my life so

far?

It was Friday, I realized. Would the wulfen do their regular weekly run tomorrow? Could I go along

with them?

And when Sunday came around, would I be able to go down into the cafeteria and act like a normal

girl on a coffee date or something?

Good luck with that, Dru.

“I wonder why he’s doing this.”

“Broken doesn’t mean stupid.” Dibs stared at the machines keeping track of the rhythms, his fair

blond face creasing. “Maybe he knows you want to help him.”

“I shot him in the face. With silver. And then after that he wanted to kill me too, but . . .” I replayed

the scene in my head. So much had happened, but I was sure of one thing—Ash had been after me

before Christophe drove him away, there in the snow.

Christophe stepped closer warily. “Maybe the silver interferes with Sergej’s call. I would give much

to know if he went limping back to his master and was given a new directive, or if he went to

ground and the silver changed him.”

“That’s the sixty-four-dollar question, ennit? He can’t tell us yet.” Dibs eyed the Broken werwulf. It

was by far the least afraid I’d ever seen him. I guess with Ash strapped down and technically a patient, Dibs could handle it. “Although I think it’s the second.”

“Why?” Christophe glanced up, his eyes turned lighter and more thoughtful. They were still cold.

Dad’s eyes had been that blue, but never so freezing. Christophe’s were a winter sky, on a day when

the wind knifes right through whatever you’re wearing. Eyes that can turn you numb when they’re

looking at you like a butterfly on a pin.

Christophe’s interest made Dibs pull his head down like a turtle. “Just a feeling, that’s all.”

“Well, your hunches are good, Samuel. If he can be saved, you’ll save him.”

Dibs didn’t believe it. At least, he didn’t look like he did, and I didn’t blame him. Some of the white

bandages began to show spots of crimson. Like angry flowers. And I was too drained and numb to

react much, smelling the copper salt of blood.

It was a blessing. My fangs didn’t tingle.

Dibs sighed. “What worries me is what’ll happen after we’ve got him recovering, not just stabilized. What are they going to do with him?”