“Same thing they have done, I’d bet. Make him Dru’s problem.” Christophe let out a sharp breath.

“Have you seen the loup-garou?”

“Graves? No. Nobody has. Shanks saw him yesterday, heading away from a sparring gym looking

like hell. But he was on duty for Dru and didn’t follow him. Weird, huh? He’s never very far away

from her.” Dibs coughed a little, maybe remembering I was standing right there. “Alphas get mad,

though. Maybe he’s just off cooling down.”

It sounded inadequate, and we all knew it. “He’s still bleeding.” I couldn’t tear my gaze away from

the ruin of the Broken’s jaw, and the spots on the bandages widened. The patch of skin under my

fingers shrank, choked with wiry vital fur.

“Crap. He’s about to have one of his swings again. Get out of here, Dru.” Dibs turned toward a tray

of various implements and bottles and scooped up a package, broke it open with a practiced flick of

his fingers, and subtracted a hypodermic needle the size of the Death Star. He looked down at the

Broken, and his face changed a little. “Last thing I need is you coding on the table. I’m gonna save

your life, wulf, whether you like it or not.” He glanced back at me as the beeps and boops picked up

their pace. “Didn’t I tell you to leave?”

Wow. Where had the Dibs who couldn’t even choke out his name in a crowded lunchroom gone?

Christophe’s hand curled around my arm and he pulled me away. Dibs cursed as something rattled,

and a snarl shook the room. Christophe swung the door shut and didn’t slow down until we were all

the way down to the other end of the infirmary. “Why that wulf was stuck in a reform Schola is beyond me,” he muttered darkly. “The Order used to be a meritocracy. Dear God.”

“Is he going to be okay?”

“Which one? Samuel can take care of himself. Unless Ash breaks the restraints, and even then he

won’t see a submissive as a threat. Unless he’s crazed. Which is very likely.” He palmed the heavy

door at the end of the infirmary open, checked the hall, and had probably forgotten his hand around

my arm. At least he wasn’t giving me another bruise to add to all the rest.

“What about Ash? Christophe, slow down.”

He stopped. The hallway was deserted. Shafts of westering sunlight pierced it at regular intervals,

and the velvet drapes were still and silent. The busts studding the hall’s length peered at each other,

never quite looking anyone in the eye. I was beginning to feel like crawling under a bed and hiding

for awhile. The more I thought about it, the more it seemed reasonable.