still taste the peppermint toothpaste they’d given me. “It’s okay, Ash. It’s okay.”

The werwulf growled. His shoulders came up, corded with muscle, and the shifting textures of his

pelt blurred. If I could capture that on paper, maybe with charcoal—but who was I kidding? Like I

had time for recreational werwulf portraiture.

His claws made grooves in the concrete, the hard sharp edges screeching as they cut through stonehard flooring. You could just imagine those claws cutting through flesh, like a hot knife through

butter.

Gee, that’s great, Dru. Why don’t you meditate on that for awhile?

I put my hand down. It looked very small and very pale, and when my fingers touched the thick ruff

at the back of his neck, they sank in. Heat poured off him, and the sound of bones crackling filled

the room as he tried, again, to change back into human form.

My heart leapt up into my throat and made itself at home. “You can do it,” I whispered. Just like I

did every time. “Come on.”

Shaking filled him in waves. Graves stood in the doorway, outlined in pale fluorescent glare. He

tilted back, glanced down the hallway, stiffened like he saw trouble coming.

“You can do it.” I tried not to sound like I was pleading. Ash leaned against me, almost knocking

me off my feet, the way a dog will lean into its master’s legs. He also whined, way back in his

throat, and the crackling sound got louder.

Bile crawled up in my throat. My hand turned into a fist in his fur, as if that would help. The marks

on my left wrist twinged, sending a bolt of pain up my arm. Two little scabbed-over marks, where

the fangs had gone in.

Another great thought. Jesus, Dru. Cut it out.

“It’s okay,” I coaxed. “It’s all right. Sooner or later it’ll happen. You can change back.”

I heard voices. Male, four or five of them. Boots hitting the ground, the clothwhisper of running.

My fingers turned to wood, and Ash growled. The deep thrumming filled up the bare concrete cube,

the shelf like bed with its thin mat he never slept on, the low wide toilet bowl, and the metal tray in

the corner still sticky with blood—at least he’d been fed. The raw meat was all gone; he wasn’t

hoarding it like he would if he was sick.

Well, sicker than he was already. There were marks on the walls where he’d flung himself.

A werwulf can dent stone or concrete. If he’s going fast enough, if he really wants to. The maybenot-so-irrational fear returned. I pushed it away.

“Shhh.” I tried not to sound just-woke-up and scared. Probably failed miserably. “It’s okay. Everything’s all right.”

It was a lie. He probably knew it, too. His ruined mouth opened as he tilted his head up, inhaled as