If Doolittle was right, the winged shapeshifters could assume human and animal shapes that let them mimic normal shapeshifters. It explained why the winged freaks suddenly started showing up at the castle—they were members of either Belve Ravennati or the Volkodavi, and if they had to fight, they assumed their final form. The million-dollar question was, which one was it? The creatures looked more feline to me, but that didn’t mean anything.

“What about the other child?”

“It’s a wolf,” Doolittle said.

That told us nothing. A child of two shapeshifters rolled genetic dice: he could inherit a beast from his father or his mother. Desandra transformed into a wolf. If she had a child with Gerardo, he would be a wolf. If she had a child with Radomil, he could be a wolf or a lynx. We still knew nothing except that she was growing a monster inside her. Eventually I would have to tell her this. Could this get more fucked up?

At the door Mahon crossed his arms. “Who are you?”

A woman answered quietly. The big werebear stepped aside and a tall woman in her late forties stepped through the door. Dark-skinned and graceful, she looked Arabic. An adolescent boy and a younger girl followed her.

“My name is Demet,” the woman said slowly. “Lord Megobari sent for me. To heal.” She put her hand over her heart. “Healer.”

“That’s very fortunate,” Doolittle said. “Because I can’t move my legs.”

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 14

Eduardo paced up and down the common area, stomping as if he had hooves and glaring at the bathroom door. Demet asked for privacy, and the bathroom was the only place that still had a functional door. Derek went in there with them. His face alone was enough of a deterrent even if she had decided to try something.

Eduardo exhaled and turned back for another pass. Red streaks stained his white T-shirt—his wounds were deep and he wasn’t doing them any favors.

Keira paced too, to the wall and back, turning just a hair before her body touched the stone. Barabas sat in the middle of the room, his face grim. At the door, Mahon loomed, a somber shadow.

It never occurred to me that something was wrong. When Doolittle sat up in his tub, I felt an overwhelming avalanche of relief. I never thought to ask if he was okay . . .

Curran walked through the door. Blood drenched his right side. On the left, deep cuts where monster claws had gouged his flesh crossed his muscles. Being hugged by a flying eight-foot long leopard left its mark.

He walked over to me and crouched.

“Are you okay?”

Define “okay.” “Yes. Did you get him?”

“It was a woman. She threw herself from the cliff. Her brains are splattered on the bottom of the ravine.”

Damn it.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“Doolittle woke up. He can’t move his legs.”