“Apollo first. He’s innocent. He came to help us, and this isn’t his fight. Help him.” She turned beseeching eyes to Sawyer. “Please.”

“Okay. Sure. Okay. Don’t bite me,” he said to the wolf. “I’m just going to see how bad he’s hurt.”

“Let me see what I can do right here.” Bran crouched down, ran his hands over Apollo. “That’s a big secret you’ve held on to, Dr. Gwin. It’s not bad, no, it’s not bad.” He soothed the dog. “But even superficial wounds are likely toxic. And that goes for all of us. I have things that will deal with it inside.”

As he spoke, the last stars faded. The sun shimmered at the edges of the east.

The wolf howled, one long note that might have been pain, might have been triumph.

And began to change.

It hunkered down, muscles and fur quivering. Bones seemed to shift, to twist. Only the eyes remained the same. As the light bloomed, the woman emerged.

Riley sat, naked, her arms wrapped around the knees she hugged tight to her chest.

“Holy shit, and let’s add a wow.”

At Sawyer’s comment, Riley lifted her head. “Not to play shy, but maybe somebody can lend me a shirt. I had to leave my pack in the jeep.”

Saying nothing, Doyle shrugged out of his coat, tossed it to her.

“Thanks. Can we save the questions, comments, remarks until we get inside and start triage? He’s not bad, like you said,” she told Bran, “but he’s really hurting.”

Again keeping his silence, Doyle got his arms under the dog, lifted the considerable weight. Riley managed to get her arms in the sleeves of the coat, wrap it around herself, and, murmuring to Apollo, walked with Doyle.

Annika took three limping steps before Sawyer picked her up, carried her. “Riley’s a freaking werewolf.”

“Lycan,” she snapped over her shoulder. “Call me a werewolf again and I will bite your ass.”

“Can you walk?” Bran asked Sasha.

“Yes. I’m mostly just . . . I don’t know what.”

“How did you know it was Riley?”

“I just knew. When it—she—came out of the dark, I knew. It didn’t even surprise me—then. Now I just feel numb.”

As the sun lifted, she, a woman who barely a week before had never held a weapon of any kind, walked back toward the villa holding a knife still wet with blood.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Apollo first.” Still wearing only Doyle’s coat, Riley sat on the floor, the dog’s head in her lap.

“I’ll need some things,” Bran began. “I have healing supplies in my room.”

“I’ve got a non-magickal first-aid kit in mine, if it helps.”

“I’ll get that as well. We’ll want plenty of towels, but for now let the wounds bleed.”

When Bran strode out, everyone began talking at once. Sasha actually felt the words beat like little hammer blows on her temple.

“Talk later,” she snapped, surprising everyone into silence. “Doyle, towels. Sawyer, put Annika on the table.” As she whipped out orders, she snatched the fruit bowl off the table, then pulled the largest pot out of a cupboard. After she turned on the faucet to fill it, she shoved her hands at her hair, turned.