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The clinic smelled like iodine and fear. Rena pushed through the side entrance, the one Marcus told her to use. No witnesses. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, made her eyes water. Or maybe that was just the pain crawling up her forearm.
She'd wrapped the wound tight with gauze from the glove box. Didn't matter. The burn was spreading anyway, working its way toward her elbow like something alive under her skin.
"Room three." The night nurse didn't look up from her clipboard. Her voice was flat. She'd done this before. Knew what hunters brought in through the side door at two in the morning.
Rena walked past the empty waiting room. Her boots squeaked on the linoleum. Every sound was too loud now. The hum of the vending machine in the corner. The drip of a faucet somewhere down the hall. Her own heartbeat hammering against her ribs.
Room three had a steel examination table and a tray of silver instruments. The kind they used for extractions. For cutting out infected tissue before it spread.
She sat on the table. The metal was cold even through her jeans. She unwrapped the gauze slowly, teeth gritted.
The scratches had opened wider. Four parallel lines, deep enough to see muscle. The edges were black. Not infection black. Something else. The veins around the wound pulsed with that same silver-green light she'd seen in the car.
She pressed her thumb against the worst one. The pain spiked hot and immediate. Good. Pain meant she was still human. Still in control.
The door opened.
Rena's hand went to the silver knife on her belt. Instinct. But it wasn't the nurse.
It was him.
She knew before he stepped into the light. Knew from the way her chest tightened, the way her breath caught. The same pull she'd felt in the warehouse right before the wolf lunged.
He was tall. Dark hair, dark eyes. Wore a leather jacket like he'd walked off some back-road bike gang. But it was the way he moved that gave it away. Too smooth. Too sure. Predator mechanics.
"You." Her voice came out rough.
He shut the door behind him. Locked it. The click was very loud in the small room.
"Me," he agreed.
Rena's knife was out. Silver blade, eight inches, sharp enough to split fur and bone. She kept it level between them. "Wrong room, wolf."
"Right room." He didn't even glance at the knife. His eyes went straight to her arm. To the wound. Something shifted in his expression. Not quite a smile. "You're burning up."
"Get out or I put this through your throat."
"You could try." He took a step closer. Rena's grip tightened on the knife. "But you won't. You need me."
The burn in her arm spiked. She hissed through her teeth, nearly dropped the blade. He was right. She hated that he was right.
"I don't need anything from you," she said.
"Yeah?" He tilted his head. The movement was too fluid. Too animal. "Then why are you shaking?"
She wasn't. Except she was. Her hand trembled around the knife grip. The fluorescent light caught the silver-green glow under her skin, made it flare brighter.
He saw it. His jaw tightened.
"It's moving faster than I thought," he said quietly.
"What is."
"The bite."
"I wasn't bitten." The lie tasted like metal. "It was a scratch."
"Sure." He pulled a chair over, sat down like they were having coffee. Casual. Relaxed. It made her want to stab him just for the arrogance. "That's why your veins are lighting up. That's why you can hear my heartbeat from six feet away."
She couldn't. Except she could. Steady and slow. Confident. Nothing like her own rabbit-fast pulse.
"I can smell you," he added. "Fear. Adrenaline. Silver nitrate under your nails. And something else. Something new."
Rena's stomach turned. "Shut up."
"You felt it in the warehouse. The pull." His eyes locked on hers. They were darker than they should be. Almost black. "You feel it now."
She did. God help her, she did. It was like a hook in her chest, dragging her toward him. Made her want to close the distance. Made her want to—
She drove the knife down. Not at him. At her own hand. The blade punched through her palm and into the steel table beneath with a metallic shriek.
The pain was clean. Sharp. Human.
The pull snapped.
She sucked in a breath, left the knife where it was. Blood welled up around the blade, dripped onto the table. Her hand screamed. Good.
"Feel better?" he asked. His voice was flat now. Angry, maybe.
"Yeah."
"That won't work for long."
"Long enough."
He stood. Walked over. She tensed, but he didn't reach for her. Just looked at the knife, at the blood, at her face.
"You're tougher than the last three," he said.
"Last three what."
"Hunters I bit."
Her breath stopped. "You."
"Me." He pulled a small vial from his jacket pocket. Dark glass. Something liquid inside. "They all tried to fight it too. Lasted about four days before the shift started. Then they either ate a silver bullet or turned."
Rena's vision narrowed. The room tilted. Four days. She had less than thirty until the full moon. Less than thirty to find a cure, to fix this, to stay human.
"Why," she managed.
"Why did I bite you?" He set the vial on the tray beside her. "Or why am I here?"
"Both."
"I bit you because I had to. Someone made sure you'd be in that warehouse. Made sure you'd come alone." His mouth twisted. "I couldn't let you die. Not before I knew why."
"And now?"
"Now I'm here because that—" He nodded at her arm. "—is going to kill you in about six hours if you don't take what's in that vial."
She stared at the dark glass. "What is it."
"My blood."
Her stomach lurched. "No."
"Your choice. Drink it, or the infection reaches your heart by sunrise. After that, no amount of silver will stop the shift."
"You're lying."
"Am I?" He leaned against the counter, arms crossed. Watching her. "Check your pulse. It's already doubling. Your body's trying to fight the venom. Losing."
She didn't need to check. She could feel it. The heat spreading through her chest. The way her lungs worked harder with every breath.
"Why would your blood help," she said.
"Because I'm the one who bit you. Alpha venom, Alpha cure. For a while."
"For a while."
"It'll hold the shift down. Buy you time. But you'll need more. Every three days until the full moon."
Rena yanked the knife out of her palm. The pain was distant now, muffled under the burn in her veins. She pressed her good hand over the wound, blood seeping between her fingers.
"So I'm your pet project now," she said. "Come back every three days, get my fix, stay human."
"Something like that."
"And if I don't."
He pushed off the counter. Took a step toward the door. "Then I'll see you at the full moon. You'll be hunting with us instead of hunting us."
Her throat tightened. No. She'd rather eat her own silver bullet. Rather let Marcus put her down like the compromise she'd become.
"Wait," she said.
He stopped. Didn't turn around.
"What do you want," she asked. "You didn't bite me just to play medic. What do you get out of this."
Now he looked back. His smile was sharp. Dangerous.
"Twenty-nine days," he said. "You've got twenty-nine days until the full moon. Drink the vial, and I'll tell you where to find me. Don't, and you'll find me anyway. Just won't be you doing the finding."
He left. The door swung shut behind him. The lock didn't click this time.
Rena stared at the vial. Her hand was still bleeding. The wound on her arm glowed brighter. The burn was in her shoulder now. Crawling toward her neck.
Six hours, he'd said.
She picked up the vial. The glass was warm. Inside, the liquid was dark red. Almost black. It didn't smell like blood. It smelled like smoke and pine and something wild she didn't have a name for.
Her fingers tightened around it.
Twenty-nine days.
She pulled the stopper.
Drank.