Page 7 of The Lycan King's Captive

Impossible.

But a lot of other things were impossible right now. Like how I was alive at all. I didn’t need a thermometer to know my temperature was far too high for me to be conscious.

Or breathing. I should be in full cardiac arrest, my body convulsing and my organs shutting down. Yet I was alert and listening to him tell me I was going to transform into a creature that shouldn’t exist.

Because Roman bit me.

That was impossible, too, but it was reality. The memory of it—of everything that happened around that table—was seared into my brain. I knew the man’s words were true, just as I knew he was the beast I treated that night. He’d appeared in the blackness that swallowed me after Roman’s bite, his golden eyes like suns that warmed me when the chills threatened to shake my bones apart. I’d clung to his heat as my heart thudded in my ears and my mouth grew so dry my tongue swelled.

And it was his presence that pulled me from the abyss. Somehow, I’d sensed him in the darkness, and something inside me had raced toward him, carrying me away from the black edge of death.

“Stay still and listen,” he said now, the words in my head a low rumble. “I don’t know how often they check the cameras. We need to get you through your first shift before they notice you’re awake.”

My pulse leapt, my heart stuttering as anxiety ran through my veins like battery acid. Out of nowhere, an image of my clinic flashed in my head. It was a tiny place, just a squat brick building on land no bigger than a postage stamp. I bought it from a veterinarian retiring after fifty years of practice, and the inside was full of outdated equipment better suited for the antiques market. But it was mine.

Or had been. A lump rose in my throat. All the work and sacrifice—all those months of eating PB&J and sleeping on the old sofa in the waiting room because I couldn’t afford an apartment—was for nothing. I was going to die on a dirty mattress in a cold basement. How could I have been so stupid? My throat thickened, and tears pricked my eyelids.

“Doctor?” The man’s voice flowed through my head like a current. “I need you to focus. Later, you can fall apart. You can rage and scream and freak out if you need to. But right now I need you to be strong.”

Be strong. The same thing Dad told me before he died. I’d had a hard time hearing him over the beeping of the machines and the oxygen mask covering his face, but he’d repeated it until I understood.

“Can you do that, Doctor?”

I swallowed. Then I dipped my chin.

Pride touched his voice as the current flowed again. “That’s my girl. The first shift will hurt. I’m going to help you through it, but we need to move quickly. Look at me, Doctor.”

I blinked my eyes open, squinting as I adjusted to the white glare. He sat against the wall in a cell opposite mine, his forearm resting on one bent knee. He was a big man.

Scratch that. He was huge, with thick thighs and shoulders like a linebacker.

At first, it appeared he wore red clothing of some kind.

Then my vision sharpened, and I realized he was nude and the red was dried blood. His dark hair was matted with it, and more streaked down his arms and legs. An ugly, mottled bruise covered one side of his face. More bruises bloomed across his chest, and there were deep, angry-looking welts around his wrists. As if he’d been restrained and he’d fought his bonds.

They’d tortured him, Roman his men.

I started to shake.

“Stay with me, Doctor.” He spoke sharply in my mind, his eyes gleaming in his bloodied face. Even with the distance between us, I could tell they were an unusual silver color. They penetrated my skull as surely as his voice, seizing my attention and grounding me when fear threatened to sweep me back into the feverish abyss.

Mindful of his warning not to speak, I gave another nod to let him know I was keeping it together. Sort of.

“You can’t stop this first shift. It’s like blinking or breathing. It’s going to happen, and you can either wait for it or speed it along. I can help you with the second option, but only if you follow my directions. Once you’ve transformed, you’ll be stronger.” There was a pause, as if he hesitated. A muscle ticked in his jaw, and when his voice filled my head again, it was strained. “Injuries will heal faster.”

My heart sped up. The tremors threatened to return, but I swallowed hard and kept my gaze on his. Moment to moment. That was how to survive a crisis. I couldn’t think about the what-ifs when it came to Roman. I had to concentrate on right now.

“The transformation is going to rearrange your body. You can shift with clothes on, but having any fabric on your skin will hurt like hell.”

I blinked. He couldn’t mean for me to—

“Strip.” I must have looked like a deer in headlights, because he added, “I’m a shifter. Nudity is a non-issue for us. Given enough time, you’ll feel the same way. I should add that shifting with your clothes on will ruin everything you’re wearing, which means you’ll be naked in that cell when you shift back.”

My stomach did a queasy flip. I hadn’t forgotten Roman’s threat to give me to his men.

But was I really going to take off my clothes and do this? I didn’t even know what this was. Part of me wanted to curl into a ball and retreat to the world I’d known before I drove into the North Maine Woods. In that world, werewolves only existed in books and movies, and the scariest thing in my life was my unpaid water bill.

But I’d seen the man across from me in beast form. And he just spent the past five minutes speaking without moving his lips, his words appearing in my brain like magic. So I was either suffering a psychotic break or he was telling the truth.

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