Page 53 of Relics of the Wolf

“Tallywacker problem?” I suggested.

“Quite.”

“Yeah, it would be weird to get aroused by giving a woman first aid.”

“Thefirst aidis not the reason for my tallywacker’s interest.”

“That’s good to know. Wounds aren’t supposed to be stimulating.” I took mercy on him and shifted the robe to cover my breast.

“No,” he murmured, his gaze following my hand. He swallowed then made himself focus on applying the ointment. “I don’t think you’re in the mood to have me stimulated right next to you, so I’m trying to control myself.”

“You’re a polite medic.”

“I do try. Brace yourself.”

The ointment stung, but his touch also felt good. It was a professional application, not a gentle caress, but it turned out he wasn’t the only one feeling stimulated this evening. A part of me was tempted to lower the robe again and lean over to kiss him. But I had things to do, and remembering the garish scene outside quelled thoughts meandering toward the idea of sex.

“When has anyone called you a freak?” I asked. “Aside from your atypical career choice, you’re more on the handsome and charming side.”

That was an understatement. When I’d first seen him, I’d had no trouble imagining him modeling for a men’s magazine. The little scar above his eyebrow and the gray dusting his hair did nothing to detract from his handsomeness, and there was nothing wrong with the rest of his body either. I caught myself glancing down, though I’d already seen him naked a few times and didn’t need to reaffirm his fitness. Ah, and hewasaroused, wasn’t he? This time, I was the one who looked away, embarrassed by my desire to let my gaze linger.

“It’s the wolf blood and the magic in it that makes me different from the norm.” Duncan had to have noticed my gaze, but he didn’t comment on it. His expression looked a touch smug and pleased, but he only continued his ministrations, bandaging my wound after finishing with the ointment.

“Allwerewolves are different from the norm,” I pointed out, though a part of me wanted to ask for clarification.

Would he give it? I’d asked a couple of times now what his deal was.

“Most werewolves are born into a pack and learn the ways of our kind.”

“And you didn’t? Did you lose your mom when you were young?”

A long moment of silence passed as Duncan bandaged my shoulder, and I didn’t think he would answer. He hadn’t before, and nothing had changed. Or had it? He looked contemplatively at me, as if he was considering…

“What?” I asked softly.

He took a long breath—a bracing breath?—then exhaled it slowly. “Fifty years ago, before such things were common, before science had advanced as far as magic… I was created in a laboratory.”

I stared at him with my mouth dangling open. I didn’t know what dark past I’d expected him to have, but that wasn’t it.

“Why?” I managed to ask.

“The scientist who was responsible sought power and prestige. He wanted to bring back the werewolves of old, those that could turn not only into wolves, but into the bipedfuris, the great two-legged creatures of the legends, beasts who could bite humans and spread lycanthropy. As you’re probably aware, we don’t know many with that power anymore. It died out, or so the stories say, as magic faded from the world, destroyed as more and more of the wilderness was cut down, technology replacing what was.”

“I’ve heard the stories, yes.” I tilted my head as I considered him. “So… you were an experiment? Like with DNA splicing or the magical equivalent?” Fifty years ago, we hadn’t been sequencing DNA and doing the kinds of cloning experiments that were possible now. If his story was true, it had to have been achieved with magic.

“Sort of, but splicing wasn’t involved. Lord Abrams—that was the scientist’s name—acquired some centuries-old DNA—I think that’s exactly what it was—from a werewolf who died long ago, high on a mountain in the Alps. He was buried for centuries under a glacier, his remains largely preserved by the ice. Abrams decided he would clone that werewolf so that he had a living, breathing specimen from that time.” Duncan touched his chest. “In part to study, in part to use. Abrams raised that werewolf, having tutors brought in to teach him to fight and to educate him so that he could be useful. Abrams’ goal was to send him out to spread lycanthropy with his bite, to create an army of werewolves that they could control together.”

“Can you do that?” I whispered.

“I can.” Duncan watched me warily.

Expecting a negative reaction? Horror? Fear?

I considered my feelings, but the story didn’t change much for me. Since I wasalreadya werewolf, it wasn’t as if his bite could do anything to me. Except sting. But biting wasn’t what I worried about with Duncan.

“For a time, I served him. He was, as strange as it seems, like a father to me. But when I grew closer to adulthood, I longed for freedom and to be my own man. As I read more and more books, I realized he was evil and that I, if I continued to serve him, would be the same. He probably should have forbidden reading, for great knowledge lies in the pages of tomes, but he never did. That was his mistake.”

“You escaped?”

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