Stars of Fortune (The Guardians Trilogy, #1)(68)

“A second time, Doyle. It won’t be as bad now. Cooler now. There now, it’s cooler, cleaner. What burns washes away, what blackens spills out in light.

“I don’t want to stop, Sasha, but I’ll need the bottle—the one you brought me when I needed it. Four drops in water for Annika, then just the bottle here for Apollo. All right?”

She did as he asked, urged the mixture on Annika. “Drink it all now. It’s the salve next, isn’t it?”

“That’s right.”

At Bran’s nod, she took the salve out of Bran’s box, handed it to Sawyer. “I’ll need it for Apollo when you’re done. How many drops for Apollo? I can put them in his water bowl.”

“Another four. See that he drinks it all, Riley, then coat his wounds with the salve. He’s going to sleep,” he added. “And sleeping, he’ll heal.”

He rose then, moved to Annika. “That’s good. See, already healing. Now, where else did they hurt you, darling?”

Once he’d treated her, he turned to Sasha. “And you. Let’s have a look at you.”

“Some scratches. Just scratches. It was the knife, wasn’t it? The knife you gave me.”

“I’m pleased it worked. I couldn’t be sure,” he said as he lifted her arm, began to treat the scratches running down from her shoulder.

“Sawyer has worse. But you.” She looked at Doyle. “You don’t have any wounds.”

“Just lucky, I guess.”

No, she thought, there were still secrets here.

“Riley’s are healing on their own.”

“Wounds inflicted when I’m in wolf form heal fast. One of the perks.” Since Apollo slept, she rose. “I know you all have questions, but I need to eat something. The change is like running a marathon at sprint speed; add on the rest, and I’m feeling a little shaky.”

“I’d say the questions, as there’ll be many, can wait until we’ve all cleaned up. Where’s the worst of it, Sawyer?” Bran asked him.

“My back.”

Riley yanked open the fridge, grabbed a jar of olives as it came first to hand. “I’m going to catch a quick shower, put some clothes on.”

By the time they’d mopped up blood, set the kitchen to rights, and Sasha got a shower of her own, she was starving herself.

She came down to find Riley and Bran putting breakfast together.

“Figured this way I can eat as it cooks.”

“Your color’s coming back.” Sasha went straight to the coffee.

“Once I filled the hole. Listen, I’m sorry. You’re peeved, and I get it, so I’m sorry.”

Sasha only nodded, and took her coffee outside.

“You make friends easily, don’t you?” Bran said as he piled the last of the mountain of eggs on the platter.

“I guess.”

“She’s hasn’t, until you.”

“Hell.”

“Take that out; I’ll bring the rest. You can explain things while we eat.”

Since she wasn’t at all sure how to explain, Riley filled her plate, shoveled in food until the last of the hunger pangs eased. “Maybe you should just ask questions, give me a kind of running start into it.”

“Were you bitten?” Sawyer asked her.

“No. It’s hereditary.”

“You come from a family of were— Of lycans?”

“That’s right. Let me say right off, we don’t eat people. We don’t bite them, we don’t eat them. Not that there aren’t some rogues out there, but my pack—my family—doesn’t hunt, doesn’t kill. And we’re not interested in making more lycans through infection. We make them the old-fashioned way. We mate.”

“Do you mate with humans?” Annika wondered.

“You fall for who you fall for, right? So yeah, it happens.”

“Can there be children?”

“Sure. Fifty-fifty on lycan traits, so all kids are trained for the change. Initial transformation hits in puberty—as if puberty didn’t whack you out enough. Big ceremony, gifts, celebration. Every kid takes an oath, not to hunt, not to kill, not to infect.”

“Any ever break the oath?”

She looked over at Doyle. “Sure. And those who do are punished or banished, depending on the crime and circumstances. We’re pack animals.” She looked down to where Apollo dozed peacefully beside her chair. “Banishment is the worst—worse than execution. We’re civilized, okay? We have rules, a code. Three nights a month—”

“Night before the full moon,” Sawyer filled in. “Night of, night after.”

“Yeah, three nights—except in the event of a blue moon, then we get six—we transform, sundown to sunup. During that time, we fast.”

“And you transforming like you did. Jesus Christ, Riley, I could’ve shot you.” Sawyer jabbed a finger at her. “I nearly did.”

“Unless you loaded with silver bullets, it wouldn’t have done much harm.”

His expression changed—reluctant delight. “That’s real? Silver bullets?”

“Silver bullets, silver blade. It’s going to hurt to get shot or cut otherwise, but it’s not going to be fatal.”