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"I'm glad you're okay, Doc," I told him.
"I shouldn't be alive." He looked at me. "It seems it was my turn to be the patient."
"Let's not do that again," I told him. "You're so much better at being the doctor."
Doolittle hesitated. "What kind of healing . . ."
I read the question in his eyes. He had seen me heal Julie. He'd watched my blood sear hers, cleaning it of the virus and binding her to me, and now he wanted to know if I had done something with my magic that compromised his free will. I looked into his eyes and I didn't see gratitude or joy at being alive. I saw suspicion and fear. He was terrified that I had turned him into an abomination. In that moment I knew with complete certainty that Doolittle would rather die than be brought back to life by me.
An invisible wall slammed into place around me, cutting me off. I was still in the room. I still heard people I viewed as my friends move around, talking, but they seemed impossibly far away. I sat there, disconnected and alone.
No matter how much time I spent being a part of the Pack, no matter how much I sacrificed or how dedicated I was, Doolittle's eyes told me that the divide between me and them would always remain. The man who'd brought me back from death time and time again now looked at me with dread, afraid of being tainted.
I forced the words out. "Just strong medmagic. The usual kind. It wasn't me. You were healed by a medmage." Or at least I was pretty sure Hugh would be rated as one had he bothered to apply for certification. "You're still you, Doc." I didn't turn you into anything you're not.
The tension melted from his face.
The desire to get away swelled in me, so strong that if I could've stood up, I would've walked out. I didn't want to be in the same room with anyone. I wanted to be by myself.
George appeared, holding the saline solution and a green box. "I have the gauze."
"Desandra first," I told her.
George turned to Desandra. "Come with me. Time to get cleaned up."
"But I like my war clothes."
"If you need me to hold her down," I growled, "I totally can do that."
"Fine, fine." Desandra sighed and followed George into the bathroom. They shut the door.
Doolittle looked at me. "Do you need to be restrained?"
"I'm fine."
"Lie back, Kate." Keira walked into the room and picked up the spare bottle of saline solution and gauze.
I hadn't realized I was sitting. I forced myself to lie flat.
"Very well. Saturate the wounds, rinsing them with gentle pressure. Make sure no debris remains," Doolittle said.
"Got it." Keira poured some saline on the gauze and began to gently blot my leg.
"Curran mentioned you wanted to tell me something."
"I kept thinking about that verse from Daniel," Doolittle said. "One part, in particular, stood out to me. It says, I beheld till the wings thereof were plucked, and it was lifted up from the earth, and made stand upon the feet as a man, and a man's heart was given to it. Note it doesn't mention that the lion's fur or his claws were gone. Only that the wings had been plucked and they were the difference between the beast and man."
"I don't follow," I said.
"Do you recall how I told you that these things may be able to hide their scales?"
"Yes."
"I've wondered if, since the verse mentioned the wings specifically, they might be the final stage of their transformation. Most common shapeshifters have two complete forms, human and animal."
"And the warrior form," Keira said.
"That's a hybrid form that one has to concentrate to maintain," Doolittle said. "I'm talking about final-stage form that a shapeshifter can maintain indefinitely. I think our orange friends have three: human, animal, and winged beast. I believe that in their animal stage they may look very similar to naturally occurring animal species."
I didn't like the sound of that. "Why?"
Doolittle lowered his voice to a whisper. "Do you recall how I tested the blood from the severed head against all the other blood samples?"
"Yes."
"I had taken fluid samples from Desandra. Blood, urine, and amniotic fluid. I completed my diagnostic run, and since I had exposed every other fluid sample to the creature's blood, I tested Desandra's blood and amniotic fluid just to be on the thorough side. Her blood reacted. Her amniotic fluid did not. One of her children is not what he seems."
Oh dear God.
Keira froze with the gauze in her hand. If we told Desandra that one of her children was a monster, there was no telling what she would do.
"This can't leave this room," I said.
"Agreed," Doolittle said.
I glanced at the main room.
"I didn't hear anything," Derek said.
"Me neither," Barabas told me.
There could be only two possibilities. One, Desandra had had sex with a third man, besides Gerardo and Radomil. That was extremely unlikely. For all of her flirting and outrageous declarations, she never actually came on to anyone, and her distress when she told us about Gerardo throwing her out was genuine. She wouldn't have taken a chance on having sex with some random stranger. She'd slept with Radomil because she knew he would be kind, and she had needed that kindness. That left door number two: either Gerardo or Radomil sprouted wings in his spare time and amused himself by swiping guards off the towers.
If Doolittle was right, the winged shapeshifters could assume human and animal shapes that let them mimic normal shapeshifters. It explained why the winged freaks suddenly started showing up at the castle-they were members of either Belve Ravennati or the Volkodavi, and if they had to fight, they assumed their final form. The million-dollar question was, which one was it? The creatures looked more feline to me, but that didn't mean anything.
"What about the other child?"
"It's a wolf," Doolittle said.
That told us nothing. A child of two shapeshifters rolled genetic dice: he could inherit a beast from his father or his mother. Desandra transformed into a wolf. If she had a child with Gerardo, he would be a wolf. If she had a child with Radomil, he could be a wolf or a lynx. We still knew nothing except that she was growing a monster inside her. Eventually I would have to tell her this. Could this get more f**ked up?
At the door Mahon crossed his arms. "Who are you?"
A woman answered quietly. The big werebear stepped aside and a tall woman in her late forties stepped through the door. Dark-skinned and graceful, she looked Arabic. An adolescent boy and a younger girl followed her.
