Page 36 of Wild Wolf

“It wouldn’t surprise me.”

Nicolina grimaced. “How should I feed her? We killed Richard’s stew. Is there going to be enough rabbit? I can take the first watch.”

“I’ll work with Declan to make sure she’s fed, so don’t you worry. We’ll all take turns, and once we’re meeting with the Russians, it won’t be too bad. There’ll always be someone with her.”

“I’m not dead or dying,” Amber announced from my bedroom.

While Nicolina grunted and scowled, she said nothing. Richard gave her a push in the direction of my bedroom. “Finish your dinner and go take care of your witch while she figures out how to cope with having a fur coat. Declan and I will make certain she’s fed. I know you’ve been worried, but you need to start cooling that temper off some. Take your bag with you, because you’ll want the cards and books if she can’t sleep, and you’ll want to catch up on your reading while she is sleeping.”

While she complained and protested, she did as told, taking her plate into my bedroom. Aware things would go sour, I took one of my trash cans into the room with fresh liners and left it within easy reach. “The water heater can handle filling the tub, but after that, it needs half an hour before it’s ready again.”

“On the outside, this is a cabin without luxuries. In the back, there is evidence a spoiled rotten wolf lives here,” Amber said, her voice muffled from her place under my blankets and hiding her head beneath my pillow. “Do you have blackout curtains?”

Poor woman. I stepped into my bedroom and drew the curtains closed. “Yeah, they’re blackout curtains. I got them because I didn’t want the locals peeking into the windows. I’ll close the door and make sure everybody stays quiet for you.”

“Brownies?” Amber asked.

“If brownies are what you want, that’s what you’ll get,” I promised before leaving my bedroom. “Richard, there’s a good stock of stewing meat in my freezer, but I can also do solyanka. I’ve everything for it.”

“Make the solyanka,” Richard replied. “Just tell me what to dig out, and I’ll fetch it for you. We’ll probably be up half the night cooking for Amber. She’s going to go from sick to ravenous and back again in a relentless circle. Well, that’s usually what happens. Sometimes, luck happens—or general unconsciousness. General unconsciousness does a fairly good job of mitigating ritual sickness.”

“Will we be able to talk with the Russians when she’s that sick?”

Richard’s smile had a sharp edge to it. “She’ll be one of the lynchpins of our talks, and she’ll enjoy her role, so don’t you worry about that. Tonight, we worry about making sure she’s fed. Tomorrow, the real fun begins.”

As Richard warned, Amber suffered throughout the entire night, although she handled it with more grace than I expected for someone who couldn’t stop throwing up. She got a respite every time she ate, as though whatever magic tore through her paused its efforts to rearrange the woman’s body to its liking long enough for her to digest her meal.

However, the general composition of what she expelled fueled my concerns above all. The dark brown and black of old, dried blood accompanied other matter, which I worried consisted of organs most people needed to survive. Richard didn’t seem concerned, and neither did Desmond or Sanders, but Nicolina paced the cabin enough Petra went to hide with Amber.

The last time I’d checked on them, Petra had joined Amber in bed, keeping the woman warm when she wasn’t in the bathroom or trying to eat.

Between waves, Richard leaned against the wall near my bedroom door, observing his wife with a raised brow. “Nicolina, she’s fine. She’s supposed to be doing that. She’s digesting well, she’s expelling everything as normal, and she’s able to sleep. Even Declan’s wolf is taking care of her. Amber is going to be fine, and it’s only a few days of this.”

“She’s so sick.”

“You were just as bad when you were recovering from the plague. Now look at you. You couldn’t be healthier if you tried.”

Nicolina paused, and she considered me with interest. “We’re stupid, Richard. We would have figured out he’s True-born just from asking him about the plague.”

“What plague?” I asked, wondering what I had missed—and how I could have missed something as devastating as a plague.

“It’s a sickness that tore through Fenerec populations a while back. Only True-born are immune to it, although reverse True-borns are also immune to a degree. Reverse True-borns are carriers but don’t get ill from the virus. Elliot’s mate is one. She has to be checked for the virus every six months now. If it infects her again, she could spread it a lot before anyone realizes it. We’ve figured out how to treat it, but prevention is better than having to cure. I had to deal with it because of a sorcerer. Normally, I can’t contract it.”

“Sorcerer? Is this a case where ignorance is bliss?”

Sanders grunted, scowled, and muttered, “Yes.”

“Don’t mind Sanders. He has reason to dislike sorcerers even more than I do. A sorcerer is a practitioner of magic who uses pain, blood, suffering, and negative energy to fuel their power. They’re torturing, rapist assholes basically. I have a hobby of killing them whenever possible. The Inquisition has a few sorcerers on staff, but they’re decent people. They’d be dead if they weren’t. One works in an ER, and he saves everyone he can. He mercy kills those who can’t be saved, and he uses the power he gets to save those who’d otherwise die. It’s morally questionable,” Nicolina informed me. “But that said, his ER? It’s the top-rated ER in the world for survival, so is it that morally questionable? A lot more people live because of what he does, and there has never been a case he has killed someone who might survive. If anything, he’s making their deaths a lot more merciful than drawing out a battle they just can’t win.”

I considered that, frowning. “Are you telling me he can identify when someone is too far gone to be saved? With his magic?”

“Yes, he can. He can use his magic to do a full check of the human body. He’s very smart, educated, and experienced. But there comes a point where the victim simply can’t survive. He’s also got the best success rate for organ transplants, so if one of his vics is a donor, he’ll often handle the transplant operation himself whenever possible. He prefers to personally escort the organs to the recipient. I like him a lot.”

Huh. “That sounds like one hell of a hard job.”

Richard smirked at Elliot. “Elliot’s favorite sorcerer is a bastard of an old man he uses as an enforcer. Alfred’s interesting. The sorcerers who walk the line usually are. Most sorcerers? The Inquisition eliminates when they’re discovered. The same goes with wizards. Amber and Nicolina had some trouble to start with, because Amber had some bad history with a wizard, but they sorted it out. Nicolina’s so pure she makes nuns look bad.”

“Hardly,” the woman muttered. “Do not make me zap you.”