Page 140 of Such Sharp Teeth

“But maybe if I had it on when I transformed, I’d just pass out somewhere. The bracelet burned through my skin but not my fur. My fur was fine. That could mean something.”

“I’m sorry, but that’s a terrible idea. Not to mention dangerous. I don’t like it, Rory. Please.”

“All right, all right. I’ll stick with the wolfsbane and see what happens. I don’t know what else to do. Maybe the vault would work, but without control over the wolf, it’s a gamble. And would require telling Ian.”

“When do you plan on doing that?”

“Good question.”

“The anticipation is worse than the confession in my experience,” she says, squeezing my hand. “If you see a future with him, and I know you do, you need to tell him. I don’t know how he’ll react, but I know he loves you. He’s always loved you. Which is strange, because I was right there, identical and with a much better personality.”

“Room for argument there, but thanks. Very reassuring.”

She yawns. “I should go back to bed before Matty wakes up and panics.”

“All right,” I tell her. “Night, Scarlett.”

“Good night, Rory,” she says, but she hovers in the doorway, thumbing the latch.

“Yes?”

“I just worry about you. I need you to be safe,” she says, her voice breaking. “But I do trust your judgment. I want you to know that. I made mistakes in the past, doubting you.”

“Scarlett—”

“If you want to take the wolfsbane. If you want to try silver. Whatever you want to do, I support you. I trust you. Just promise me you’ll be careful.”

“Cross my heart. Now go get some rest.”

“I’ll try,” she says. “Sweet sleeping.”

“Sweet sleeping, Scarlett.”

After she’s gone, I open my nightstand and stare at my silver. I know what it does to me in human form, but what would happen in wolf form?

I reach into the drawer and pull out all my jewelry. The silver singes my fingertips, and it takes a moment for them to stop sizzling.

I grab a pair of tweezers and use them to cautiously slide a silver medallion off its chain and onto a leather cord. I knot the cord, pull it tight. I hold it up, examine my creation. I forget where the cord is from, but I bought the medallion for myself when I got promoted. There’s a small diamond in the center and there are little lines etched around it so it looks like a sun.

I take a deep breath and slip the necklace over my head.

The cord is long, and the medallion rests in the valley of my rib cage. I wait to feel something. I wait to burn. But the silver isn’t touching my skin; it rests on my sweatshirt.

Maybe I’m grasping at straws. I tap a long nail on the medallion. I have no proof that it works, that the silver will save me from the violence.

Just a feeling. Just instinct.

I stay up all night, tossing and turning, sick and shivering and tortured in thought. Waffling about the wolfsbane. I’m already two days in. I’m not sure it makes sense to stop taking it now, no matter how miserable it is. Plus, seems unwise to rely on the medallion alone without knowing what affect the silver will have on me when I transform.

Hours pass, and I’m out of time to debate. I stand in front of the bathroom mirror, turning the vial of wolfsbane over in my hands. I don’t want to take it. I’m quite literally poisoning myself.

But this isn’t just about me. It’s for the greater good.

I need to see it through. Leave no stone unturned.

“Bottom’s up,” I say, and as I say it, the vial slips from my clammy hands.

If my wolf reflexes were intact, I’d be able to catch it no problem. But the wolfsbane has made me achy and slow and uncoordinated, and so I’m doomed to watch helplessly as the vial bounces off the sink, cracks, then falls to the floor and completely shatters, sending shards of glass and droplets of toxic purple liquid all over the bathroom, and all over me.