Page 65 of The Werewolf’s Wrong Mate

Sava finished making notes and came to the side of the bed. “I need her awake enough soon to assess memory, pain response, and neurological function.”

“No,” I said.

Both of them looked at me.

I forced my voice lower. “She needs sleep.”

“She needs both,” Sava said. “I will not interrogate her. I need to know whether the fever damaged her brain.”

Ronan moved to the door again. “I need to know what she remembers from the circle.”

My wolf rose.

Sava shot Ronan a look sharp enough to draw blood. “Not now.”

Cassie’s lashes moved, her eyes opening slowly. This time, she didn’t ask if she was dead. Progress, perhaps, though the bar was in hell. Her gaze moved across the room and found the door first. Then Ronan. Then me.

I had learned already that she looked at me last because I cost the most.

Her voice came rough from sleep. “Did I miss another vote on whether I’m inconvenient?”

Ronan didn’t answer.

Sava leaned over her. “You need water.”

“I need a less suspicious silence.”

Sava held the straw to her mouth. Cassie drank a little, winced, and turned her face away.

“Your father texted back,” Ronan said.

Her eyes sharpened. “Give me my phone.”

“Not yet.”

The monitor picked up speed and I stood before I could decide not to.

Cassie saw the movement and looked at me with bitter exhaustion. “Sit down, Cujo. I’m not fainting over a cellphone.”

I deserved that, so I sat.

Ronan’s mouth tightened, but he reached for the phone. “I will read it to you.”

“That is not the same.”

“No.”

Her eyes narrowed at him. “At least you’re consistent.”

He read the message without inflection.

Cassie closed her eyes when he reached the part about Aunt Linda, and a tear slipped sideways into her hair. She didn’t acknowledge it.

“Can I answer?” she asked.

Sava checked the monitor. “Short. No distressing details.”

“That eliminates my entire personality,” Cassie whispered.