I needed to do it now, or it would be too late.

I had to be ready.

“Dear God, I hope I’m doing the right thing.”

I draped the moonstone necklace around the wolf’s neck. I clasped one hand behind his uninjured shoulder, and then with my other hand, I pressed the stone as hard as I could against his chest. He struggled at first. I could feel him trying to break away. I was afraid I was hurting him—but I had to push that fear away. I took several deep breaths, cleared my mind, and opened myself up to channeling all of my positive energy into that stone. Every particle of love I had for Daniel in my heart—in my soul—I tried to direct into him. The warm stone grew hotter and hotter in my hand, searing like a piece of brimstone into my flesh, but I didn’t let go.

“Come back to me,” I said to Daniel, and a jolt of energy flowed through me. It started in my toes and then rushed up my legs into my chest, making my heart feel like it might burst, and then into my arms, hands, and then the moonstone. Suddenly, shards of light shone out from under my hand—emanating from the burning stone itself. Power exploded from the stone so forcefully that it pushed me back and I fell into the mud, losing my grip on the white wolf.

Lightning burst in the sky directly above. I looked up and was momentarily blinded by the sharp light. I blinked several times, and when I regained my vision, the white wolf was gone. The place where he’d sat was completely empty.

“No” I said, turning frantically in a circle, looking for him. Had the lightning scared him off? I couldn’t make out his trail in the saturated ground. How was I going to find him again? Rain ran down my forehead from my hair into my eyes. I tried to brush it away, but it did no good. Even with my super vision, I couldn’t see farther than a few feet in this storm.

“Daniel?” I cried out. “Where are you?”

I took a few steps in the direction we’d been heading.

Then I heard it from behind me. A raspy voice, barely audible in the roar of the rain. A voice I feared I’d never hear again … And when I did, it made my heart almost seize up in my chest.

“Gracie?” he rasped.

I turned around, almost slipping in the mud with my haste.

Someone was there. Through the rain, I could make out the white silhouette of a person clutching the trunk of tree for support, his lower half obscured by branches.

I took a hesitant step in his direction, too shocked to believe my eyes. Then another step. And another—feeling like a whole lifetime could have passed in the time it took to make my body move.

He was so close now I could almost reach out and touch him. His blond hair, drenched from the storm, looked almost brown as it hung down on his forehead—still shaggy even when wet. I watched in awe as rainwater ran from his hair down his chiseled cheekbones, arched over his cleft chin, and down his neck. It pooled momentarily in his hollow of his collarbone, and then carved paths down his bare chest.

“Daniel,” I whispered, afraid I was dreaming again.

“Gracie.” He held a shaking arm out toward me.

I grabbed his hand, and he pulled me closer to him. He cupped my chin with both of his hands, and then our lips were together, melting in a fierce kiss—wet with rain and tears. He kissed me like he’d feared that he’d never be able to kiss me again.

I wrapped my arms around his naked chest, shuddering against his hot skin. Never wanting to let go.

But then he cried out in pain and pulled away. I noticed a bright red, blistering welt against the taut muscles of his left shoulder—where the silver bullet had pierced his flesh. He shuddered, his body convulsing, and he cried so sharply, I knew he suffered from a pain much greater than just that of the bullet wound. As if his insides were under threat of being torn apart. More shouts sounded in the background. Coming closer. Was someone on our trail? I reached out to steady Daniel’s shaking body, but he slipped through my grasp and collapsed to the ground.

It took every ounce of my will not to howl a scream as I stared down at Daniel, lying in the mud so still, as if he were dead.

Chapter Eighteen

FEVER

A FEW MINUTES PASSED

He was hot. So very, very hot. Even in the cool rain, the heat radiating off his skin against my body made me sweat as I propelled him toward home. It felt like he was burning up in a fever of nuclear proportions. His shallow breathing scared me, and his body quaked with a seizurelike shudder every few minutes. I didn’t know what was wrong with him, but I knew I had to get him to safety. He’d regained himself only enough to stand. With his arms draped around my shoulders, leaning his weight into my side, I was able to walk, drag, and carry him—depending on his ability to put one foot in front of the other—through the rest of the forest. I wanted to pass out with exhaustion by the time I reached the back fence of our yard. I don’t know how I mustered up any more supernatural strength to hoist him over it.

I stashed the two rifles under my back porch—I’d been too afraid to leave them in the forest for those hunters to find—then carried Daniel into the house. His body was slick with mud and still just as burning hot. He moaned softly and slid out of my grasp onto the linoleum kitchen floor.

How could he withstand a fever this high?

Suddenly, I wished my mother, the nurse, was here. Not that she’d be too keen about my naked boyfriend lying on her kitchen floor—but she’d know better than I did what to do for someone so sick. I had to bring down his temperature as quickly as possible, but I doubted a couple of ibuprofen were going to help.

I grunted from exertion as I picked him up again and carried him to the upstairs bathroom. I sat him in the tub and draped a hand towel over his … um, middle … and then turned on the faucet. I let a rush of cold water pour down on his legs. I tested the temperature. Colder than the rain outside when it left the faucet, but it warmed up quickly as it came into contact with his hot skin. I ran downstairs and grabbed the entire bucket of ice from the freezer’s ice maker and brought it back upstairs.

“Don’t hate me for this,” I said to Daniel as I dumped the ice on top of him. He groaned and his eyes half opened for a moment—at least he was still conscious. Steam curled up in wisps from his skin.

The blistered welt on his shoulder was caked with mud. I didn’t want it to get infected, so I washed my own hands and arms and then scooped up handfuls of the now-cooler water and drizzled it over his shoulder. Then I grabbed the bar of soap and lathered it up. As gently as I could, I carefully scrubbed his shoulder. He winced with pain as my fingers brushed over the tender wound. As I washed away the grime, I found a second welt on the back side of his shoulder. An exit wound—the bullet had passed clean through his arm. Both wounds looked like they’d been cauterized by the burning reaction of silver meeting werewolf flesh. It looked painful as hell, but at least I didn’t have to worry about his bleeding to death.