He chose another bottle out of the kit as Annika measured the potion. “It will hurt,” he murmured to Sasha. “I’m sorry for it. Look at me, open for me.”

She gasped as the liquid met the gash, then simply closed her eyes. “It’s better.”

“Almost. And I’ve your leg to do as well. A few moments, just a few more. Sawyer, go ahead and drink that. There now, there, fáidh, they’re clean, and purified. The balm will soothe.”

“Sawyer first.”

“I’ve got him, finish her.” Doyle took the bottle, crouched by Sawyer. “Ready?”

“Go for it. Shit, shit, fucking shit.”

Annika pressed a kiss to his head as the burning seared the gashes on his arm, and he felt Sasha—partner in pain—take his hand.

“He would have done worse, much worse, if you hadn’t warned me.”

“I couldn’t get a clear shot. He’s too fast, and then you were too close.”

“He wanted my throat. I had an instant to feel that from him, but you’d shouted and he missed the mark. You saved my life, then Riley saved Bran’s, which is the same to me. Please, Bran, please, see to Riley. She fell so hard.”

“Just another moment. Annika, you’ll treat Sawyer with the balm.”

“Yes, I know how. The wound is clean. It’s deep, but it’s clean.”

“Yeah, it is, I can feel it. And I can stand.” Steady again, Sawyer got to his feet. “You must have something in the magick box for Riley.”

“Nothing broken.” Once again Doyle ran his hands over her. “The ribs are healed already.”

As he spoke, the wolf’s eyes opened, tawny and clear, met his. The low growl had him lifting his hands, holding them palms out. “Take it easy.”

“You were hurt,” Sasha said as Riley shifted and jumped nimbly to the floor. “Will you tell me if you have pain? Let me in?”

Their eyes met, and Sasha’s lips curved. “He wasn’t copping a feel. Will you take some medicine? But the fast can’t mean . . . All right. At sunrise. Go rest awhile.”

The wolf gave Doyle one last, long stare, then stalked out of the kitchen.

“You were talking to a wolf. I mean, sure it’s Riley, but—”

Grinning, Sawyer shook his head. “A wolf. Like Dr. Dolittle.”

“She’s got some pain, not severe, and she’ll sleep awhile. It’s rare for her to sleep when in wolf form, but it will help the healing. It’s not really talking,” Sasha explained. “It’s more she can let me read her feelings, and they more or less translate into words. She understands us perfectly well, and I can get the gist of what she wants me to know.”

With a sigh, she looked down at the blood on the floor. “We need to clean this up.”

“I will clean it. I wasn’t hurt. You should rest, and you, Sawyer. It helps you heal, too. Is that right, Bran?”

“It is, and they will. We’ll talk about all this in the morning.”

“There’s a question I’d have liked to ask before she walked out on us.” Doyle glanced at the doorway. “That was Malmon, I take it.”

“It was,” Sasha told him. “But not Malmon any longer.”

“So man into demon. And a demon who was just bitten by a werewolf—or lycan, as she prefers. Will the demon be turned by the bite?”

“Good question,” Sawyer said. “And would that be good or bad news for our side?”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Because she wanted to surprise everyone, Annika slid out of bed very early. Quietly, she pulled on one of her dresses—one with all the favorite colors swirled over it, like a rainbow storm. With a glance back at Sawyer, she slipped from the room while he slept. As she went downstairs, she braided her hair. She wanted it out of the way for the work she would do.

She’d watched the cooking many times, and had been allowed to help. But today she would cook breakfast by herself while the others rested. Doyle had said the night before that because of battle and blood and the diving they would do that day, they could take a day off from the calisthenics.

Annika liked the calisthenics, but she suspected she was the only one who did.

She sang to herself as she chose pans and pots, and what she needed from the big silver box that kept things cold. The night had been full of fear and blood, but she had a good, strong feeling about the day to come.

If she could make a good breakfast, with no mistakes, the day would be bright. Pouring herself juice, she shook her head at the machine that made coffee. Everyone liked coffee, but she didn’t. She’d rather do calisthenics.

She drank the juice, so cool and fresh, then took a deep breath, hugged herself. Now she would make the bacon.

As the sun peeked through the eastern windows, she had a platter of bacon in the oven on the low, the way Sasha showed her, and a nice pile of the bread of France—French toast, she corrected herself—as Sawyer had showed her.

She would make the scrambled eggs and the potatoes that Bran made on his turn. Riley would be very hungry after her fast. And when everything was cooked, and in the warm, she would set the table.

She heard someone coming, too soon for her to finish as she’d hoped. But smiled when she saw Riley.