Blood Moons (25 page)

Christ, lass, I'm sorry.

He turned and started back to his own room. "So what's next?"

Amelia hesitated. "What do you mean?"

"Don't play coy, Doc." He attempted a smile but doubted she was fooled. "There's probably a million new ideas in that head of yours. So where do we start? A new serum to control the change? More chemicals to make me invincible?"

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"No. No more serums."

Tristan stopped, hearing something in her tone. "Explain."

"I told my superiors that you died. With no more viable subjects I can shut down the experiment. Not that anyone besides me cares whether other people would be hurt if I kept going, but the higher-ups agreed it's time to cut their losses.

I'm sorry, Tristan. I believe the risk is just too great to continue."

"It's even greater if you cut me loose!"

Amelia had that look on her face; the same one she'd had back when she'd tried to explain that he'd been infected with a mutation virus. She was considering her words very carefully before she spoke them. "There is ... nothing more I can do. On a chemical level. The damage has been done, your DNA is changed and there is no way to stop or reverse it. The only controlling factor left is the strength of your mind."

"What do you mean?" he said slowly.

She gently ushered him to keep going. "I told you, the trigger must be perceived. It might be emotional, but emotions are triggered by something too. A memory. A sight or sound. If you can anticipate the trigger, control your emotions, you might be able to control whether you change or not. But that's something I can't help you with."

"And if I wanted to learn to harness it? Learn to control the change so it doesn't kill me?"

"I would strongly advise against it."

"I don't have that option. Too many memories."

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He was still looking at his hands, seeing claws that weren't there, covered with Dara's blood, when Amelia's hand covered his. "It could kill you."

Tristan focused on his hand, willingly remembered Dara's fear. His fingers changed, nails darkening, sharpening to claws. He did it slowly, keeping careful control of his body, not moving an inch. His hand ached as it transformed, but it was nothing compared to the pain he'd felt before.

It didn't shift fully into a furry paw, but when Amelia turned his hand over, he could see the pigment of his skin changing to what the fur would look like. Stripes. "You said it yourself." He tried not to flinch when Amelia squeezed the pad of one of his fingers to bring out his claw to its full length.

"The controlling factor is the strength of my mind."

"This is only a small part of it."

"Then we do it by degrees."

"Do you think you can control it that way?"

"I have to," he said fiercely. His past hadn't killed him.

Wolf block hadn't killed him. He sure as hell wouldn't let something like this bring him down. Just another skill to hone and perfect. Just like telepathy. Besides, it was only his body.

As long as no one fucked with his mind...

Tristan almost turned back to go to Dara. The more of the animal he let out, the more it made his body want to go to her. His rational mind knew there was nothing he could do for her except cause more pain; and that for her safety he had to stay away. But his primal instincts, already off the charts where she was concerned, were starting to rule him more and more, commanding him to stay with her, watch over her.

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Guard her. What would happen if he lost control? If he gave it up to change completely?

"Tell me, Amelia, do you have a cage?"

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17th day of the 4th Blood Moon, 3028

The nurse's name was Andrew. He'd been in and out of Dara's room several times a day since she'd come to after her surgery, checking her vitals and bandages, asking if she needed anything for the pain, if she was hungry or thirsty. He was sweet. But he wouldn't tell her anything about Tristan and refused to let her see him, or Dr. Chase. The patient was not allowed to see her own doctor.

Still, she could let it go for now. Dara had spent enough time indoors that what she needed most was to get the hell out of this bed. She needed to walk, go outside into the sunlight. The one window in this room was a pane of glass with a breathtaking view of the hallway. Being here all by herself made her feel like a corpse on display.

Of course, when she told him this, Andrew informed her that she was on strict bed rest for a couple more days, and besides, it was raining outside and had been since yesterday.

Truth was, Dara didn't care. She'd happily stand beneath the thunderclouds, shivering in the rain as long as she could breathe deep of fresh air. She'd had too much darkness these past weeks. Too many walls closing in on her and doors slamming shut in her face. She was starting to feel claustrophobic again. And this time it was worse, because the only thing standing in her way was a nurse.

They'd removed one of the IVs from her arm. Now all she had to deal with was the one that supplied her with fluids and 228

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a steady stream of painkillers. Dara could feel where she'd been hurt. Suffice it to say, there would be scars. Dara didn't care. She wanted to know how Tristan was doing. Having witnessed firsthand what New Alaska had really done to him, she couldn't stave off the welling worry.

Was he hurt? Was he even still alive? Human? What was he thinking? Her head felt far too fuzzy to attempt any kind of connection and questions like those could drive her mad very quickly. So she kept her mind firmly on things she could handle. Like rain.

Dara sat up and swung her legs off the bed. Her knees nearly buckled. A head rush coupled with the painkillers was making her weak, but she held on to the edge of the bed until she found her balance. There were slippers neatly lined up by the little bedside table and she stuffed her feet in them because the floor was cold; it was the kind of artificial cold that made her shiver even when the rest of her was comfortably warm.

Taking hold of the IV stand on wheels, she leaned on it just a little going out of the room. A long, brightly lit corridor stretched left and right. She had no idea where she was, but opted for going left. Another corridor was a dead end, but a door mercifully opened to a third, at the end of which she could see a wide doorway leading outside. She headed straight for it.

Andrew hadn't been lying. It was pouring rain, the grounds flooded with it. Dara shivered again and this time it was a pleasant feeling. She caught a few drops on her palm and then boldly stepped into the cold shower. Within moments, 229

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she was drenched and freezing, her breath misting before her. She adored every second of it; let it cleanse her mind of bad thoughts.

She was alive, and she was healing. She'd get through this. And Tristan was strong. There was no point in worrying about him at all. If there was one thing she was certain of, it was that Tristan was a survivor.

When a ray of sunshine pierced through the clouds as the rain subsided, Dara thought this was as close to heaven as she could imagine.

The patch on the inside of her left wrist started blinking a little red light. Dara counted the seconds—forty-five—until Andrew found her. "Are you crazy?" was the first thing he said to her. "You're days after surgery!"

She grinned at him, her teeth chattering too much to speak.

"Dr. Chase will kill me if she finds out about this."

"I'll t-tell herrr I knocked y-you out-t."

"Funny," he retorted. "Have you had enough freezing cold rain yet?"

Dara nodded with jerky movements.

"Would you mind getting back inside, then?"

"'K-kay."

Andrew had to help her up the three stairs back inside and he kept an arm around her for support over the shined floors that were dangerously slippery in her wet shoes. He only left her side for a moment when he ducked into a dark storage room and returned with towels. One he wrapped around her shoulders; the other he tossed over her head and ruffled her 230

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hair like a little kid's. "If you get some kind of complication because of this, I am so blaming it on you."

He was leading her back to that windowless room again and something in her rebelled. Dara stopped moving and refused to take one more step. She'd had enough of dark depressing places to last her a lifetime. That room might as well be underground as far as she was concerned. Dara wasn't going back there. Sunshine, fresh air, those were the things that healed one best. They were essential to Dara's recovery. The rest was just medical crap.

She glanced furtively behind her at the rain she could still see outside. It was just drizzling now. Dara cast a pleading glance at Andrew, hoping he would catch her meaning.

He groaned. "Now she wants a room with a view."

Yes!
Andrew was smart. She liked him.

"All right, come on," he said with the strained patience of someone who was being put out on her behalf. "Let's get you dried. I need to check your bandages. Again."

Andrew took her to a room with sliding doors leading outside onto a deck. Free access to anywhere she wanted to go. It even had a bathroom attached, where he herded her as soon as they entered to dry off and change into clean clothes.

He made her talk to him while he stayed out in the room to make sure she was all right.

Dara was still cold when she came out, but the bed was blissfully warm and it didn't take long at all for her to stop shivering, even with her hair still wet. After Andrew changed her bandages, he said, "I need to let the doc know you moved—I mean
were
moved to recovery. You stay put."

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"Will do," she said, but despite her efforts to match his serious face, her mouth twitched to smile.

Andrew scowled at her before he left.

He'd left the sliding doors open just a couple of inches and Dara could still smell rain in the air; even her soaked hair carried the scent. She imagined that the walls were made of stone and, instead of a hospital gurney, she was lying on a big, soft, four-poster bed, with gossamer curtains pulled aside, a fireplace in front of her and colorful tapestries all around. The glass window became an arched opening in the wall, big enough to serve as a doorway.

Dara yawned.
So tired...

She let her eyes drift closed, lulled to sleep by the gentle sounds of nature.

Two days had yielded results. Tristan had managed to force his body into submission and with the help of some serious painkillers, he'd changed by degrees, always reverting back to human. It was exhausting. Amelia stayed with him to monitor him the first few hours, then ordered him to take a break and eat something. He didn't. Every time she left the room, he tried again and again, going further each time.

The first time he tried to push his limits, he cracked a couple of ribs.

The second time he pulled his hip completely out of the socket.

The third time he sustained brain damage and had to be knocked out for hours. That was when he'd figured out that if the shift started at his head, his head had the most potential 232

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to kill him. He had to change the flow of the shift so it started at his feet.

The fourth time, he managed to change his feet and legs up to his hips without injury.

The fifth time, he grew a tail. That was a freaky couple of hours.

The practice had another advantage. Each time Tristan shifted, even partially, it hurt less and less. It was as Amelia had said—it all depended on the strength of his mind. And that was one more thing he had working in his favor. His focus was absolute. Pain, hunger, exhaustion ... nothing touched him while he worked. Even at night, when he collapsed in a shivering heap on the mattress they'd put on the floor inside his cage, he continued shifting his hands and feet, small things he could now do easily. He didn't trust himself to fall asleep.

At midnight, when Amelia came to check on him and discovered he wasn't sleeping, she knocked him out again.

Tristan was too weak to stop her. He dreamed of rain washing down his body, pooling at his bare feet and soaking the ground until it turned to mud. And he woke up shivering with cold.

Today was the last stage. He hadn't told Amelia, but he figured she guessed it by the look on his face. He'd successfully shifted parts of his body; now it was time to change completely. Tristan didn't even touch the breakfast Amelia had brought with her, unsure of how his body would react to a full stomach in a different shape.

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"Ready to practice?" Amelia sounded nervous. She had her electronic notepad at the ready, and a tranquilizer at hand, just in case.

Tristan sat down on his mattress and took a deep bracing breath before he began. He shifted his legs first; easy enough. His hips and spine were a little more problematic. He could feel his spine elongating, like someone was stretching him out and it was ... not a comfortable feeling to have.

"Good," Amelia said. "Now reverse."

He didn't. When his ribs began to pop and crack, he gritted his teeth against the pain. It was bearable. For now.

"Tristan, stop."

He couldn't. Too far gone now. Fur grew, itching until he wanted to roll around to scratch every inch of his skin. His upper body changed simultaneously, arms shifting, hands becoming paws, face and head groaning as his skull expanded unevenly to become something else. Tristan forgot to breathe as splintering pain shot through his head and neck. His lips pulled away from his teeth They weren't human anymore.