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him.
    “I’ll be fine for tonight, silly brat.” he said softly, venturing a quick kiss on her forehead. She jumped a little, smiled nervously, and gave him a quick hug before backing away. They looked at each other uncertainly for a moment.
    Taran cleared his throat. “I called Nick while the EMTs worked on me. He’s sending a couple of guys over here to put your door back up.”
    “Thank you.”
    “Lark says she doesn’t recognize the dead guy,” Denardo said.
    “No, I don’t,” she confirmed. “That’s sort of scary. I mean, he could be one of them,” she continued, pointing at the corpse still face down on the door in a small pool of blood, “or I could run into one of them on the street, and I wouldn’t even know it.”
    “Which is another reason for you to stay at my place, till we get a bead on these assholes,” Taran said.
    “It’s the drug,” Denardo said to Lark. “GHB wipes out memory of everything that happens after you take it. That’s why it’s a date rape drug. I’m surprised you remember anything at all. You need anything from me?” he asked Taran.
    “Nah, I can drive.”
    They both looked at him incredulously.
    “Taran, you really shouldn’t—” began Denardo.
    “No way,” Lark said. “I’m driving you.”
    “I’ll follow and help get you settled,” Denardo chimed in.
    “Goddamn it,” Taran said, “I’m not that wounded. I don’t need help getting to bed.”
    “Taran…” Lark crossed her arms, this time not in a fearful, hunched up way but in a bossy, female way, “…if you don’t let us help you, I’m telling your mother you got stabbed.”
    He couldn’t answer that. At least the beta had sense enough not to laugh.

Chapter Three
    She pulled up to Taran’s isolated Memorial home around midnight, Danny right behind her. Taran didn’t speak during the short trip, and he didn’t watch her every move as she drove his car, so she knew he was exhausted and in pain.
    Werewolves ran fevers when ill, except for silver poisoning, which lowered their body temperature. It indicated infection, and she hoped the antibiotic got it. If his temperature still ran low in the morning, she’d call Nick, who’d order Taran to the doctor.
    She gave in to temptation and pressed her palm to his left cheek. He felt marginally warmer than a while ago.
    He opened his eyes and looked at her.
    Before she could snatch her hand back, he pressed it to his shoulder with his cheek. He turned his head and lightly kissed her wrist.
    “You all right?” she asked in a shaky whisper.
    He nodded against her palm. “Yeah. I just want to sleep.”
    He looked about to say something else, but Danny appeared at Taran’s window.
    “Is he okay?”
    Lark sighed and got out. Danny helped him into the house and to bed.
    Taran insisted she take his room. She refused—she couldn’t handle sleeping in his bed, even if he weren’t hurt. Denardo went home, Taran fell asleep, and Lark unpacked her stuff. Then she lay awake in a guest bedroom until about four o’clock in the morning.
     
    ***
     
    Lark loved the rambling, one-story ranch-style house built in the fifties. This had been Taran’s childhood home, before his wealthy father passed away and his mother married Uncle David. He’d thoroughly remodeled and updated it when he left the Army and returned to Houston. He’d left some of the original features intact, including the brick walls, exposed ceiling beams and huge stone fireplace in the den.
    She sat at the breakfast table in the huge kitchen Monday morning, enjoying an unhurried mug of coffee. Taran walked in, dressed for work in another fitted sweater, this one black, and a pair of dark blue jeans. Lark still wore the purple and white striped rugby shirt and purple sweats she’d slept in.
    “You going in late?” he asked as he poured coffee for himself. She noted his slight limp and the barely perceptible wince when he lowered himself into a chair across from her.
    “Nope. Not going