My eyes opened. A textured ceiling came into view, but something about the scent of the room said that it wasn't mine. When I went to sit up, lighting bolts stabbed my head from every angle. A hand touched my stomach. My body tensed.

"Relax,” Scott cooed. He lay so close to me that I hardly had any room to move. Thank goodness he was on top of the comforter. “Dane wanted someone with you when you woke up. He's in the other room checking on Decker.” His hand went up to my forehead, caressing a finger across it. “How ya feeling?"

"Like crap,” I replied.

My throat felt a little sore, but considering the thunderous agony in my shoulder, it didn't matter. I moved my right arm. Pain coiled its way through the muscles, enough to grit my teeth and seal my eyes tight. Dane must have fashioned a sling out of some shredded sheets and tied it around my neck.

Cold air settled on my other arm. That sling wasn't the only thing he had done. It looked like he used the rest of the sheets to fashion a tube top for me, fastening it with safety pins. Heaven only knew how many of the guys saw more of my flesh than I cared to show.

A thick bandage underneath the sling and a smaller one on the gash above my hip adhered to my skin, tugging around the edges. Matt was going to love seeing his wife all stitched up, battered, bruised, and smelling like blood. You think I had some explaining to do before—wait until he saw this. Sad to say, going back home didn't seem so appealing anymore.

Dane was good with the first aid stuff, but not for the reasons one would think. He hadn't attended medical school, nursing school, or even a CPR class. His reasons for learning how to fix wounds had more to do with inflicting them. He learned about anatomy and physiology in the hopes of becoming a more effective killer, which made sense ... to werewolves.

In the dawn of his lycanthrope life, he didn't have anyone to usher him through his lifelong changes, so he pushed himself to be the best killer around. Somehow he found the strength to keep himself grounded by hunting animals and experimenting on them between multiple glasses of sherry and scotch. Like Dr. Frankenstein; cats, dogs, raccoons, anything he could find, he used in his quest for knowledge. As time went on, he moved up to humans. The homeless became his guinea pigs. He invited them home, got them drunk, and waited until they passed out before experimenting on them. Dane broke bones and practiced resetting them. He tore skin and muscle to note the differences between internal and external suturing. I had a feeling there was more going on, but that was as far as he allowed anyone into his demented mind. After finding out he kept people alive for days before killing them, I had my fill of his thinking processes.

On one of my first outings, I sliced my knee while climbing up to my perch. When Dane came up after me to administer first aid, I threw rocks at him until he wrestled me to the ground. He threatened to reopen his illegal practice and start with me as his first patient if I didn't settle down. He had my full attention at that point.

The leader is responsible for the welfare of his pack in all aspects of life, including health. So if someone had an accident, the pack looked to him for help. Unless the Alpha found other means, he was their healer. That worked out fine after Dane got the Club up and running, assuming you were okay with his training methods. Anyway, he stopped his experimenting after several years into his werewolf life and took up another hobby: sociology. Go figure.

"What happened to the ... uh...” Something happened to me to get these injuries. Bits and pieces came back in ways that didn't make sense. “Who ... or rather, someone..."

"Dane said you might have a concussion,” Scott said. “He found some blood in your hair and thought it belonged to the rogue. But he felt around and found a knot the size of an egg on the back of your skull."

"What did the hotel people say?” That wasn't the question I wanted to ask, but I forgot the more important one because this one slipped into place.

Scott started rubbing my bare arm, warming it up for me. “We told them someone broke into you room while you were away. Which wasn't far from the truth. Since they didn't take anything, we didn't bother pressing charges. The staff gave us their apologies and took the room off the bill. They even offered you an upgrade, but we declined it."

"But the body ... and the blood."

"Taken care of. The turned over furniture we left because we knew the hotel would want to report the incident to their insurance company, if not the police. It's bad business if you can't keep your hotel guests safe. Anyway, since we didn't make a big deal about it, neither did they. The room's not perfect, but you'd have to look pretty hard to know what to look for."

"Rogues.” I tried pulling the question out of my head. “Something ... How many? Any more?"

He shook his head. “Every scent inside the den has been accounted for. Some of us went out last night to take care of the hides after we finished cleaning up your room."

Bolting upright didn't come easy, but at least my good arm managed to support me. “Last night? What day is it? What time?"

"It's around nine in the morning."

"Nine?!” The covers felt like they weighed a ton, but I peeled them back and threw my feet over the edge of the mattress. More pain thundered through my head. “That means I missed at least two phone calls from Matt. Shit.” The cold room air held me in place. I took a few gulps, praying the room would stop swaying.

"Where do you think you're going?” Dane appeared in the doorway. He marched inside the room and eased me back under the covers. “You're staying right there. You can't even stand on your own two feet, let alone go anywhere."

"I need to call Matt. He'll worry if he isn't already.” I didn't have time for this. I tried pushing passed Dane again, but his strength was too much. “You don't understand. He already thinks I'm crazy because of this stupid hunt looming over my head. The last thing I need to do is give him proof."

Dane sighed. “How about I bring you your cell phone? Tell him something came up and that you'll be here for a few extra days. By then, you'll be as good as new."

Flabbergasted, my mouth opened twice, but the only thing that came out was air. I couldn't believe how easy he made that sound and how hard it was in reality. He has no idea what I've been going through. I wanted to choke the last strands of oxygen out of him. Taking a moment, I gathered my thoughts ... but more flabbergasted air exhaled instead.

Fisk waltzed into the room, smiling at me. “We ordered some breakfast, Angel. Hope you're up to it, seeing as you missed dinner last night."

Dropping my head, I closed my eyes. How could everyone be so nonchalant? No wonder I had been so reluctant about coming back to the Club. I had a dozen and half reasons for staying gone. The one about being surrounded by lunatics?—the proof was staring me in the face. I could only handle my own insanity, not the entire Club's.

"I'm not hungry, I need my phone, and more important"—I glanced at my body—"where are my clothes?” That last part came out by mistake when it dawned on me that I was sitting in panties and a makeshift tube top.

Dane pulled the comforter up to my waist. “After you've had something to eat, I'll bring you the phone. I promise."

That was his style, able to find loopholes in the simplest of requests. It was a miracle he didn't drive me crazy years ago.

One of the guys brought me a plate filled with pancakes, sausage, eggs, toast, a fruit bowl, and hash browns. It didn't take a genius to know that a human piled everything on. When I finished less than a third of it, Dane brought me prescription painkillers from his stash before allowing me to use the phone. I took my medicine like a good little girl and made my call to Matt. He didn't pick up, so I left a voice mail.

The effects of the Demerol began faster than I thought they would. I fought a losing battle trying to wait for Matt's phone call. As fate would have it, my phone rang loud enough to give me a slight boost in my motor skills. I looked at the illuminated green screen that had Matt's name and number etched in dark green letters on it.

"Where the hell have you been?” he asked. “Do you have any idea how many times I called you last night? Some idiot at the front desk said you moved to a different room with some friends, but he didn't know where.” He kept ranting and raving about something, his interjected shouts and curses bobbing me out of my sleepiness. I yawned a few times, but he obviously didn't care because he wanted himself above anything else. “Do you know how close I am to coming up there?"

I almost missed that. Shaking my head, I slurred, “Where are you?"

"I'm home."

Damn if I wasn't wide awake after that.