I wasn't actually relying on olfactory senses, but she didn't need to know that. "A moot point when this wolf can."

She grunted. "You want me to distract him?"

"Yes, please."

"Consider it done."

She spun and walked back. I waited until the truck lurched into action, then slipped around the corner, wrapped the night around my body, and ran like hell for the back of the truck.

It was faster than I thought it would be, forcing me to leap in a desperate effort to get on board before it got away. I hit the backboard hard enough to rattle it, hooked an arm over the edge of the tray, and hung on for grim death as the road swept by inches from my toes. Not a position I was overly enamored of, so once I'd caught my breath, I twisted, hooked a leg over the tray, and dragged myself inside. My hip caught the end of one box as I dropped down, and I bit back a yelp, barely daring to even breathe as I lay there, listening. The rumble of the engine flowed across the air, joined by the hum of the tires on the road surface. The aroma of spice and leather hung in the air, but the relief that shivered through me was tempered by the fact that Rhoan's scent was heavily interlaced with the sweet, metallic odor of blood. They'd really done a number on him.

Anger rose, anger that was all wolf, all territorial need to protect the pack. Rhoan was my pack, all I had, and whoever had done this to him would pay.

Oh yeah, I could more than understand Nerida's reasoning.

Underneath Rhoan's scent came the twin scents of pine and ocean. Though I could smell them, I couldn't "feel" them, meaning they were human rather than nonhuman. With the way the old truck was rattling, they wouldn't hear me creep forward. Human hearing wasn't that astute.

But I kept the shadows wrapped around my body as I edged around the first box. They might not hear me, but it would only take a glance in the rearview mirror to see me. I was naked, after all, and a naked female of any description tended to catch a man's attention.

Rhoan was about halfway down the truck, thrown on the floor like so much rubbish, his face as beaten and raw as his body. In fact, the only thing that wasn't beaten and bloody was his genitals. It actually looked as if someone had gone out of their way to avoid that area, which was extremely odd.

I dropped down beside him and gently touched his forehead, brushing the sweaty, blood plastered strands of hair from his face. He stirred, and relief filled me. He wasn't as out to it as I feared, even if he didn't immediately open his eyes.

I lightly pressed the com-link in his ear, then leaned close and murmured, "Jack, track this signal. When we are well clear of the gates, stop the truck. Bring medical aid for Rhoan."

I couldn't hear his answer and didn't dare use my own com-link. I'd have to speak a little louder and it just wasn't worth the risk.

After a quick glance at the two humans in the front, I stretched out beside Rhoan and gently cradled him. He stirred again, then opened his eyes.

The brown was unsettling, alien. Not so his smile. "I knew you'd find me."

His voice was the barest of whispers, scratchy with pain, but to my ears it was the sweetest sound ever.

"Isn't that what little sisters are for?" I gently pressed my hand against his bruised cheek as his eyes drifted close again. "Rhoan, who did this to you?"

"Starr. Moss." He shuddered and the pain fury had been keeping at bay rushed through me like a tide. It wasn't just the pain of his injuries. It was the deadly fire of silver.

I licked my lips, trying not to panic. There was no silver knife of any kind stuck in his flesh, nor could I see a bullet wound, but that didn't mean anything. It only took a sliver imbedded under the skin to kill a wolf.

"Rhoan, where is it?"

"Butt." He made a harsh sound that could have been a laugh. "Idea of a joke."

Then it was one I didn't immediately understand. I shifted, and ran my hand across his buttocks. Having been shot by silver myself, my flesh had become extremely sensitive to its presence. If it was under his skin, I'd feel it.

My fingers began to burn in the center of his left cheek. The sliver was about two inches long and needle fine. It was also too deep to drag out with my fingers.

"Take… out," he gasped. "Things going numb."

It was then that I understood the so-called joke. Silver killed werewolves by destroying muscle and nerves and sensation, until the body was locked in pain and the ability to move and breathe was gone, and all that was left was a lingering, horrible death by asphyxiation.

I'd been shot in the arm, and the numbness had quickly traveled down to my fingers and up my neck. The bullet had been removed before any long-term damage had been done, but even so, I'd risked the use of my arm.

Rhoan was shot in the butt, so his loss of sensation was centered around that area—the butt and genitals. He risked the loss of something far more important to a wolf than a mere arm.

It was sick, and the bastards were going to die for it.

I touched Rhoan's cheek, drawing his attention again. "I'm going to have to shift and bite."

He nodded weakly. "Do it."

I took another glance at the men up front. They still weren't paying us any attention, so I called to the wolf within. The power swept over me, through me, until I was once again wolf rather than human. I licked my brother's face—a useless gesture that undoubtedly comforted me more than him—then slid my gaze down his body. In wolf form, the heat of the silver was more intense. The glow of it seemed to leak from his skin, a beacon that pointed to the precise spot.

I didn't let myself think about what I was about to do, just bared my teeth and slashed down into his skin. The taste of flesh and blood filled my mouth, followed swiftly by the fire of silver. I closed my teeth around it and ripped. Felt Rhoan jerk, and his body stiffen. He hissed, vocalizing the pain that reverberated through every corner of my mind.

I turned away and spat out his flesh. But his taste filled my mouth and suddenly I was gagging uncontrollably.

"What the hell was that?" one of the men in the front said.

Somehow, Rhoan found the strength to wrap a hand around my nose and hold my mouth closed. Bile rose up my throat but I managed to swallow it down. My body trembled almost as much as Rhoan's, and I wasn't entirely sure his grip on my muzzle was going to stop the tide for long.

"What was what?" The second voice was gruff, bored.

"That sound. Like someone coughing and throwing up."

"Probably our passenger. Don't worry, with all the broken bones he's got, he ain't going nowhere."

"Nowhere but the farming labs."

They both laughed. Relief slithered through me. Rhoan released my nose, and as I glanced down, the golden haze of changing began to slide over his broken body, snatching his pain from my mind even as it began healing his wounds. He didn't stay long in his wolf form—it was hard to do so when the pain and the wounds are so great—but at least in shifting back, the healing was helped along that little bit further. I shifted shape myself, then wrapped my fingers around his and waited.

I had no idea how long it was before the Directorate arrived. It was probably only a few minutes later, but it seemed like forever before the truck rattled to a stop. There was no fighting, no nothing, just a stationary truck and two silent guards.

Then the backboard opened and Jack was there. "About bloody time," I muttered.

"We couldn't stop the truck any closer to the gates. They would have seen us." He climbed into the truck and hunkered down beside me. "How is he?"

"He'll live." It was Moss and Starr who wouldn't.

"Good." Jack's gaze went to Rhoan. "Why did this happen?"