“I’ll try,” he said in a grave voice. “But as I said, I don’t eat meat and anything else I’ve sampled has made me sick. Which doesn’t make sense because your vegetables are not that different, from what I’ve seen.”

“We’ll work on that. Now, what about you trying to take your own life? Do I need to worry about you attempting it again?”

“No! On my honor, I will not.” He sounded sincere, and ashamed. “I was feeling like I had lost everything. But I can see perhaps that was not true.”

“It’s not true at all. You have friends here, if you want them, and I think you’ll do well. But come to me immediately if those depressed feelings return.”

“I will.”

“Good. As soon as I’m done with Jax, I’ll speak with the kitchen and have them prepare some other dishes for you to try. If that doesn’t work, we’ll keep digging until we get to the bottom of this, I promise.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

“Melina, please,” she said softly.

Oh-ho! Jaxon stopped in midstride and grinned, wondering whether the guy had any clue what a gift had just been dropped in his lap. If not, he’d soon find out if things got up close and personal between them.

“Sariel.” He paused, then added, “But you can continue to call me Blue if you’d like.”

“I will, then.”

This was getting more and more interesting. Too bad the doc was walking him out, ending the fascinating drama. As they reached Jaxon’s room, she stopped there and said she’d see him again soon. Sariel thanked her again and left.

She came inside and shut the door. “What’s so important that you barged into my examination with another patient? And it had better be good, because you don’t look like you’re dying,” she said, eyeing him.

“No, but I feel like I am,” he muttered, tugging at his soul patch. “Christ, Melina, I’m itching all fucking over. And look at me.” He spread his arms wide, and then tugged up the hem of his T-shirt so she could see his stomach. “No rash, nothing.”

“Have you been in contact with any strange or unidentifiable plants, maybe while running in the forest?”

“No, and I’m pretty sure I would’ve noticed.”

The doc frowned, her irritation vanishing. “Take off your shirt.”

“You won’t find anything.” But he complied, and she circled him, nodding in agreement.

“You’re right. Clear as a bell.” Grabbing her stethoscope, she gestured to the table. “Let’s begin with all the standard stuff, like the heart, lungs, and throat. Have you run a temperature?”

“Nope. I don’t feel hot, and shifters can’t get diseases anyway.” He scooted onto the paper-covered surface.

“That we’ve been able to learn,” she pointed out. “That rule might only apply to the sexually transmitted ones.” After listening to his heart and lungs, she removed the instrument from her neck and set it on the counter. Next came the tongue depressor. “Clear so far. Open up.”

She placed the nasty wooden thing inside far enough to reach his frigging colon and pushed down. “Hmm. There’s some redness and swelling. Is your throat sore?” The depressor came out and she tossed it into the trash can.

Swallowing, he took stock. “A little. I hadn’t really noticed until you asked. It’s not bad, though.”

“Scale of one to ten?”

“Uh, a two.”

“Which means it’s really a three or four, knowing how you guys never admit to crap, even when you’re gushing blood.” Knowing the doc was right, he didn’t argue as she opened a drawer and removed a vial and a syringe sealed in sterile wrapping. “I’m going to have one of my assistants run the usual tests—blood cell count, hormone levels, thyroid, you name it. We’ll put a rush on it. Should be ready by tomorrow.”

“Melina . . . I need to ask you some questions. As a patient,” he clarified. They all worked in such close quarters, living together for years, he counted her among his friends. It could have been personal, but this time it wasn’t.

“We’ll talk in my office after this. I have questions for you, too.”

He studied her angular face as she deftly swabbed the skin at the crook of his elbow with alcohol and then opened the package containing the syringe. Black fringe framed her forehead and cheekbones in short spikes, longer than his own haircut but still severe to him. Her hair had once been long and glorious, a black silk curtain that she kept pulled back while working, loose when off duty. Once, she’d smiled more, too, the rough edges smoothed by contentment.

She’d been married then, to their former leader, Terry Noble. After he was killed in the massacre six months ago, she’d cut her beautiful locks. And her smiles—the ones that actually lit her eyes—were now as rare as Nick’s white wolf. Or a Fae prince.

But she’d smiled at Nick not long ago, when he wasn’t looking.

And she’d done the same today, with Sariel.

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

He started. She was done and had stuck the cotton ball with the Band-Aid on his arm without him even noticing. “No reason. Just thinking that I miss your hair being long.”

What he really missed was the friend she’d been to them all before Terry died. But he could hardly tell her so without alienating her further. Especially when Jax was the cause.

She eyed him, a funny expression on her face. “Where did that come from?”

“Don’t know. Just being a stupid guy, I guess.”

“That I can believe.”

“Jeez, anesthetize a guy before you stab him, would ya?”

“You started it.” Her lips quirked, and it saddened him to realize that was as close as she came to teasing anymore.

“So I did.”

“My office. Wait for me there. I’m going to drop these off at the lab.”

“Sure.”

He pulled his shirt on and did as he was told. Once he was seated, it took her only a minute to join him. Taking her place behind her desk, she folded her arms on the top and began.

“My questions first, then yours.” She gazed at him thoughtfully. “Exactly when did the itching begin?”

“Last night. After we rescued Kira.”

Her gaze sharpened, along with her tone. “Have you touched her?”

And then some. “Yeah. Last night I touched her cheek and got a faint impression. Then I took her wrist and got a clearer vision of her stealing something, and running from men who wanted to kill her.”

“It started after that.”

“Yes, probably before I was even aware of it.”

“Are there times when the symptoms seem worse than others?”

There wasn’t going to be any way around telling her the truth. Not when it related to his own questions. Damn it. “Definitely,” he said with a sigh. “It got a helluva lot worse after we went on a walk this morning and I kissed her. And then . . .”

“Don’t leave anything out, Jax. It could be important,” she urged.

He cleared his throat. “And since we made love, it’s gotten to be damned near unbearable.”

She blinked at him and then blew out a breath. “You sure didn’t waste any time.”

He fought down a surge of embarrassment. “That’s another thing—I had to be with her. To—to mate with her, I guess is the right word, and it couldn’t happen fast enough. I wanted to sink my teeth into her neck, Melina, to taste her blood! I didn’t, though, and the need to take her again and follow through this time is driving me insane! What the fuck is wrong with me?”

“Jax,” she said gently. “What you’ve described is exactly what Terry went through before he took me as his mate. Once he bit me during sex, the symptoms disappeared.”

“Oh, God.” He closed his eyes, slumping in his chair. This was what he’d been afraid of, the very thing he dreaded.

“There’s something else.”

He shuddered to imagine. “What?” Opening his eyes, he took in her grim expression.

“Once he mated with me, he was never able to become aroused by another female. It was physical, as though the mating rendered him incapable.”

“But . . . Christ, you mean it’s irreversible? And we have no say in who we’re mated with? That fate or genes or whatever the hell decides for us? That’s totally screwed up!”