I watched Roland sleep as I sat on the couch in my two-bedroom apartment’s living room. We hadn’t wanted to try squeezing him through the narrow hallway leading to the spare bedroom, finding it easier to set him on the fold-out couch in the living room. We had moved a nightstand beside his bed, and it currently held drinks, medicine, iodine, a box of latex gloves, and a metal bowl full of bloody rags, a few syringes, a used sewing needle, and discarded strands of thread.

Fearing he would harm himself further if he woke to find himself surrounded by strangers, we had decided to keep him here until he woke up. My apartment building was near the Roaster’s Block Apartments — a revamped Folger’s Coffee plant — on Broadway in downtown Kansas City’s Financial District. The air still smelled of roasting coffee beans, which I loved.

I crumpled the paper from the storage unit in my fist. I understood none of its relevance, but it was obviously important. A hint on how to retrieve whatever it was that Roland had expected to find in that storage unit. If we hadn’t wasted so much time at the church—

“I did all that I could,” Claire said in a soft, comforting whisper, sitting beside me on the couch facing his sleeping form. “He isn’t an animal, so my equipment was less than ideal, but I’ll raid the shelves tomorrow morning. I have everything I need for a day or two, but I would like to see about a few other things that may help if he starts showing signs of infection…”

Claire Stone worked for the Kansas City Zoo as their head veterinarian, despite her young age. She was terrified of almost everything, shy as all hell, but smart as a tack, which was how she’d won her job over the other competitors. She loved animals. And making things feel better. She was a saint in that way, but not too prim that we hadn’t often gotten into trouble together. I had known her as far back as I could remember, having play dates with her as children, and I was lucky to have her as my best friend. We had been through a lot together, and she knew all my secrets.

She was petite, with long, platinum blonde hair that made me want to kill her, and had a narrow face that always seemed to be professionally touched up with layers of makeup. But I was one of the rare people to have seen her without cosmetics and she’d still been beautiful. Damn her. Her green eyes twinkled with an inner happiness most days, but right now, with her sense of purpose completed for the time being, she looked ready to bolt.

I hadn’t called her tonight because of her medical skills, but because she was my only real friend. And she had been closest to us. Her skills hadn’t even crossed my mind, to be honest. I had intended to get Roland to a hospital no matter what he said.

But Claire had taken one look at Roland, and all of her usual meekness had evaporated. She had helped me tug him from the storage unit into the backseat of her tiny Jetta, and then climbed right in beside him, immediately going to work as she ordered me to drive.

I had been in too much shock to argue, but I was pretty sure she had saved his life.

I placed a palm on her thigh and squeezed in silent gratitude, not trusting myself to speak. She let out a pained breath at seeing me like this. Claire had the biggest heart I had ever seen. Simply put, she was the bestest.

Even though she didn’t know what this was all about, she could sense the emotions ripping through me, and she had found me at the end of my rope in the storage unit, struggling against my stupid, stupid nightmare and that incessant howling. But the howls had ceased the moment Claire had arrived, as if giving up. But wolves only gave up when beaten soundly.

Then again, they hadn’t attacked me in the twenty minutes I crouched there in the dark storage unit, even though they were so close I could practically feel them prowling around in the darkness dozens of feet away. Why hadn’t they attacked? Had they just been trying to scare me? With the stench of so much blood, they should have been all over me. But they had just howled, relentlessly.

Almost like an alarm. A call.

To their Alpha, perhaps? But he hadn’t shown, so maybe they had just given up.

Trouble was, I just didn’t know. Without Roland to help, I was out of my depth.

I was simply grateful that Claire hadn’t found me sobbing uncontrollably in the corner, overcome by the relentless repetition of my nightmare, brought on by my fear and the similar sensory details of the storage unit to my dream.

I patted her thigh. “He’s a tough old root,” I whispered, not wanting to wake him. “He’ll likely wake up bitching about merely needing a quick nap. Or demanding some prayer time.”

A queasy look crossed Claire’s features. “You really shouldn’t joke about that. It’s very important to him…” she shivered, eyes darting to his chest. It was now covered by a sheet, but I still grew distant thinking about it. Who would have imagined to find that?

He had seemed almost dead, pale from blood loss, and when we had stripped him out of his wet clothes, we had seen his chest.

Gooseflesh pebbled over my arms at the memory. His chest had been… carved. That was the only way to say it. Etched with runes, symbols, numbered Bible verse references, quotes of scripture, and odd symbols I had never seen before, but suspected had something to do with the church. But why would the church carve him up? And why would he let them?

It had been a few hours, and I had been unable to sleep, even knowing we had maybe a few hours until sunrise. The rain had continued through the night, but even that hadn’t been enough to make me drowsy. Because my friend was hurt. The one person who I thought couldn’t be hurt.

I had made coffee earlier, and Claire had refilled it twice without me taking a sip. I felt Claire place a blanket over me, and didn’t protest. I was cold, what with my damp clothes. My eyelids grew heavy, but I needed to stay awake for Roland. In case he needed me.

I saw Claire watching Roland like a hawk out of the corner of my eye. She had feared to move him, saying he was too weak, and that any movement might break open the stitches, causing him to bleed out. As he was, he would survive, but he had a long road to recovery. Unless… what had she said? Oh, right. Infection. Something about mud…

I felt sluggish, and my blinks grew slower.

Infection… not with lycanthropy — the werewolf gene, because he was immune… Something else…

I stopped blinking, resting my eyes for a few seconds. Coffee… I should drink my…

Claire is such a good friend… Remember when we used to…

And with that unfinished thought, I fell asleep.