Marguerite pressed a bag of peas to the back of her skull. She winced as the peas made contact with the large bruise that had formed when she hit her head on the floor the previous night. She was still surprised that Everett had let her and Elena stay the night even after she told him she was having hallucinations about him being a giant werewolf-like beast.

She wanted to drink something. Badly. But she wasn't going to do anything that might make it worse. So far, the hallucinations were limited to very early in the morning. That was a fortunate thing. She wasn't sure what she'd do if things got even worse . . . 

Everett came into the room. He slid his cell phone into his pocket and ran a hand through his hair. It was lighter than she remembered. A sandy-brown color rather than almost black. Had he dyed it when she had seen him or was she just remembering wrong? Would Elena's hair turn to that color as she got older?

Would she inherit her mother's mental illness?

"We have to talk," she said as Everett poured himself a cup of coffee.

The big, muscular man tensed, then nodded. "You're right. We do. Is Elena sleeping?"

Marguerite nodded. "She doesn't usually get up until closer to ten. I've been wanting to wake her up earlier so she'd go to bed earlier, but every night . . . She's always up around three. Which is what I need to talk to you about. I understand that you have a life and to suddenly have a daughter in it is going to be weird enough. You don't have to keep Elena with you if you don't want – if you have friends or family that can watch her while I'm at the hospital. I just need a little help."

"My only family is a sister who isn't really a sister," Everett interrupted. He held his cup to his lips then put it down again. His eyes narrowed as he looked at her, nostrils flaring.

"Will she be able to—"

"Really?"

Marguerite wasn't certain what to say to that. He sounded accusatory and mocking all at once. She pressed her lips together, staring at him. After what had happened, he had to see why this was necessary, didn't he? He remembered her, so it wasn't like he could pretend like there was no possible way that Elena was his daughter. Although Marguerite hadn't outright said that she was . . . 

Everett plunked his coffee onto the table too hard and it splashed onto his hand. Marguerite winced, but the big man didn't seem to notice. "We're not going to talk about what happened last night?"

She winced again and sucked in a deep breath. Of course. As much as she would have liked to be able to just pretend like nothing had happened, that she had sat quietly on the couch and said nothing while Everett and Elena ran around her little apartment, she couldn’t trust her memories. For all she knew, she could be blacking out what she might have done. After all, she hit her head and she didn't remember what happened afterward.

"How bad was it?" she asked meekly.

"How . . . bad?"

Marguerite closed her eyes. She pressed her hands together and nodded shakily. "Did I scare Elena?"

"What are you talking about?"

Okay. If he was confused, then she probably hadn't done anything. She let out a relieved sigh, then wrapped her arms around her waist and opened her eyes again. Everett stared at her with a surprised expression that was almost comical excepting how serious the situation actually was. He hadn't wiped up the coffee that had spilled onto his hand.

"I don't know exactly what happened last night," she started slowly. "But I've been having these hallucinations. I keep seeing Elena turn into this . . . this werewolf creature. Last night, I saw you turn into one, too. I don't know what's going on. I know that I need to get help before it gets worse and I hurt her. That's why I'm here. Because I don't have anybody to look after her while I'm hospitalized, and I will not have her end up in foster care. I know it's a lot to ask of a perfect stranger, but—"

Everett held up his hand. His brow was creased. "Hallucinations?"

"They started a couple weeks ago. It's why I tracked you down—"

"And how did you do that?" Everett's eyes narrowed as he leaned forward. "I've been very careful with my life. I don't use social media, I'm not subscribed to any sort of magazines. Are you a cop?"

Marguerite shook her head. For some reason, there was a small stab of disappointment that he didn't remember what she was planning on doing with her life all those years ago. But it was stupid to think he'd remember the life goals of some random girl he had a one-night fling with. A guy like him probably had more one-night stands than she did. Come to think of it, she couldn't remember what he had said he wanted to do with his life . . . Had they even talked about it?

"I'm a psychologist. And you're listed in the phonebook."

Everett's eyes widened fractionally before he shook his head. "Wow. Great going, Roxton. Damn phone book."

Marguerite eyed him for a moment, uncertain. He was taking it all in very calmly. Maybe he didn't believe her. But he wasn't exhibiting any signs of distrust. More like he was hiding something. She chewed her lip for a moment before pushing on.

"Anyway, I need to get this figured out. To have hallucinations just appear randomly like this, it's quite terrifying. I need to make sure that Elena is safe."

"Ah, dammit." Everett ran a hand through his hair. "You give me the best excuse and . . . and I still can't take it. Bloody hell. Why couldn’t you be less concerned with your daughter, huh? Then I wouldn't have to do this."

Marguerite was silent. What was he going on about?

"You're not hallucinating."

"Yes, I am."

"No." He leaned forward. "I do turn into a werewolf every night. And I guess Elena's my daughter, and that's why she's changing."

Marguerite shook her head.

"I was an experiment. A scientist named Simon Bell turned me into this. I don't know why and I don't know how. That night when we met? I had just freed myself and my sister Kristen from Bell's lab. She had taken off. I didn't know where she went, and I was alone. I was scared and feeling sorry for myself and then there you were. So pretty, so excited about life . . . "

Okay, this couldn't be happening. Was this another hallucination? Hearing him say the things that he was saying . . . was he even there? Was all of this conversation real or fake? Marguerite's stomach cramped. Her blood rushed in her ears and she wasn't sure what to think. So she just sat there, silent and wide-eyed, as he spoke.

"You stopped me from trying to kill myself that night just by being there." His voice was thick with emotion and he glanced away. "I didn't see what I could do if I had any sort of chance at life. Not that suicide would have worked, anyway. I can be stabbed and heal within a few minutes. Broken bones take a couple hours. I'm not . . . I'm not sure if I can die."

"Stop," Marguerite whispered. "Stop. I can't handle this . . . I'm not . . . I'm not strong enough. This isn't a joke."

Everett nodded. "I know. It's dead serious. Kristen and I are the only two like this that I know about. And like I said, I have no idea what Bell was trying to do. Whether we're some sort of failed super soldier experiment or, maybe even worse, if we're the success stories. All I can say is that the change happens between three and five in the morning every day. During other times of the day, I can willfully change, especially if I've been hurt, but I can never stop the 3 am change. I can't get drunk. I hardly need to eat, drink or sleep, and . . . "

He trailed off as he watched her shake her head. With a determined expression, he crossed the kitchen to grab a steak knife. Holding his palm towards her, he sliced it across his own hand. Marguerite gasped, but other than a little oozing of blood, nothing happened. When he wiped the blood off, his skin was closed and clean.

Fake blood? Or was everything he was telling her . . . real?

Marguerite's mind whirled. She stared in shock and confusion as he reached into a drawer and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. When he lit one up, she jumped to her feet. It was like she was acting on autopilot as she rushed to him, grabbed the cigarette, and snuffed it out in an ashtray.

"What are you doing?" Everett's brow creased.

"I have a daughter in the next room. I'm not letting her get cancer from your second-hand smoke. I don't care if you think that you can heal from everything, I'm not going to let anybody put my little girl at risk. You have a balcony if you want to smoke you can go out there."

Everette looked ashamed. He shrugged. "I usually do. But look, if Elena's picked up the whole werewolf change from me, then she's probably got everything that goes with it. Has she ever recovered from something mysteriously? Any injury that healed faster than expected? Or has she had an unusual appetite? I crave a lot of broccoli. Does she . . . ?"

The shame on his face turned hopeful. Something tightened in Marguerite's chest as she looked at him. This wasn't the response she had been expecting when she decided to come here. She had thought she was going to have to cajole and convince him to accept his daughter into his life. But now . . . he looked almost excited about the prospect.

It was good, wasn't it? Because either he was telling the truth and she needed answers about what was happening to her daughter, or her psychosis were getting worse and she needed to be hospitalized right away.

"I can't remember a time when Elena's ever gotten hurt. No bruises, even. She's a tough girl."

"Has she ever gotten sick?"

Marguerite shook her head. “She has a strong immune system.”

Everett gave her a pointed look and she pushed past him to the cupboard where he had put the alcohol in last night. Pure grade vodka. She wrinkled her nose. Nope, not going there. She'd probably give herself alcohol poisoning with one glass.

"So what does this mean?" she asked.

"I don't know."

Marguerite turned toward him. "My life changed for the better when I had Elena. I changed for the better. I saw everything in a different light. Having her is what made me who I am today. If something happened to her . . . ." It felt like she couldn't breathe. "So, what? What does this mean? What is she? What are you? What is going to happen? Will you suddenly self-combust? Will you—"

"I don't know." Everett grasped her hands in his. "Listen, I left Simon Bell's lab and never looked back. I don't need answers. I've been this way for six years. We change and then we're human again. It's just something that we live with. If you love your daughter, you will accept her now, just like before."

Marguerite didn't reply. Accept her, yes. But this wasn't like being gay or transgender or anything like that. This was her daughter changing into a werewolf every night and having no idea what was causing it or what the mental and physical effects were. Not knowing if it was going to shorten or lengthen her life.

She needed answers. She needed to know what was happening to her baby and she needed to be able to protect her.