Lucian remained on top of me, my throat in his hand but his mind was miles away. His eyes were blank, distant, and vacant.
“Let go,” I whispered.
I didn’t expect him to listen, but his fingers loosened.
He moved stiffly, each joint in his fingers straightened with almost puppet-like obedience. His hand hung in the air like he’d forgotten it was attached to his arm. He stared down at me, and shivered.
I reached up and rested my hand against his cheek. Honestly I don’t know why I did that. Maybe I was trying to check for a fever. Werewolves didn’t get sick often, but when we did it really knocked us for a loop. That could explain Lucian’s behavior.
When I touched his cheek, he leaned into my hand. When I gathered my courage and shoved, he moved obediently. His head turned at my guidanc
