“What the f**k?” someone shouts. Layne. “You can’t give him whiskey!”
“He’s a wolf!”
“He’s recovering. That’s it—everyone out.”
“Kitty’s angry—”
“Now.” Layne’s voice is tinged with a snarl. My nose twitches with the thick smell of fur.
“Layne?” I open my eyes. She slams the door and whirls, dark hair flying around her pale cheeks.
“Sam? Are you all right?” She hurries back to my side and puts a water bottle to my lips. “Drink this. Should wash away anything that Irish i***t gave you.”
I sip slowly, holding her eyes. Her brow is creased, cheeks flushed, but she’s unmarked. Of course, she won’t scar now. She’s a shifter.
“Just try to relax.” She gives me a rueful smile. “You’ve been out since our escape. It’s after dusk. Parker says you might’ve gotten silver poisoning because the bu
