Lyle slept like the dead that night—a metaphor that wasn’t missed by his internal creepy-factor-warning buzz when he thought it. The punctures Arius had left on his chest had healed by the morning, as most of Lyle’s cuts and tears did. On that assumption, Arius had been right as rain.
Only the slightly puckered, too-white skin that the wounds had left behind gave any indication that anything had been there at all. For while his body healed quickly, wolves were not as lucky as vampires; healing from wounds didn’t leave them perfectly unscathed. The scar would be there for a long time, maybe even forever, and more than once during the day, Lyle found himself running his fingertips over his shirt to feel for it. He couldn’t; there was no scab and the punctures had been clean and even.
Still
