Three days after the facility burned down, Alexander collapsed.
We were in his Malibu house, sitting on the deck watching the rescued werewolves get medical treatment in the guest quarters below. Forty-seven souls who'd spent years in Damien's hell were finally free. It should have been a celebration.
Instead, I watched the man I loved double over in pain as his body started the familiar pre-transformation convulsions.
"It's not even close to the full moon," I said, grabbing his shoulders as he fell to his knees. "Alexander, what's happening?"
He couldn't answer. His bones were already starting to shift, the curse taking hold despite every reason it shouldn't be active.
"Get Dr. Anderson," I shouted to Marcus, who was coordinating the medical teams. "Now!"
But even as I said it, I knew this was different. Worse. The transformation was happening faster than usual, more violently. Alexander's eyes rolled back in his head as his spine began to elongate.
