I waited until Alexander fell asleep.
The curse had exhausted him. Three transformation attempts in six hours, each one leaving him weaker and more wolf-like. By midnight, he was unconscious on the couch, his breathing shallow and his body temperature running dangerously high.
"If my blood can save you," I whispered, touching his fevered forehead, "then take all of it."
He didn't stir. The curse was consuming too much of his energy for him to wake easily.
Perfect.
I slipped Elena's folder from the coffee table and headed for the garage. Alexander's motorcycle keys were hanging by the door—he'd taught me to ride last month, back when we thought we had all the time in the world.
